I’m tired (of you)

The florist from the shop across the street stepped inside.

Akira pulled back, hanging his head.

"Vayn! You finally found someone!" The woman began to smile. The look of pure shock on Akira’s face was almost comical.

I managed a smile in return.

"Alright, alright, I’ll come back later," she said. "I just stopped by to tell you that there’s a girl who has been waiting in the shop for nearly an hour."

She walked out.

"Vayn?" Akira repeated, looking at me. "So, you’re the only one who calls yourself Veyn."

He stood up and began to dress, taking back the shirt he had draped over my shoulders.

"I’m sorry, I have to go." He kissed my left cheek and smiled.

"Wait."

I stood up. I straightened his tie, looking him directly in the eyes. "Promise me you’ll come back."

"I promise."

Two years have passed since that day. Akira still comes to me, but now he comes home — to our home.

Today marks the second anniversary of our meeting. Akira arrives every evening at 7:40 PM.

It is only 7:00 now, which means I have enough time to finish preparing dinner.

I take the carrots from the table and begin to chop them, adding them to the boiled potatoes. I cover the pot and continue my work.

Akira arrives.

With my apron tied and my hair pulled back, I run to him, still holding the knife. He catches me by the waist and kisses me.

We eat dinner every night at 8:00 PM. Sitting across from him, I listen to his exhausting stories about work and pretend that I enjoy hearing them.

As I place the last plate in the sink, I feel his cold hands wrap around me. A warm kiss on the back of my neck forces me to turn around.

"Aka..."

"I missed you."

"Mm-hmm."

"I have a gift for you."

He pulls a red ring box from his pocket and hands it to me. He knows perfectly well how much I despise the color red. He opens the box, and the silver ring inside begins to shimmer.

"I want you to be with me for all the years to come." He takes my hand and slides the ring onto my finger. "This way, everyone will see that you belong to me."

He holds me. I hold him back.

He begins to untie my apron. He kisses my lips. He lifts me onto the kitchen table and starts unbuttoning my shirt. I catch his hand.

"Aka..."

He begins to kiss my neck.

"Akira!"

He looks into my eyes. I can't find the words to tell him that I am tired of making love with him; I want us to simply love each other for a while.

I kiss him back and remove my shirt. He lays me down on the table and begins to strip away my clothes. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He picks me up and carries me to the living room, tossing me onto the sofa and stroking my hair.

"Vine..." he whispers in my ear.

In that moment, I forget everything else in the world. To hell with "love"—what does love matter when you can possess Akira even without it?

I pull him down onto the sofa and kneel on the floor. A moment later, he lifts my head and kisses me. I sit in his lap and continue to kiss him.

Eventually, I collapse onto him, exhausted, my breath coming in deep gasps. He holds me, and I begin to cry. He lifts my chin and wipes away the tears.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Vine..."

"I'm just tired."

He smiles, carries me up to the bedroom, and lays me on the bed.

If only you knew it was you I was tired of, Akira. "Go to sleep," he says.

"No. I want to talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"The composition of milk chocolate."

"Alright. 100 grams of milk chocolate contains 540 calories. Its composition is 59% carbohydrates (52% sugar, 3% dietary fiber), 30% fat, and 8% protein."

"Aka! I was joking. But wait — how do you know all that?"

"I’m the husband of a chocolatier. How could I not know?"

In reality, our relationship can be measured the same way: 59% in bed, 52% on the kitchen table, 3% in the bathroom, 30% in the living room, and 8% in the car. There isn't a single percent left for love. I'm sorry, Akira. "Anyway, tell me. What did you want to talk about?"

"I want to hire an employee for the shop."

"That’s a great idea."

"I can't work alone anymore. Besides, I’m tired (of you). I just want to be the manager. I’ll look into it tomorrow. I’ll find an apprentice first, then I’ll trust them with the shop."

I feel my eyes beginning to close.