Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby
My body feels as though it doesn’t belong to me as I stalk to the breakroom. I
feel like a puppet on strings that have been cut, like my limbs are made of lead
and my body might give out from beneath me at any moment.
When I’m alone in the breakroom once again, though, I can’t contain my fury
any longer.
“Dammit!” The word explodes out of my mouth, and without thinking, I whirl
around and let my shoe connect with the wall. There’s a faint but satisfying
crack, and when I pull away, there’s a slight dent where I unleashed my rage.
Enter title...
It’s almost laughable, seeing how small the dent is. It’s like my own body won’t
even do what I want, let alone the ingredients on that stage out there.
My mind is whirling with so many thoughts that I barely even register the door
creaking open. But then that venomous voice, that voice that I’ll hear in my
nightmares for years to come, slices through the air like an arrow whizzing past
my ear.
“Oh, Abby,” Daniel says, the sneer audible in his voice without me even having
to look at him. I can picture him without even turning around, that horrendous

smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Having a little tantrum, are we?”
“Don’t even start, Daniel,” I hiss, leaning on the counter, still not turning to face
him.
But he just chuckles. “What?” he says, coming closer now. “I’m allowed to be
concerned, aren’t I?”
I decide not to respond, but it seems as though that doesn’t satisfy Daniel. He
tuts, and I can feel my resolve beginning to crumble. “Boy, that sure was a mess
out there. You know, maybe it really should’ve been you dropping out, not
Bryan. It would have saved you the embarrassment.”
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms despite the sting of where they
dug in earlier. The pain anchors me, if only a little. I can’t give him the
satisfaction of letting him see me crumble.
But he continues, relentless as ever, his words dripping with condescension.
“But then again, it’s fitting, isn’t it? You never belonged here. You’re nothing but
a—”

I whirl around to face him, my eyes ablaze, my heart pounding in my chest. The
word he spits out next is vile, demeaning, and sexist.
“You’re nothing but a stupid little slut who belongs in the bedroom, not the
culinary world,” he hisses.
It’s as though something shatters inside of me. My resolve has crumbled; he
has won. I close the distance between us, my eyes shooting daggers at him.
“You,” I hiss, my voice trembling with the force of my anger, “are a disgusting
excuse for a chef. And an even worse excuse for a human being.”
His smile only widens, that infuriating, cocky smirk of a man who believes he
has already won. “Struck a nerve, have I?”
The muscles in my arm tense. Before I can stop myself, I’m stepping closer, my
arm raised, my hand poised to slap him across the face.
I know he deserves it. He’s a rat, a cockroach, a stain on this entire competition.
He not only sabotaged me and Karl, but he laughed while doing it, and now he
has the nerve to spit slurs in my face like it’s nothing.

Daniel’s eyes flick down. He quickly glances at my raised hand, and that’s finally
when I see it—the flicker of doubt in his gaze, the realization that he may have
finally pushed too far.
His smirk falters, if only for a moment, and in that fraction of a second, I can
finally see him for what he really is—nothing more than a scared little boy in a
man’s body, hiding behind a loud mouth and a grating personality.
But then his calculated veneer reasserts itself, and he steps a little closer to me,
tilting his head to expose his cheek to me.
“Go ahead,” he goads, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. “Make my day, Abby.
You hit me, and I’ll love pressing charges. It’ll be a fun story to tell, how you and
your ‘sous chef’ are just a pair of violent criminals.”
The words are like a slap in the face, because he’s right.
“And then,” he leans in closer, “your precious little restaurant will be nothing but
a memory, shut down for good. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
My arm suddenly feels heavier than it should. Slowly, I lower my hand, letting it
fall back to my side, the weight of it grounding me just in time before I potentially
ruined everything I’ve worked so hard for.
I look away, my eyes stinging with tears that threaten to spill.
Daniel chuckles. “Ah, but she’s all bark and no bite, I see,” he teases, folding his
arms across his chest.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I murmur. “To be so cruel to a fellow chef,
in a field in which we all struggle to make it work, day in and day out. We should
be friends, allies, not... whatever this is.”