My boyfriend won a cooking competition

Something is going on with Patrick. Ever since he entered this cooking competition, it’s always just him and his little black notebook. Learching over the pages and writing with such vigor he might start a friction fire. I mean, I’M his girlfriend. The least he can do is pay attention to me just a little bit. His “Bailey burrito” requires some much needed attention. That’s the pet name he gave me. “Bailey burrito” yeah, vomit inducing isn’t it? Hah, only a chef would come up with that, I suppose. Though, I do want him to win. I mean, $20,000 usd?! That’s some cash we could really use right now. But ..something has been “off” I guess. It’s hard to describe. He’s got these, dark, black rings around his eyes. So much so, he’s beginning to resemble a panda.

He doesn’t sleep much. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find him huddled over that stupid notebook. Look, I know I sound a bit bitchy, and maybe I am being one, but this isn’t normal. He’s a man obsessed! He won’t even let me see the damn thing. It’s like every time I walk by he leans over it more like I’m trying to take his answers on a grade school test. I always hated those kids.

I get it, I mean, his whole career is riding on this competition. He’s worked impossibly hard to make it to where he is. Not only will this competition come with a cash prize but also, the opportunity to open his own restaurant funded by his current employers! So he’s super focused. I applaud him for that kind of commitment. Even if he’s been slacking off at home. He usually cooks dinners ofcourse, I couldn’t cook if my life depended on it. I’m always being the guine pig for his latest creations. Most of the time they’re great! But lately, he’s been making rookie mistakes. Like way to much butter, oil, garlic, salt, ETC. Excessive amounts really. I’d be surprised if my blood pressure hasn’t raisen a few points by now.

A few days past and Patrick is looking more gaunt then ever. He looked so excited when he told me he finally finished his ultimate recepie! Finally, I thought it may never end. I was really beginning to worry. The tops of his fingers were raw from scribbling in that damn book and he fought me tooth and nail about showering, which, I’m almost sure he hasn’t done in a week. He kept going on and on about his “elevated cuisine featuring exotic meats and rare spices.”

I honestly didn’t care to listen I was just glad it was over. As soon as he was done rambling I basically unclothed him myself and pushed him into the running shower before he could object. He looked relieved once the water hit his back and thanked me. “I really couldn’t do this without you Bailey burrito, you’ll never know what you mean to me.” He said, with a sigh.

I smiled and left him alone so he could take his time. God knows he needs it. Just as I had closed the door behind me I noticed his notebook on his desk next to a few books headlined “How to feed your livestock” and “Pork and Beef: Butchering for dummies.” He really is dedicated. Always willing to go the extra mile for his dreams. Realizing I might not know what I was looking at, being I know nothing about fine dining, I still couldn’t help but sneak a peek into his notebook. I mean it’s a recepie how hard could it be to read?

The page was titled “The Bailey Burrito.” I could only read on in adoration that he named his star dish after me! I couldn’t help but feel flattered. I read on. “1 cup long grain wild black rice, 2 ouces of cilantro, 1 large thigh cut cooked low and slow, bone in”

I had to admit it sounded delicious but I wasn’t really understanding what was so special about it. I turned the page looking for some sort of answer and what I saw made bile rise in the back of my throat like festering lava.

It was me. But it wasn’t me, really. More like, severed bits of me. Butchered and neatly sectioned into pieces and labeled like a goddamn vintage meat diagram... My heart rate quickened the longer I studied it. My stomach made its way to my chest cavity. His behavior started to make so much sense. He wasn’t messing up his cooking he was fattening me up and seasoning me! When he said he “couldn’t do this without me” he meant literally! and sure, I’d never know what I “meant to him” because I’d be gone! Made into a literal “Bailey burrito!” My hands began to shake severely, my arms recoiled and the notebook dropped from my hands with an alarming thud sound. “Now Bailey,” I heard Patrick say from the doorway. “Why did you have to go and spoil the suprise..fear tends to make the meat taste..rotten.”