DISCLAIMER: I urge you to read this reworked version instead. God bless!
“I will kill myself.”
Frankie cocked an eyebrow at Sasha. After a good five seconds and two blinks, he finally shrugged.
“Aren’t you concerned you’ll be losing your best pal? Aren’t you going to tell me there’s more to life that bastard?”
Frankie closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth, his lips forming a perfect O, then thrust a half-eaten tub of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey at Sasha.
“Do you want me to get fat?”
“It won’t matter when you’re rotting six feet under,” said Frankie.
Sasha glared at him. She gave up approximately one-and-a-half seconds later, then frowned and said, “I think I’m sick of Chunky Monkey.”
Frankie had rushed over with four tubs of Sasha’s favourite Ben & Jerry’s flavour when he received her SOS WhatsApp message, “Bring B&J.”
They have known each other since primary school, and have seen each other through every exam, every pimple, every fashion and hair disaster – but this was their first breakup together. The scrawny, bespectacled Frankie never did have any luck with girls.
Sasha had met the love of her life in secondary three. He was a transfer from Dempsey Secondary, an atas school in the outskirts of Orchard Road. Eurasian, light-brown hair and golden-brown eyes, he towered over all the boys in school and became the star of the basketball team – not because he was good at the game but simply by virtue of his superior physical attributes. His lanky frame and long arms allowed him to score a quarter of their baskets, and allowed the team to came in fourth, from the bottom up, in the inter-school tournament. Still, it was a better showing than the previous year when they came in dead last. He became the hero of the entire school.
Sasha would offer to do her hero’s homework, drilled formulas into him on the eve of exams – she practically carried him through his O and A Levels. In reciprocation, he would give her ornate friendship bracelets made from four different-textured but colour-coordinated strings and braid flowers into her hair on anniversaries and birthdays – yes, his too. “I want to show off this new technique I learnt,” he would say.
“On hindsight, that might have been a clue he’s gay,” Sasha lamented. She had been his beard for seven years.
She buried her face in her hands, “I think I need something stronger than Chunky Monkey.”
“You still have that vodka from Halloween?” Frankie asked.
Sasha nodded, face still behind her hands.
Frankie got off the sofa, yanked the bottle free from under a pile of languishing kangkong and chai sim from the vegetable crisper, poured out a good long splash into the blender, dunked in the remains from the ice-cream tub, and threw in a couple of ice cubes.
Whirl whirl whirl…
Sasha looked up when the whirl of the blender stopped. Plop plop plop, Frankie filled two tall glasses. Sasha took a sip, her eyes widened, and a smile spread across her tear-stricken face.
“Remember my days as a bartender?” Frankie beamed.
Frankie had been many things, DJ, zi char stall chef, insurance agent – and most recently, a musician sporting a peach-coloured early-era-Justin-Bieber ‘do.
He looked ridiculous jamming to Daft Punk in that hair and his tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, and she had told him to his face. And Frankie, in typical Frankie-fashion had just shrugged.
Good ol’ strong, silent – almost silent to a fault – Frankie. However, when he did share his opinions, they were rarely off the mark, often caustic, and always always darkly funny. Plus he’s sweet, dependable, a hell of a cook…
A shock of cold broke Sasha’s train of thoughts. Frankie had dabbed her nose with some of that vodka-milkshake blend.
“I thought you were drunk!”
“I’m so getting you back for this!”
Sasha narrowed her eyes, the muscles on her shoulders tensed, and grabbed the edge of the kitchen island. She shuffled to the left, Frankie did too. Sasha shuffled to the right, Frankie followed suit. She darted to the left, Frankie scoot out of the kitchen and ran around the sofa. In an attempt to gain lost ground, Sasha clambered over the sofa. In her haste, Sasha didn’t realise her left foot had caught in the gaping hole in the upholstery, and when she lifted it she lurched forward arms flailing and mouth agape.
Frankie caught Sasha in an unstable embrace and both fell to the floor.
Sasha sobbed against his chest. Frankie stroked her hair and took in her scent. And felt strangely aroused.
Sasha looked up at Frankie when she felt his hard-on against her belly. Her lips formed a perfect O.
Both their faces flushed. Sasha could feel more than her face heating up, a warmth had spread through her inner thighs and she felt a dampness between. She cocked her head towards Frankie’s erection, then back at Frankie. His breath was ragged. Gingerly, Sasha reached under Frankie’s jeans with her right hand, and unzipped them with her left.
“Oh my, chunky monkey!”