She won’t need me anymore. The thought is infuriating, and sends a jolt of jealousy and irritation through me. If she doesn’t bring me, hell only knows what activities she’ll engage in with other cupids. I find myself hating the thought of anyone else’s hands on her.
She’s a cupid, I’m a reaper, the two don’t mix, ever.
Surely, she’s come to her senses and just won’t show up, realizing that anger blinded her. I’d be more disappointed than I’d ever care to admit.
I’ve smiled more around the cupid than I have in the last century. I like how she talks rapidly with no filter, how sweet she is while still having a slightly dark side. Frankly, I like everything about the glittery cupid that flew into my life with a sparklingvendetta in her eye. It would be my luck to lose her before ever truly getting to know her.
The time ticks by.
She’s nearly five minutes late. The reality of her not showing up hits me and a sadness I haven’t felt in a long time consumes me. I was an idiot for thinking that she’d actually show. That she does truly want me there with her. She just wants someone, anyone, to one up Eros.
I’m completely spiraling and hate myself over it. Part of me is mad at Love for digging up these feelings. I was fine before she came along with her soft smiles and precious attitude. Life wasn’t complicated, I did my job, did it well, and went home.
Now… now I spend my days wondering if she’s floating around the hospital looking for me, if I should summon her, what her lips would feel like on mine. It’s simply not very reaper-like. Yet, if the adorable little cupid does show up tonight and bring me to her party, all of these feelings I’m not sure how to process would be worth it.
The patient I’m near has two visitors, they’re all talking to each other in low tones. While the tone is jovial, it seems like something is missing. The man in the bed with the broken arm looks at the woman speaking like she hung the moon and she couldn’t be more clueless.
I wonder if my fate is the same as the poor bastard clutching his fragile little arm.
At what point would it be considered pathetic for me to still be waiting for Love? I sigh and look up at the ceiling, ready to teleport home when a flash of pink pops before me.
“I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Are you ready to go?” she says quickly, and I finally get to look at her.
She’s always beautiful. But tonight, she’s magnificent.
Her long pink hair curls down her back, and the dress she’s wearing sparkles and shows off every spectacular curved inchof her body. I have to actively not stare at the breasts she has pushed up high in the dress. Instead, I look at her face, her pretty heart shaped face, and bright pink eyes.
“You look stunning, Love,” I tell her and she smiles.
“Thank you, you look handsome,” she replies softly.
“Would this be a bad time to ask for my second arrow request?” I ask her and she smiles and shakes her head.
“Valentine’s Day is the best day for love matches, you know. Who did you have in mind?” she asks.
I turn my body and hold out my arm to the room.
I don’t have to speak as Love assesses the situation.
“It’s not unrequited, you know,” she tells me, answering a question I didn’t ask. “She just needs a little push.”
Love opens her purse, pulling out a single arrow, no bow to be seen. She’s gentle as she pokes the woman’s hip with it. Just like last time, I watch in amazement as something clicks with the woman before us. She looks down at the man who has his arm in a cast and it’s almost like it’s the first time she truly sees him.
The man notices immediately and smiles at her.
“Amy, do you think after I get discharged we could go out for dinner?” he asks boldly.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” the woman responds with a breathy voice.
“Yeah, I know,” the man replies, his confidence somehow surfacing at this moment.
“Yeah, okay. I think I’d like that very much.”
He grins at her, and she leans down and kisses his cheek. The man looks like his world finally makes sense with that one small touch.
When I look over at Love I find her staring at me with a grin on her face.
She holds out her small pink hand to me. There are no words between us, it’s almost like she can read the insecurities rolling through me.
