Every day in Cupidale is the same.
Pink, miserable, and annoying.
Every pink motherfucker here is so happy, and I’m the one they all avoid. Long ago, I tried my hand in being a matchmaking cupid, but I didn’t have the gusto for it. Then I tried working in retail and I was even worse at that. But it was extremely hard when the customer is never actually fucking right. Apparently, my skill set lies in being the bitch that gatekeeps the Head Cupid’s office.
I sigh as I take a bite of the overly sweet croissant and take my place in my worn-in pink chair and wait for the man himself to get into the office.
Cupio shouldn’t be the only highlight of living in this cotton-candy-cesspool—but he is.
While he might be Head Cupid, he isn’t overly excitable like the other cupids. He understands that life isn’t all about love, rainbows, and bullshit. It doesn’t hurt that he’s ridiculously handsome and smart.
He just never notices me. At least, not in the way I want him to. He appreciates me as his secretary, always bringing me coffee and treats to thank me for my work. But just like everyone else, he doesn’t dive deeper.
I know what people say about me. That I’m a bitch, that they don’t know how I was ever stationed as a cupid in the afterlife. What’s even worse is I’ve thought the same thing myself hundreds of times. At this point, I feel too far removed from the cupid community. I don’t see how I’ll ever fit in.
I take off my glasses and wipe them with a pink microfiber cloth before putting them back on.
As soon as the pink cat-eyed glasses are back in place, Cupio is putting my coffee on my desk. He looks devilishly handsome today, wearing a rolled up pink dress shirt, covered by a deep pink harness that’s tucked into his trousers. His hair is darker pink on the top and fades to a lighter, nearly white-pink around his sideburns and beard.
“What’s on the schedule today, Birdie?” he asks, calling me by my nickname. I swallow thickly and clear my throat. A nickname shouldn’t be important to me, but it is. He’s the only man who’s ever made me want to be slightly softer—but only for him.
“The annoying happy one has a meeting with you in an hour,” I grate out.
Love is the quintessential cupid, and it’s probably wrong to hate her for it, but I don’t really care. I know it’s rooted in jealousy. At least I’m aware of my endless character flaws. She’s so happy to be a cupid and to make Cupidale the best place it can be, while I just feel hopelessly lost.
I don’t belong here. Being an outcast has started to weigh on me, am I truly incapable of experiencing true love? It makes me feel like a defective cupid, and I’m not sure how to turn this around. Maybe it’s because of the introduction of inter-veil relationships and everyone seemingly being able to find their person, but I just feel lost.
“Play nice, Birdie,” he says, pushing the coffee closer to me on the desk.
“Why do I feel like you have worse news?”
“After my meeting with Love, there might be an influx of work needed to plan an event. I’d need you to work alongside her and I’d be a big part of the planning as well,” he says, and I wrinkle my nose.
Cupio gives me a bright smile, and I narrow my eyes at him.
He sits on the corner of my desk and holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t even know if I’m going to agree to her proposal, but you’re the best at being realistic,” he says, and I look away for a moment, wondering if it’s a compliment or a diss. “I need someone I can trust to make sure things are safe and orderly.”
“She’s annoying,” I reply sharply.
His smile lightens up his features as his eyes crinkle ever so slightly.
“I’m doing my best to keep the cupids happy,” Cupio says and I wonder even more what his meeting with Love is about.
“What about you?” I ask him, the words just slipping out of me like nonsense.
Cupio tilts his head at me and sighs. “I’m fine, Ladybird.” He stands and dusts off his pants and grabs his own coffee. We both know it’s a lie. He’s been going through so much lately and just continues to run this ridiculous town. “Just play nice, okay?”
“I can be nice,” I say, though it feels like a lie.
“I know you can, Birdie,” he replies, and it seems like he genuinely means it, before heading to his office and shutting the door.
I stare at his door as I grab my coffee and take a sip. It’s exactly how I like it. Too many of the cupids ply their coffee with way too much sugar, but this is just the right amount of hazelnut and cream. I remind myself he brings me the coffee because he appreciates my work, not because he wants to see me naked.
No one in this horned up town wants to, and it makes me feel even more miserable.
A groan escapes me and my mood worsens as a male cupid named Arrow comes strolling through the elevator doors and strutting over to my office.
Cupio is the only male cupid I can tolerate in this realm. I swear I have to swallow back coffee flavored vomit as Arrow leans down on my desk.
