The Crimson String of Fate

The Red String of Fate

Christa prudently applied cherry lip gloss, making sure not to run off her lips. Smooth luscious, irresistible, kissable. Christa admired herself in the bathroom mirror, scanning her reflection for any imperfections. It'd been weeks since she'd seen Dylan and talked to him face-to-face. She'd gotten up four hours early that day to make sure everything was perfect. Her hair in bouncy curls, pearly white teeth, and her skin clear of any visible blemishes.

She remembered fretting over what to wear the night before, or whether she'd accidentally burn her hair off trying to get those perfect magazine cover ringlets, or just the fact that she could've left a large black smear of liquid eyeliner down her face, since her hands had been trembling like crazy. But none of that happened, she felt today was the day, she didn't want to screw it up. She felt that today, Dylan was finally going to get down on one knee and pull out a small velvet box.

Christa looked over herself one last time, feeling that self consciously something was missing. She decided to blow the feeling off, figuring she'd already wasted enough time. She then grabbed her phone and her lanyard filled with keys, closing and locking her apartment door, jingling as she went.

. . . .

Dylan layed back on his bed, rereading the last text message he'd sent to Christa, over and over again. It read, "Hey, are you busy tomorrow? If you're not, meet me in Evergreen Park at 3:00 tomorrow by the set of benches where we first met."

Her reply had been, "Sure, I'll see you tomorrow! Can't wait!" followed by several happy and smiling emojis, with a couple red and pink hearts in between.

Dylan remembered how it had all began. Running into each other by chance, left to be stood up by their original dates. They both instantly hit it off, as if they were old friends meeting again after months of not seeing each other, with lots of new adventures to tell. One thing led to another, hours quickly fading by, he'd ended up with her number, and her with his. And so their relationship blossomed.

He felt sick to his stomach with his heart shrunken and hard. It wasn't that he'd started to dislike her or that he'd found another girl, but things couldn't continue the way they had been. They rarely spoke or went out together. Only briefly chatting through short text messages, with short-lived conversations. Dylan couldn't stand the fact that he was going to shatter her heart into a million fragile pieces, but he knew that it was for the better of both of them, so they could both grow stronger as a person.

But deep down, Dylan's heart was aching and throbbing. After all, Chtista was the first girl he'd actually cared about. Sure, he'd had previous girlfriends but it was going to be hard to just forget about her. He couldn't. He and Christa had known each other since their senior year of high school, and they'd even spent all their years in college together. It's not exactly easy to just forget about someone you've been together with for several years in a row, sharing countless precious memories that you'll never get back.

He reread the message one last time, reassuring himself that he was going to do it, that this was the best solution to the problem. Then it occurred to Dylan, this was probably the last message he'd ever send her. The last time they'd probably ever be an us. He felt a single tear glide down his cheek. He quickly shook the thought out of his head, and wiped the tear away with his sleeve.

Dylan slowly got up and walked over to the full body mirror attached to his closet door. His face had been drained of color, now a ghostly pale. His hair was damp from sweat, making it slightly stick to his forehead. He messed around, fidgeting with the strands trying fix them in place. He sighed and checked his phone for the time. It was probably better off if he left now, so he'd get there an hour before their scheduled rendezvous.