7 days before Valentine

1

13th of February.

At 11:59 pm.

"It's the last minute of the day, and the last favor as well. Choose, and tell me. Whom - will - you - erase? Choose wisely, because it's the last request. Whether or not he will return to you depends on what you ask for."

Finishing his statement, Scythupid, the Cupid of Death, contentedly jiggles his feet in his seat on the swivel chair at the end of my bed, waiting for the answer. I relive the memory of the past six nights from the midnight of the 7th until now, vivid as present. The 13th is nearing the end, with only one minute until the calendar changes to Valentine's Day.

In the past six nights, I have made my wishes, asking the Scythupid to erase six people. You see, my desperate attempt to get "him" back. I'm unsure if I can actually call it "making a wish," because asking such a heretical angel to "erase" someone from this world sounds too atrocious to be called a wish.

But I have no idea what else to name it.

The hand on the clock that marks the second now points at "6" on the clock face. Thirty seconds have elapsed. Only half a minute left before the magical moment expires.

Tonight is the last night. It's time for the last wish. Time for me to make the decision on the last person I will get to erase.

And I have decided.

"Mister Scythupid...I want..."

.........

7th of February.

Near midnight.

He's - not - answering - my - call.

I pitch the cellphone to the foot end of my bed. Not trying to break it, though. I just want to let off my steam while also refraining from ruining my phone. It's expensive. I don't want to buy a new one.

It's a tough time, I can barely earn enough to live month by month. At this rate, I'm afraid I can't afford a new phone.

Anyway, I'm angry. Oh, maybe the word angry doesn't quite fit. I'm upset, rather.

It is a mixture of negative feelings. Anger. Grief. Disappointment. Devastation. It's like just about every bad emotion bands together to pick on me and it's become so burdening that today my legs can no longer support the weight of my body.

I haven't gotten out of bed in the morning and now I'm still in it, praying yesterday was just a dream.

But it wasn't. This is the truth.

He has a new lover.

Worse yet, he did it behind my back. He has someone else and they've been talking for quite a while. I don't know when or where it even began. It just hit me yesterday night when we were supposed to spend time together. He showed up only briefly to tell me he couldn't stand me anymore. He wanted to break up, and he had a new lover now.

"Well...he's waiting for me. I gotta go." Then, he bit his bottom lip, looking anywhere but into my eyes. "Look, we shared a lot of wonderful memories through these five years we were together, so I want us to part nicely."

Internally, I argued, screaming there's no way we could part nicely. That's absurd! How the hell could anything be nice when we had to part ways? I hate the phrase "part nicely."

"Meaning...we're breaking up?"

"Can we still be friends?"

His reply wasn't the answer I wanted. Actually, it wasn't an answer to my question at all. And though I said earlier that I hate "part nicely," now I'll tell you I hate "can we still be friends?" even more, several-fold more.