It was the same routine every year. The hopelessness she felt always reared its ugly head the day before everyone was supposed to find their soulmate. She hated Valentine’s Day, though she wasn’t always this way. She remembered a time when red roses were her very favorite. Now, she preferred the thorns over the soft velvety petals. He had ruined it for her, made her feel less than perfect, and given her background, it was so easy to do, then vanished from her life, without a trace, just like all the others. That’s when she decided men weren’t worth the trouble.
Until that one day, when Mr. Perfect showed up at the office, with a big smile, chatting away with the receptionist. He caught her staring, smiled, causing her to blush and sit down in her chair. It felt like so long since she had a reaction like that, she didn’t know what to do. Looking up, he was standing there, still grinning. She licked her lips, then caught herself and cleared her throat. He was a smooth talker and eventually talked her into meeting for dinner on Wednesday night, both seemingly forgetting what day it was.
When the red roses arrived at her desk on Valentine’s Day, she purposely pricked her finger, watching the blood ooze. She licked the red liquid, savoring the flavor. Reading the card, she smiled. He would never know what he was in for. After all, red, was her favorite color.
February Writing Prompt: Desperate Obligations – Day 13/28
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