Lovers’ Quarrel

Today is a death.

A funeral decorated in red roses and pink hearts. A trail of rose petals lead to a black velvet casket where love now rests in peace. A piece it once took from me because it was desperation dressed in fast fashion. Designer name - Desire. Little did I know. My own ignorance played me and I caught the STD of shame. The Doctor called and confirmed. Said there was a cure. He told me I had to break free.

The love I once knew kept my heart in a malnourished state. He always took me out to a fine-dining establishment where I was only allowed to fill up on appetizers of breadcrumbs and a glass half empty of sparkling champagne. On the wine bottle was my name and Love slurped every last drop up like fine wine with his silver tongue; barely giving me a taste. Quickly, my glass became empty, but my gas-lit state of altered consciousness convinced my heart my glass was half full.

When the main course came, the waiter gave his best performance. Love had orchestrated a red curtain experience where I watched the service dance and twirl before me under the moonlight at dinner time as if we were on Broadway. I was the paying audience, the core target, and my applause was vital, along with my time. “Pay me!” Love’s heart secretly screamed at me, but I quickly became deaf from the standing ovation my heart gave to the performance that stood before me. “What did you say?” my subconscious urged me to speak. I was no longer in tune with myself as I became lost in the experience. Alice in Wonderland. Call me Stevie, I was stuck in wonder, however I never gave much thought to superstition.

“It’s all in your imagination.” Love’s heart sang hymns of praise to me as he sat across the table with hungry eyes and a smirk of a smile, as he never liked to show his teeth. Insecurity. Compassion held my heart in a chokehold. Little did I know he played me against my will like a puppet on a string. Puppeteer. Out of my own mouth, Love spoke for me. Ventriloquist.

Love sat before me, yet always had a knack for hiding his hand. They called him Ace as he always carried a stack of cards. Love showed me how to play, but I could never catch on. I was never very good at playing this game no matter how many times he showed me. I could never call his bluff. Oblivious. He called me Clueless. Innocent until proven guilty was my motto, I never held Love at the stake, he surely had pure intentions. He held my hand on the Holy Bible, he told me, “Anything you do or say can and will be held against you.” Little did I know what was about to ensue. Love asked me, “Would you like to play a game of Clue?”

“Oh, no thank you.” I politely declined. “I don’t see myself as being good at murder mysteries. I’m not good at picking up on cues.”

“I see.” He chimed.

As the theatrical experience came to a close, placed in front of me with white-gloved hands was a silver platter. My reflection stared back at me, my heart clearly worn on my sleeve. I always carried it around. My heart was my accessory. Taken out for every occasion as a dog on a leash. Quick to jump in the arms of an inviting stranger. A good scratch, lots of surface level love, a quick goodbye, and a hasty carry on. Everybody loved me, yet no one stuck around. Everybody praised me, however I was only ever four legs on the ground. A sit, a stay, an occasional “good girl” kept me around. Submissive. I desired to please Love. I was coerced to obey.

“A dish best served cold.” left the waiter’s lips as he lifted the lid, exposing an empty plate. Puzzled. I had trouble putting the pieces together between my experience and what reality had presented. I looked at Love’s plate. Lo and behold, his plate was full. As it should be. I only ever did what I was told. Confused. My plate was still empty though Love invited me to a full course meal. Speechless. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He spoke as he ate from a plate fit for a king. Paralyzed. I was unable to move. It would be rude of me to leave. The amount of effort, time, and money spent had entrapped me. Surely, the restaurant just got my order wrong. No big deal.

Love finished his meal, taking the final bite, scraping his plate clean. I looked around at neighboring couples. Overhead dim lights illuminated their tables bright. Both plates full. Laughter and smiles filled their air. Smoke and mirrors filled mine. No disguise met their night.

“I think there’s been a mistake.” I pushed my plate away to show him. Masked magician. Love became sly.

“Nonsense. I ordered ahead.” His eyes gleamed, his smirk smiling back to me. “Your meal was exactly what it was supposed to be.”

“Then why is my plate empty?”

“You ask too many questions. Waiter, check, please.”

Maybe he was right. It was all in my head. As I thought back at the beauty of the night, I realized I should have stayed quiet, instead. "Ungrateful brat.” echoed in my head.

“Why is what I do for you not enough?” Discomfort set in. The light that illuminated our table started to dim. The waiter strutted over to our table with a subtle confidence. “Sir, we overheard your conversation. The meal is on the house.”

“What a pleasant surprise. My compliments to the chef!” The state of my mental quickly declined. “Relay the message yourself.” The waiter quickly winked his eye to Love and left. Love leaned back and folded his hands. Was Love displeased with me? I needed to win him back. My existence relied on him. Suddenly, no one was in sight except for Love and I. He said, “I purposely planned this for tonight. By the way, the head chef is a lifelong friend of mine.”

Intrigue reignited the flame in my heart. I quickly forgot he snuffed my candle from the start. I was convinced I did it to myself. Love was being so kind to me when all I did was doubt. Quickly to my problem was the answer he became. “I’m sorry,” I spoke. How dare I ever question the key to my ignition. Silence. The light at the table continued to dim. Love’s presence quickly became cold. The abhorrent ringing in my ears made me deaf to my own intuition. Anxiety plagued my atmosphere. “I love you.” quickly blurted out of my mouth. I was desperate to break the ice of Love’s stonewalled silence. Premature confession birthed out of the womb of toxic entanglement. The nutrients of Love’s placenta - poison. Love once confided in me his life was short. All Love required now to live was a quick fix. He always jumped from lover to lover. Love I knew always jumped ship. Past lovers always left him. Or so he said. His past was a continuous mystery. He guaranteed me he recovered. Soul Ties Anonymous. Love assured me I was the love of his life. I was his only cure. He loved me expediently. However, tonight, he only continued to stare.

The head chef appeared. “My friend! I hope our special tonight did not leave you disappointed.”

“No, no. Everything was as usual. It seems miss Queen, here, did not care.” Under pressure. Love became smug as he guided chef’s attention to me. Spotlight. Seeing myself embarrassed, Love finally showed his wolf-toothed grin. I shifted in my seat. Pressure is rising and I’m sure Love no longer finds me inviting. Love surely hates me.

“My condolences, Miss. I can assure you this man has exquisite taste.” Chef assured me, dismissing my case.

“Everything was perfect.” I gave in. “May I ask the name of this delightful meal?” I questioned.

“Ah, yes. It’s the chef’s special.” Love spoke up, clearly amused. He was watching my every move as if I was his opponent. Chess being his choice of game. Checkmate. He leaned forward, hands placed on the table awaiting to deliver his final blow as a ship blowing its whistle as it prepares to dock. “Land ho!” Anticipation built up. Love quickly became my drug. Addicted to the highs, terrified of the lows. Love had rescued me. Love who sat before me was my hero.

The light became so dim, I could barely make out Love’s silhouette. “Love helped me curate this meal specifically. We once called it ‘Love at First Sight’ but seeing its success accompanied with rising deaths, we coined the name - ‘Love Bomb.’” Love and chef laughed in unison. My glass heart shattered and blew out the flame. I was given no time to brace for impact. Shocked. I sat in despair. Light had completely disappeared. Darkness had now kissed the night. It was now time for me to say goodbye, but their voices I could no longer hear.

“A dish best served cold.” arose in my memory like a flashback of a Vietnam war veteran with PTSD. That’s when realization hit me in the head as the bullet did with J.F. Kennedy. I was left alone in the dark paying for a check comprised of broken promises Love once spoke to me. Sweet little nothings. The Love I met left my heart hostage in debt and he held a gun to my head. No bullet in the gun, safety on. Empty threats. I was paying a price with constant rising interest. I had never acquired insurance, leaving me responsible for damages of an irresponsible lover with a hidden track record of broken hearts. My world was a casino called ‘Freedom’ where love was the game and I was the gambler. It wasn’t until morning came when I had found out the design of the game was stolen and rigged from its Creator so I could never win. I had invested so much interest, I became addicted.

Stuck in a dream-like state.

Wake up!

It’s still night.

My intoxication wore off.

Cold and bare.

Why am I here?

Alone.

The light of dawn is here.

In a low-lit room, in a half empty bed.

What lies on the other side, a body imprint.

I could no longer see the love I once knew in front of me.

He took what he required of me and left.

Morning came.

Light exposed.

“Paper! Paper! Get your paper!”

‘Breaking News!” it read.

Title, ‘Murder Mystery: Love is Dead’

“Ladies and gentlemen, we gather here today to mourn this loss in peace. I am now set free from a love I once knew who held me in captivity.”

Yours Truly,

Happy Valentine’s Day.