Valentine.

Short Lived.

For full experience, readers are encouraged to read with music.

An hour later, an excited Henry sits facing me as we share a delicious meal at the small, square table brandishing low-lit candles and bouquets.
We are currently at one of my favorite restaurants in town, and I couldn't be happier. Properly thinking about it, I realize I haven't actually smiled this much in a very long time. Henry made me feel...alive...free.

Chuckling at another one of his elaborate jokes, I seductively exclaim from across the table. "No way!" I sing, taking a sip of my drink. We maintain eye contact, and I listen as he tells me about the rest of his crazy encounter with his ex-college roommate who'd just dropped into his office this morning to apply for a job. His short chestnut hair sticks up elegantly into the air, in a messy, yet sexy sort of way. 

I continue to carefully study his features as he carries on with his tale. The way that dimple crinkles the top of his right cheek, or how his lips rest in a constant smirk skewing his Cheshire cat-like grin slightly to the left. He takes my breath away.

His focused yet amused brows etch closer together as he recalls more and more of the 'exciting' details of his story. Dropping down to his plump, pink lips, my eyes take in every little movement. I watch on as his smirk morphs into an enticing, broad smile.

Boy, that smile. One that effortlessly beat the clock and defeated time itself.

I wonder what those soft lips would feel like pressed against my neck.

I am so captivated studying his features, that I almost, just almost, miss the bloodshot-red slowly fuming its way over the whites of his eyes and rapidly surrounding his hazel brown pupils.

Now, it's my turn to frown. Slowly coming out of my obsessive daze, I blink a few times to make sure my imagination isn't running wild again. Henry has stopped talking moments ago, and his reddening face is now frozen in a stunned expression. He looks as if he is being strangled.

"Henry?" I call out to him gently, confused, and worried. Distress shows itself all over his purpling face-as he tries but struggles to speak. Gasping loudly, I allow my eyes to follow the trickles of blood that were now slowly pouring from the corners of his mouth. My heart rate skyrockets, as I continue to follow the liquid trails down to his shirt. 

The once crisp material is now completely soaked in a lethal scarlet hue. Almost matching my dress.

My hand rushes to my mouth, muffling the piercing sobs threatening to escape. I don't even know how to react, or where to begin. Finally snapping alert, I fumble for my phone. My whole body trembling violently, I yell his name over and over again, too afraid to touch him. "HENRY!" I cry once more, too petrified to even move.

Dialing 911 as fast as my panicked fingers allow, I urgently press the phone to my ear. One ring. Two rings. Five rings. I pull the device back and look at my screen, noticing the faltering service signal on the top right of my taskbar. Fuck.

Turning to my surroundings for help, I notice that the once lively restaurant had somehow been completely deserted. No families, no couples, no waiters, no staff. Instead, vacant tables and overturned chairs now litter the dining hall. Plates of food have been left completely unattended and broken pieces of table and glass ware lay strewn every which way.

What the fuck is going on?

It isn't until after one more terrified look at the vacated expression on his deadened face, does the red scar freshly etched into the middle of Henry's forehead, reveal itself.

It can't be. This has to be a dream. No.

No matter how many times I shut my eyes and pinch myself, I am still met with the same bone-chilling vision before me. I already know exactly what this means. A year of running. A year of hiding. A year of trying to forget. All the sufferance, sacrifice, and bloodshed; going to shit in this very moment as the same red letters stare back at me.

"V+L"

I gawk at our initials so delicately carved into a now surely dead Henry's purple-blue flesh. His glazed eyes continue to stare in my direction—Though they're no longer focused on, but behind me.

For the first time in a year, panic seizes me. True panic. Not the one that leaves you with mildly sweaty palms and an increased heartrate, I mean the decapacitating kind. The kind that leaves you frozen to your chair. That moment when your mind has long vacated your body, your soul wishing it could do the same. That kind of panic.

A familiar scent invades my nostrils. One that promises nothing short of death and despair. Even after 12 months, I still remember this suffocating smell of rain and lavender, like it is my own. I can already feel the weight of his discernable heat and presence behind me.

I don't dare turn around. My worst fears have finally come to fruition, my twisted fate catching up to me, alas. He is here. He has come to honor his promise—To reclaim his bride. Ladies and gentlemen, meet my husband...

Valentine.