My Heart

My girlfriend and I have this tradition every year.

I set her down on the couch, I hold her hands in mine, and I ask her what she wants for Valentine’s Day.

She laughs, kisses my cheek, and whispers in my ear,

“All I want is your heart.”

We’ve been dating for five years this summer. We met at a college party. I was a mathematics major and a loner but one of my friends insisted on dragging me to this house party. There was over ninety people in this tiny ass house and I really just wanted to go back home.

But then I met Sonya.

I suppose to some people she was nothing special, with blonde hair that came from a bottle, make up a bit too thick and a skirt a little short. But she caught my attention when she burst out laughing.

It wasn’t obnoxious, and I’m still not sure what she was laughing at, but she was laughing so hard she began to snort. And I thought it was adorable. She didn’t even seem embarrassed by the snorting, she just kept laughing until she held onto her sore sides.

I had to talk to her. I’d managed to slip through the crowd, the hand holding my beer starting to sweat. I’d nearly gotten to her when I’d tripped and spilled beer all over the both of us.

I wanted to die.

Then she wiped some of the beer off her cheek and licked off her finger.

“Mmm. Least I don’t have to get up to get another drink, I’ll just lick it off the both of us!”

I think we both laughed so hard we cried, and that was our ice breaker.

Sonya was an art major with a love of people. She was passionate, and funny, and loved to laugh. She was always up for a quick joke or shitty pun, and I laughed at each one.

I ended up walking home with her, and away from the party I could tell that Sonya was a little drunker than I originally thought. She clung to me and sung loud pop songs off key in my ear and told more jokes, but also peppered in was sexual promises and flirtatious questions.

I was raised by a single mother. A single mother who taught me that if a girl was that drunk, she wasn’t in any state to have sex.

So I took Sonya back to her place and escorted her to the bathroom, told her to shower as she was still sticky with beer. When she came out, wrapped in her bathrobe, I helped her get into bed and placed pain medication with a glass of water on the nightstand.

I tucked her in and went home.

The next morning I was hungover and cursing myself as I didn’t think of asking for her number. The cursing was shortlived though, as I heard someone knock at my door and answered it to find Sonya, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I’d left my wallet at my place. She’d tracked me down thanks to my ID.

I made us breakfast and we sat down to chat.

Our relationship grew after that, fast but sweet. Sonya admitted that she had honestly expected to wake up ravished with me snoring beside her, but remembered what I’d done and decided I was worth it. So we went on a date.

It was honestly perfect. Sonya became my everything. We got along like a house on fire, and she loved my mother. They’d have girl’s nights out and go out for pedicures.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t bond with Sonya’s parents like she bonded with my mother. On our second date, she admitted her parents had passed away when she was sixteen. Illness had claimed them both at once. Ever since then, she had been on her own, although thanks to her art, she had been able to make a decent living for herself. She could do more than paint or draw, she could write, sculpt, whatever involved creation she was a master at it. More than once I became her model, although usually this ended with messy paint sex on the floor of her studio apartment.

The sex was, and still is, amazing. Sonya is a goddess among humans, and this applies to the bedroom. I have to say I was lacking imagination before I met her, but she helped catch me up to speed.

We moved in together three years ago, in which our relationship has only blossomed to be more amazing. And of course, there is our Valentine’s Day tradition. Where I’d ask what she wanted and she’d tell me she wanted my heart.

Of course I can’t actually give her my heart. That would end in me dying, and I think Sonya would like me alive.

I do my best with a substitute though.

This year I managed to break into a morgue and get one, which was lucky for me. For the last two years I actually had to kill someone to get her that damn heart. It was tough work, but I was careful and chose high risk victims, the kind no one misses. I didn’t make them suffer, I’d managed to get a gun and would shoot them in the head. Then after I cut out the heart, which is harder than one would think, I’d dump the body. Last year I’d been lucky and my old fridge died just a few months prior. I stashed the body in there, duct taped it shut, and had it lugged off to the dump. They never found it either. Lucky for me.

It’s always worth the trouble though, when Sonya unwraps the cooler and her eyes go huge. She squeals and throws the top across the room, carefully lifting out the heart. The first year I didn’t know how she’d react, it was so messy and honestly I hadn’t done that good of a job tearing it out. But she knew I wasn’t like her, so she’d kiss me soundly on the lips before she had her dinner.

Let’s hope this year she takes a good look before she eats though. I’d feel like a real asshole if I made my girlfriend choke on her engagement ring.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *