Page 5 of Be Mine

My skin prickles when he nears, the distinguishable scent of blood and death carried with him like an ominous cloud. An involuntary shiver rolls down my spine as I feel the subtle brush of his butcher’s coat against my back. Keeping my eyes downcast, my hands clutch the soapy fork and knife until I hear the click of the lunchroom door close. Loosening my hold, they clamor to the bottom of the sink.

I grip the countertop so firm my knuckles whiten. I thought coming to work would settle my mind, put me at ease, but my nerves are wracked. Looking up to the ceiling, I breathe deeply through my nose, holding it in my lungs until they feel they’re about to burst.You’re fine. Just get through this day.I repeat the mantra in my head as I repeat the breathing process, focusing on slowing my heart.

The idea of food right now is revolting, so I pull the container of fettuccine from the microwave, fasten the lid, and chuck it back into my lunch pail. I resign to flopping in a chair, slumping over the table, folding my arms underneath my cheek, and watching the clock tick away the minutes until my lunch is over.

***

“You have a delivery,” Taylor singsongs when I return from my break. I halt in my tracks, my pulse instantly increasing ten-fold.

“What is it?”

She motions towards my table where a bouquet of a dozen gorgeous, long stem red roses sits on my station, wrapped in black paper with tiny red hearts.

“Did you see who delivered it?”

“Yeah, it was La from the floral department.”

Maybe I’m overreacting. I’m so jumpy from this morning, which like the officer said, was probably just a cruel joke. But still, everything has me on high alert.

Picking up the bouquet and examining the flowers, they’re truly exquisite. The shade is closer to burgundy, the petals tight and as soft as velvet.

“It has a card. Open it,” Taylor says, peeking over my shoulder.

I’m afraid to. Utterly fucking terrified.

I slip the card from the envelope. It looks innocent enough, black card stock embellished with a red border, until I turn it over, the message sending a jolt of dread through me at high velocity.

I’d kill to be your Valentine

XO

“Oh, shit, looks like someone knows about your horror kink.” Taylor laughs as she walks back to the bakers’ racks.

It’s no secret I love all things horror, but still, this feels unrelated. This feels like someone is fucking with me, and I can’t figure out who would want to terrorize me like this. I look over the glass cake displays, into the aisles, but no one stands out. It’s just a bunch of ordinary customers pushing carts around the store. And at this time of day, it's still mostly elderly and mothers with young children shopping.

Pushing off the counter, I call out to Taylor that I’ll be right back. I’m heading over to floral. I need to talk to La, see ifshe knows who placed the order. Maybe it can help me connect the dots.

La is tying off a heart balloon to a beautiful spray of flowers in a vase when I reach her, her long black hair obscuring her face as she works. The entire fridge is packed with orders. Like me, she is overwhelmed today.

“Hey, La,” I call out to her. Her name is actually Lauren, but someone along the way nicknamed her La, and it’s stuck.

“Hey, girl, you get your valentine?” She straightens, giving me a knowing smile as she makes curls in the ribbons with her scissors. She’s an artist in her own right, making gorgeous arrangements for everyone’s special occasion.

“Yeah, about that. Did that order get placed in person, or…” I trail off.

“I don’t know, I just saw the form in my folder for the day. Why? You don’t know who sent them to you?” She sets the scissors down, propping her elbows on the table to look at me.

“Actually no. I was hoping you could help me out.”

“I still have the slip here, let me check.” She sifts through a pile of order forms, pulling a pink slip from the stack. We both lean against the table to get a better look at it.

“Someone on the afternoon shift took the order. It doesn’t have a name or phone number, just says to deliver to the bakery at lunch. And they paid with cash, so no card on file.”

“Shit.” I straighten, my eyes again scanning the floor, narrowing on any customers or grocery clerks that stand out, but I come up empty handed.

“Why, what’s up? I thought the bouquet and card were kinda cute. Especially for our little goth bitch.” She nudges me with her shoulder teasingly, and if it wasn’t for everything that went down when I left for work this morning, I would think it was cute, too. I’d love them, actually. But now? It sends a chill right through me.

“No, you’re right. They’re stunning. And perfect.” I laugh, though there’s no true humor behind it. “I just hoped I could thank whoever sent them.”

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