"Don't, because if you fail, all the love in the world will disappear.” He watches me carefully as I ponder over the ominous things he's saying. “Right along with every arrow I've shot.”
Truthfully, it doesn't make sense.
If I accept the challenge he's presented before me and fail, all of the world's love will simply vanish? I get he's Cupid—though I'm still skeptical in regards to that—but can he even do that? Surely there are limits to what he can control when it comes to matters of love?
The obvious thing to do is decline.
If I don't play along, there's no chance for failure.
Unless there's something he’s not telling me…
“What happens if I don't accept?” I study him carefully, awaiting his answer, looking for any tells of a lie.
“Now where's the fun in that, Lennon?” Eros pouts, his face becoming gloomy like the overcast sky.
I'm starting to get the impression that he's bored, looking for a way to spice up his day-to-day life. That he's grown tired of aimlessly wandering while shooting people with arrows of love across the globe. Wait, is he even the only Cupid? I mean, I get he's not snared to one night the way parents—and the world—made us believe Santa Claus was as children. He doesn't journey across the world, hitting as many people with shots of love as he can in a day.
I just figured he would be a bit too busy to be igniting games for his own enjoyment.
“I have a lot of questions that you will answer before I decide anything, but not here.” My teeth are starting to chatter from the cold, and I flinch when another gust of wind blasts me with cold.
It's gotten colder in the fifteen minutes we've been talking, and lying down in the snow earlier was stupid of me.
The snow melted away from my back, leaving a cold dampness behind.
That's starting to freeze.
He still stands unfazed by the elements, looking as if he's been toasty and warm, sitting inside some coffee shop watching the world pass him by.
He's probably been out here for at least double the time we've been talking.
The cold should be affecting him, yet it's not.
I file that information into my observation of whether or not he's really Cupid; so far I'm leaning towards yes.
There's a chance that this is just a dream, that I slipped on some ice on my way out the door this morning. I could be lying unconscious on my front porch or in a hospital bed at this very moment. Having a weirdly realistic dream about Cupid because I have Valentine's Day on the brain.
“Very well then, where do you wish to have this conversation?” Eros asks.
“You seem immune to the cold, but we, not Cupid's, tend to exhibit the beginning stages of frostbite if we remain in the cold for a certain amount of time. So I could really use a hot chocolate right about now to warm up. So how about we talk about this at Lou’s?”
I start to walk away before he can respond. I glance over my shoulder to see if he's following; he's confused but following.
“Who is this Lou person?”
Pulling my scarf back above my nose, I exhale a laugh.
“What? What's so funny?” He comes to my side, looking puzzled.
“Lou's isn't a person; it's a place.”
“Oh.”
He falls in line, silently trudging behind me as I push my way through the bushes. I veer off to the left to avoid the dip in the ground that I used to trip over. It took me some time to learn how to navigate through this small expansion of foliage next to the park, and my skin is decorated with many small scars from my efforts. The worst one I have is beneath my thumb, on the palm of my hand. My foot had gotten caught on some exposed roots, and I failed to catch myself on a branch.
It broke and decided it wanted blood as payment for the damages I accidentally caused.
Eight stitches later, and I learned to watch my steps better.
We exit a thin treeline, and right across the street is Lou’s, the name displayed in big red letters on the roof.
“Ohh, so that's Lou's.” Eros nods his head in understanding.
Then he moseys his way to the street, crossing without any regard for the traffic. I blink, dazedly watching him weave and spin around traffic like he has zero qualms about danger.
When he comes dangerously close to being run over, someone blares their car's horn.
“Use the crosswalk, you idiot!” An angry Mom stops to shout from her minivan window; her kids wear a jaw-dropped expression in the back seat. “Do not follow by example, kids; doing something reckless like that guy—”
She drives off before we can hear the rest of her speech.
On a red light, I look both ways, finding it clear, and I jog across the street. Eros stands, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, grinning when I come to stand next to him.
“Do not walk in front of traffic next time, Pyro!” I scold, smacking him in the shoulder hard.
“Why? Because someone has something better to do than scrape my corpse off some pavement?” Eros rolls his eyes, looking over at me the way a teenager does when their parents have done something to annoy them.
“No, dumbass, because you could have been seriously hurt!”
Angrily, I march my way to the diner, yanking the door open and rushing inside and out of the cold. The door closes behind me with a silent swoosh, and I glare at Eros through the glass as I tap the tip of my toes on the mat by the door, banging off the excess snow.
“Lennon! You're later than usual for your daily cup of hot cocoa; you didn't trip in those damn bushes again, did you?” Jazzy grasps my shoulders with firm hands, gaze flickering over me for any new injuries.
Eros enters the diner, mimicking my actions by tapping his shoes off.
“I'm fine, just ran into a Pyro on the way here.” I pull my scarf down and then point a thumb over my shoulder.
“So you just decided a stranger lighting fires would make a good friend?!” Jazzy’s eyes widen, and then she pulls me away from him.
An idea forms in my head, a way I can get back at him for scaring me moments ago. I fight my grin as I rapidly think up some crazy, elaborate tale, one that will hopefully leave him gobsmacked.
“Oh, he's truly a pitiful soul, Jazzy. He got rejected by twelve different girls again. It's not because they had dates for tonight. He even bought them all a dozen roses! Poor guy was bawling his eyes out from all the rejection when I found him burning the roses in a park’s grill. He was shedding enough trees that he was able to put out the fire after he had no more flowers to burn.” I smile encouragingly as I pat Eros on the back. “Don't worry, there's always next year! I'm sure your cats won't reject your company four years in a row.”
Eros is silently staring at me, and I start to wonder if I took this just a little too far.
“I still can't believe even February rejected me.” His shoulders droop, head dropping forward as he makes sniffling sounds.
“February?” Jazzy whispers, eyes darting between the two of us baffled.
“Lennon is right; I was rejected by my cats. I just wanted to spend this night curled up on the couch with a fuzzy cuddle buddy, watching romantic comedies! Was that too much to ask for? Instead I was rejected by my cats, all twelve of them. January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, and even December!”
Eros catches me off guard by laying his head onto my shoulder, his shaking as he fake sobs into my neck.
“You named your cats after the months?” Jazzy blinks, not sure what to do in this situation.
“Yes! I couldn't just buy one cat or two, naming them after only two months. I needed twelve so I could say I have a year of cats.” Eros groans, frustrated that she even asked such a dumb question.
“You both are joking, right?”
“Well, I was, but now I'm not so sure.” I say, poking Eros in the head to get him off me.
“Okay, I'll let you two figure that out then; I have customers to help. Take a seat anywhere, and your hot chocolate will be out shortly.” Jazzy waves over her shoulder as she leaves, heading off to help someone.
“Thanks, Jazzy!”
Eros instantly straightens once she's gone, unruffled by the dramatic performance he's just put on.
“You know, I'm actually more of a dog person.” He whispers in my ear, lips a breath away from touching my skin, then he strides over to a booth.
Traveling the short distance to the booth, I unravel my scarf from around my neck, pulling my coat off after. I neatly place them both on the bench across from him, then settle in to wait for my hot chocolate.
“So I have questions.”
“So you've said.”
“Are there by chance other Cupids?” I ask, watching as he sheds his leather jacket.
Eros tosses his jacket over the table and onto mine, then he leans back into the bench. His fingers tap on the table before reaching out for a sugar packet from a tray next to the wall.
“No, not that I know of.” He rips the packet open, tipping the contents into his mouth.
It's like he told me earlier he's being plagued by truthfulness, and I don't know if he means that literally or metaphorically. Either way, he hasn't given me the impression yet that he's outright lied, proving he's possibly crazy?
Absolutely, yes.
Has he lied?
No.
Then he really could wipe love from existence on a whim; if that's the case, then why hasn't he yet? Why create this elaborate challenge? We've only just met, and there's a chance we never would have to begin with. So does that mean he was simply waiting for someone to pass by, to grow curious about what he's doing, then issue a challenge that decides love's fate?
That doesn't sound right either.
I feel like there's more to this than what he's making it seem.
I just don't know what it is yet.
“Why issue me this challenge? I was just a stranger, still am, that could have passed by without stopping out of curiosity. It's not like you needed me; you could just make love disappear whenever. So are you just bored?”
“No.”
Eros goes for another packet of sugar, but I pull the tray away.
“Then why?” I ask, not pleased with his one-word answer.
“Does it really matter?” He brushes a hand through his hair, frustration starting to seep from his pores.
“Yes!”
Heads turn in our direction, and I smile apologetically, and they return to their food.
“Fine, I hate love, alright? I'm so sick of being the one shooting arrows at couples and watching them say they'll love each other for eternity. It's all lies; they cheat or fall out of love and eventually break up. Even the love I don't shoot arrows for I'm sick of. It makes me nauseous watching how terrible people treat each other and how quickly love seems to fade for everyone. Don't they realize how lucky they are to even have someone they can love? Instead they take it all for granted.” Eros hands ball up into a fist, a sugar packet crinkling in his grasp, and a muscle in his jaw twitches.
Jazzy chooses that moment to drop our hot chocolates off, but sensing the tense atmosphere, she quickly leaves.
So he wants love to disappear because he hates it?
And he challenged me because deep down I think he's hoping to change his mind.
“Fine, I accept your challenge, Pyro,” I tell him, blowing across the surface of my steaming mug of liquid chocolatey goodness.
The tension leaves Eros, and he unclenches his fingers, wrapping them around his own mug. He picks it up, not even bothering to blow on it, and takes a gulp and immediately starts coughing. Hot chocolate drips down his chin, and I quickly reach for a napkin, handing it over.
“Gosh, that's disgustingly sweet.” He swipes the napkin across his chin, crumples it up, and tosses it down onto the table.
“You seriously just ate straight-up sugar like two seconds ago.” I huff, exasperated.
“So what, petal?”
I just roll my eyes and take a sip; I guess Cupid’s not a hot chocolate fan.