Valen­tine’s Day: A Short Story

1 p.m.: 

This Valen­tine’s Day, I find my­self sit­ting at my desk, star­ing into the dis­tance – al­though “dis­tance” should be re­ferred to by its proper name – Grant. We’ve been to­gether for al­most three months. I’ve never caught Grant star­ing back at me, yet I of­ten­times feel as though some­one’s eyes are on me. Yes­ter­day, he asked me if he could cook din­ner for me tonight. He told me he would come to my house and cook my fa­vorite meal. Of course, I said yes.  

3 p.m.: 

“I’m head­ing out, I’ll see you later, okay?” I looked up at Grant. I gave him the key to my apart­ment and let him know he was wel­come to start prepar­ing din­ner when­ever he wanted since I had to work late tonight. I was­n’t look­ing for­ward to stay­ing late – not only be­cause of the nor­mal rea­sons one hates to stay late, but also be­cause Sam would be stay­ing late as well. That guy gives me the creeps.  

5 p.m.: 

Still dread­fully en­grossed in my work and try­ing to ig­nore the creepy ad­vances of Sam – who has not once, but 12 times (yes, I kept track) asked me on a date tonight, to which I po­litely de­clined – who be­grudg­ingly packed up his work and left.  

7 p.m.: 

I get a text from Grant on my way home, “Can’t wait to see you!” it reads. I pull into the park­ing garage and make my way to my apart­ment. I open the door to dim lights, can­dles, and rose petals strewn on the floor. I did­n’t ex­pect Grant to go to all this trou­ble. I fol­low the trail of petals to the kitchen table. Grant is nowhere to be found. I sit at the table and take a quick bite of my food. I look up as I hear foot­steps com­ing down the hall. 

“Hello So­phie,” Sam says; he grins.  

“Where is Grant?” I cau­tiously get up from the table, I start to feel dizzy. 

“No nice to see you? I see. Grant is… around,” he walks closer to­ward me; my vi­sion is get­ting hazy. I don’t like this; I be­gin to back up and search out of the cor­ner of my eye for some­thing to de­fend my­self with.  

“What did you do to Grant?” I slowly reach for a kitchen knife; I can feel my heart pound­ing in my chest and my hands are get­ting clammy. 

“Oh, don’t worry. He won’t bother us,” he grins big­ger and reaches out to grab me. With the knife in my hand I slip un­der his out­stretched arms and run to­wards the hall­way; I trip but catch my­self. Sam grabs at the back of my shirt but I pull away. My stom­ach be­gins cramp­ing and I can barely see; my vi­sion is black­ing out. I can hear Grant try­ing to call for help. Sam is chas­ing me down the hall­way – I reach the bed­room door; it’s locked. I can hear Grant be­hind it. Sam grabs me as I reach to open the door.  

I wake up be­fore I find out what hap­pens.