My Girlfriend Wants My Heart for Valentine’s Day

When my girlfriend first said she wanted my heart forever, I laughed.

It was Valentine’s season, and she’d been in that overly romantic mood all week—pink candles, heart-shaped cookies, cheesy love songs playing in the apartment while she cooked dinner.

Her name was Marissa.

And she took Valentine’s Day very seriously.

A few nights before the holiday, we were sitting on the couch watching some awful rom-com. She rested her head on my shoulder and traced little circles on my chest with her finger.

“You know what I want for Valentine’s Day?” she asked.

“What?” I said.

She looked up at me with this strange, dreamy smile.

“I want your heart forever.”

I chuckled. “You already have it.”

She tilted her head.

“No,” she said softly. “I mean really have it.”

I assumed she meant commitment.

Moving in together. Marriage someday.

So I kissed her forehead and said something stupid like, “We’ll see.”

She didn’t laugh.

She just smiled again.

And whispered, “Good.”

________________________________________

Valentine’s Day started normal enough.

I got home from work and the entire apartment was decorated.

Candles everywhere.

Rose petals across the floor.

Soft music playing in the background.

It looked like something out of a romance movie.

Marissa met me at the door wearing a red dress I’d never seen before.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said.

She kissed me.

Her lips tasted like wine.

“Wow,” I said, looking around. “You went all out.”

She smiled.

“You deserve something special tonight.”

Dinner was incredible.

Steak. Wine. Chocolate dessert.

She kept refilling my glass before it got empty.

At some point during dessert, she took my hand and squeezed it.

“You trust me, right?” she asked.

I laughed.

“Of course.”

She nodded slowly.

“That’s important.”

I don’t remember much after that.

Just the warmth of the wine.

The candles flickering.

Her voice humming along with the music.

Then darkness.

________________________________________

When I woke up, I couldn’t move.

My arms were stretched above my head.

My wrists bound to the bedposts with leather straps.

My ankles tied down too.

For a moment I thought I was dreaming.

“Marissa?” I said.

My voice sounded weak.

She stepped into the bedroom from the hallway.

Still wearing the red dress.

But now there was a plastic apron tied around her waist.

And latex gloves on her hands.

My stomach twisted.

“Hey,” she said gently, like I’d just woken up from a nap. “You’re awake.”

“What is this?” I asked.

She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You drank more wine than I expected,” she said. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up in time.”

“In time for what?”

She brushed a strand of hair off my forehead.

“For Valentine’s Day.”

My pulse started racing.

“Marissa… why am I tied up?”

She looked confused.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?”

Her expression softened with something almost like pity.

“I told you what I wanted.”

My chest tightened.

“You said you wanted my heart,” I said.

“Yes.”

She smiled again.

The same dreamy smile from the couch earlier that week.

“I thought you understood.”

My breathing got faster.

“You were joking.”

“No,” she said quietly.

Then she stood up.

On the nightstand beside the bed was a metal tray.

Surgical tools.

Scalpel.

Forceps.

Something that looked like a bone saw.

My stomach lurched.

“Marissa,” I said, panic creeping into my voice, “this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

She picked up the scalpel and turned it slowly under the bedroom light.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she said softly.

Her voice sounded calm.

Peaceful.

“Most people say they want someone’s heart forever, but they don’t mean it. They let it beat for other people. They let it belong to the world.”

She leaned over me.

Her breath warm against my face.

“I won’t.”

My whole body strained against the restraints.

“You’re insane,” I said.

She sighed.

“No.”

She gently placed her hand on my chest.

Right over my heartbeat.

“This is love.”

My pulse was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“Marissa, please—”

“Shh.”

She pressed a finger to my lips.

“You said I already had your heart.”

Her eyes shone with excitement.

“But tonight,” she whispered, lifting the scalpel slightly,

“I finally get to keep it.”