Hello Stranger: 571 words

I welcomed the puff of heat in my face as I raced inside the drug store. The smell of Lysol and chocolate meant that Valentine’s Day was just around the corner. I pulled off the cashmere mittens, and stuffed them in my pockets. I ran up the aisle to grab the bag of popcorn, a chocolate bar and a soda. I bypassed the valentine aisle; I had no love to share with anyone this year.
Thinking about last February, made me nervously reach my hand and run it through my hair. A black strand of hair crossed between my fingers, “Great,” I thought, “I’ll probably be going bald soon.” Whenever I thought about Henry, a cold dagger jabbed me in the back, and my heart felt like it deflated. I feared that every stab was bringing me closer to death; people died of broken hearts. My heart had been bruised and battered. I, Selina Denoncourt, had been a rose blooming in the warm sun of Henry’s love, but the last year without had been like a blizzard that breaks the fragile rose, and leaves behind thorns. I was left with hurt, bitterness and pain, and the hole got deeper unable to escape.
I stood in line with the twenty other people buying junk food, drugs and personal items, my mind wandered. I glanced in the mirror behind and the clerk, and caught my reflection. I felt for a moment, I didn’t know the woman in the plaid coat looking back. My eyes looked bright as a candle’s flame in a cave. My pale skin seemed softer against my black hair, with a slight hint of pink on my cheeks. I smiled at my reflection, and for the first time in a year, I looked alive even though my heart was withering inside. Satisfaction caused me to smile. My pain was my secret, and I was glad nobody else had to endure it.
The clerk cleared his throat and reached for my junk food.
I saw my rosy cheeks plump as I smiled, “Sorry, daydreaming.”
“Uh huh, “the pimply faced kid smirked at me.
I tore the wrapper off the chocolate bar, as soon as I went back into the wet, damp February afternoon. The chocolate was thick and sweet as it went down my throat, bringing a small piece of happiness to my soul. Chocolate was like a drug to me, and I needed my fix at least once a week. The thick, sweet chocolate coated my soul with joy. I found myself standing outside the wine shop, as I popped the last piece of chocolate in my mouth.
“I bet that was good,” his voice was smooth, with a slight accent.
“Oh, yeah. This is my guilty pleasure,” I answered, regretting I used the word “pleasure”.
Mansel must have just stepped outside, he said, “Well, you should try some from my shop, their imported. That American stuff isn’t made by artisans.”
“Artisans? I just want a chocolate fix,” I smiled at his arrogance, but he was an elegant man.
“Well, you haven’t lived until you tasted Belgian chocolate. You should put that on your list of things to do before you die.”
I stiffened at his last word, die. I felt that dagger twist again, and my heart deflated. The tiny specks of blue in Mansel’s eyes made me dizzy, as I felt the desire smolder in my blackened heart.