Terrible Lovely Thing BY K. WEBSTER Read online

  Terrible Lovely Thing

  A Short Story by K Webster

  Terrible Lovely Thing

  Copyright © 2020 K Webster

  Cover Design: All by Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This story is a flash fiction piece based on a writing prompt:

  “His laugh sounds like destruction and chaos.”

  It’ll leave your heart full, but still have you salivating for more.

  And so this story begins…

  Deliverer of Death.

  The Grim Reaper.

  Soul Taker.

  Whichever way you spin it, my job sounds much harsher than it truly is. As though I’m some villain everyone fears. Truth is, I’m boring. Quiet. A loner. It’s my path and one I follow without argument. Retrieve those who are meant to die and take them where they’re supposed to go. The only spark in my dull life is when I hold the person’s hand in mine as we travel. Their emotions and warmth surge through me for only a moment, but it’s enough to chase away the aching loneliness.

  Until the next one.

  The repetition is wearing on me, though. I always wonder if there’s more out there in life for Death. Like something’s definitely missing. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even allowed these thoughts. Will the powers that be yank my scythe away and toss me in with the other broken souls bound by eternity in a fiery pit? Or will they grant me mercy and send me with the good ones? Above the clouds and into the warmth?

  Neither interests me.

  What tugs at the loose threads inside my mind are where the people come from. Before Death. During life. In those few moments as I guide them to their new home, they gift me their thoughts and dreams and overwhelming emotions, all of which I’m grateful for. Even as Death, I live all of their lives for a blink of time. I love it, and yet it’s still not enough.

  “It’s time,” I say aloud to the shadows, though they never speak back.

  My heart aches and thunders inside my chest, showing me to my next soul I am to retrieve. I’m about to head toward it, my purpose driving me, when I hear it. Him. Across the planes of reality. Penetrating my muted existence. Tossing color in my black, dark world.

  Red.

  So much red.

  And chuckling.

  His laughter sounds like chaos and destruction.

  Evil. Maniacal. Beautiful.

  I turn my back on the darkness and ignore the light. Instead, I follow the sounds to him. Toward the terrible, terrible lovely thing.

  Man?

  Angel?

  “Cupid.”

  I stare at this Cupid with his pouty pink lips and half-cocked grin. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. Anything so perfect. Dark, messy hair hangs over his brows and his bright blue eyes carve holes inside my withering soul, exposing every hidden part of me. His body is lean but toned, the top half bare of clothing. A leather strap crosses over his chest, settling between his muscular pectorals, holding a quiver of arrows on his back. Golden skin that glistens with sweat and is speckled crimson draws me closer as I am eager to inspect every part of him.

  “Cupid?” I repeat, my own voice a husky whisper.

  “And you?”

  “Death.”

  “Hmph.”

  I cock my head, pondering his obvious irritation. “You give love?”

  “You take it away,” he bites back, rolling his neck on his shoulders. “Don’t you?”

  My scythe feels too heavy to carry. A burden I don’t particularly want anymore. Clarity finds me after who only knows how many eons I’ve endured. Everything is suddenly clear.

  “I never take love,” I explain. “I move it.”

  “You divide,” he accuses.

  I’m not ashamed of my calling. It’s a job. A duty. So why do I feel guilty? Why does this man with dark hair and blue eyes make me feel bad for doing what is necessary?

  “Let me see your face, Death,” Cupid demands, his pink lips twisted in a cruel slash across his face. “Let me see who undoes everything I do. A wicked beast. The end of all beginnings.”

  I drop my scythe to my feet and tug at my black hood. Shame heats my flesh for reasons I can’t begin to ponder. I chance a look at him from beneath my lashes. Am I a monster to Cupid? A horrifying creature who hurts and destroys what he creates?

  His blue eyes aren’t narrowed in anger, no, they’re shining with tears.

  “What is it?” I bite on my bottom lip, my brows furrowing.

  “You’re so…”

  “Terrible?”

  He steps closer and lifts a hand, caressing my cheek with his thumb. Tendrils of excitement flitter through me. Something familiar niggles at me. My flesh heats and I tremble.

  “No, Death,” he murmurs in a soft voice that speaks to every part of me. “Not terrible at all.”

  “What then?”

  “Not what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “To be disgusted.” He sighs. “And I’m not.”

  “What are you then?”

  “Delighted. Even after all this time.”

  I grin and it’s in this moment I wonder if I’ve ever smiled before now. It’s invigorating. Enlightening. “Delighted? Over seeing me?”

  Finally. The word hits me hard enough in the chest I gasp.

  “Someone has to clean up this mess. You’re Death after all.” His eyes narrow as though he’s daring me to argue. “Right?”

  My gaze drifts to the pile of bodies behind him. A bloody massacre. Confusion washes over me. This isn’t part of my job. Something is wrong.

  “What have you done, Cupid?” I rasp out. I turn toward him, my eyes drifting up his bloody chest.

  “I did…I did what I had to do. To stop the never-ending monotony.” He runs a shaky blood-stained hand through his dark hair, making it stick straight in the air. His manic eyes find mine. “To get someone to notice that we’re just part of a vicious cycle that desperately needs ending.”

  “You wanted someone to notice?” I reach a pale white hand toward him. He doesn’t flinch when I run my fingertips through the blood speckles, smearing them. “I noticed.”

  His breath hitches when I ghost my knuckles up the column of his throat and caress his strong, sharp jaw with my thumb. “You’re certainly here, Death.”

  “I certainly am.” I touch his ear and then stroke my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back down like it was before. “What happens now, Cupid?”

  His shoulders hunch and he eyes the pile of bodies warily. “I’m not sure. They punish us perhaps.”

  “How?”

  “Relieve us of our duties indefinitely?” There’s a challenge in his words. Almost as if he already knows the answer but wants me to figure it out.

  I ponder his words. “Sounds like a reward.”

  Blue eyes snap to mine. “Hmph.”

  “No one’s coming,” I say, my gaze locked on his. “What do we do?” I wait for the familiar pull to drag me toward the dead so I can take them where they need to
go.

  Nothing.

  The only thing pulling me is curiosity…and something else. Something strong and familiar. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Toward him.

  “I broke it,” Cupid mutters. “I broke love.” He smirks at me. “And Death.”

  I touch his lips because they beg for attention. Parted and puffy. They seem sweet. My mouth waters for a taste.

  “Maybe it was broken before,” I utter, pushing my fingers into his mouth to feel him there as well. Slick and warm. I like it. “Maybe you fixed it.”

  He bites my fingers. A zing of desire shoots straight to my cock. Fragments of memories flash inside my mind like a kaleidoscope, colorful and brilliant.

  “I was…” I frown. “I was a man once.” My fingers slip from his mouth. “I…I feel like there’s more.”

  “Tell me, Death,” Cupid sneers. “Were you ever in love?”

  An ache, violent and ugly, rips through my chest. Hot tears form in my eyes. I stagger back, trying desperately to catch my breath. “I was.” There’s a hole in my heart filled with anguish and longing. My obligation to my duties somehow dulled the ache—dulled me.

  But. Now. I. Feel.

  “It hurts,” I choke out. “Love hurts.”

  “When love is divided,” he whispers. “When it’s torn or destroyed or crumpled. Love hurts most when it’s forgotten.” His lashes are wet with tears. “Perhaps it feels like death.”

  I lean in, eager to taste his lips that are now glistening from the sadness that streaks down his cheeks. It’s soft at first, our kiss. A brush of our lips. His sharp intake of air. My needy groan.

  And then I feel the pull.

  Strong. Unyielding. Maddening.

  To him. To him. To him.

  My fingers tangle in his soft hair as I greedily tug him closer. Our tongues duel in an epic battle where love surely wins. He tastes like sweet hope with a splash of despair. I want to kiss away the sadness and fill him with something better.

  But I am only Death.

  I ruin. I erase. I eliminate.

  I’m no longer disillusioned. I’m filled with clarity and sorrow. Regret for time lost. Desperate for the time that still exists.

  “You were mine,” I murmur, clutching onto him as though he might vanish if I let go.

  “I always was. I still am. I always will be.”

  “Why me?” The ache lessens with each passing second.

  “There is only you.” He begins to pull away. I dig my fingers into his flesh, unable to let him go. Not ever again.

  “Don’t go,” I plead.

  “Not alone.” His swollen pink lips curl into a half grin. “Never alone.”

  “I’m coming with you?”

  “We’re going home.”

  I grip his hips, pulling his body to mine once more. His nearness electrifies me. My heart races inside my chest when I catch his familiar scent.

  He is mine.

  “Where is home?” I murmur, kissing him once more.

  “Wherever we make it.”

  I suck his full bottom lip into my mouth, hungry to spend all of eternity tasting him. “And what about all this?”

  Cupid chuckles, this time it sounds like hopefulness and peace. “We leave it to Chance.”

  Heavy footsteps thud our way. A man with a roguish grin and blond hair comes to stand beside us. “Someone call for me?”

  “Love. Death. I think we’re tired of deciding these things,” Cupid says. “It’s up to you now.”

  “It’s irresponsible to leave it in his hands,” a female voice mutters out nearby. “Sometimes Fate must intervene. Chance can’t decide everything.”

  Chance smirks at Fate. “Catch me if you can.”

  He vanishes off leaving Fate to grin our way.

  “Sometimes Fate is slow, but she always makes her way there in the end.”

  She blows us a kiss.

  Red fades to black.

  He’s gone.

  But so am I.

  ***

  My lover sleeps late into the afternoon because he’s a man of the night. His pale skin isn’t meant for basking in the sun as I often do while he sleeps. He watches the moon and counts the stars. I always count with him.

  “I don’t smell bacon, love,” he rasps out, cracking an eye open. “You’re slacking on the job.”

  I run my fingers through his inky black hair. “Soon, D. Let me look at you a little while longer.”

  His dark lashes flutter closed and his pale lips part as he drifts back to sleep. When they split us apart, they broke my lover. All the parts that make him remember are fragmented and lost. His heart, though, never forgets. His heart is mine. It knows me. It follows me out of the darkness. His heart never fails.

  I trail my fingertips over the curve of his creamy shoulder, admiring the porcelain beauty lying beside me. My perfection. Mine. I don’t linger too long on the future or the past. I’m greedy for this moment. Just this one. We were denied so many. One feels like a treasure. A kingdom. A reward.

  “Bacon,” D murmurs. “I’m dreaming about it now.”

  “You can’t dream while awake,” I tease.

  His eyes open and are filled with such love it steals my breath. “I always dream of you. Even awake. Even now.”

  I roll him onto his back and straddle his narrow, naked waist. Grabbing his wrists, I pin him to the bed and smile.

  “You’re getting really good at this,” I say with faux irritation.

  He laughs—beautiful and pure. “At what?”

  “Getting your way.”

  “Good, love, then make me some bacon.” His hands free themselves from my grasp and he playfully slaps my ass. He drags my body along his hardened cock. “But later.”

  “What about now?”

  “Let me love you.” His dark eyes flash with clarity as he pulls me to him for a frantic kiss. “Like I was born to.”

  “And then bacon,” I tease, nipping at his perfect lips as I adjust my body over his, sinking over his thick length.

  He groans in pleasure, squeezing my ass. “There’s always time for bacon, but there’s never enough time for you.”

  The End

  If you loved this story, you may enjoy these other titles:

  The Wild

  Hale

  Bad Bad Bad

  This is War, Baby

  Like Dragonflies

  For the complete list of K Webster’s books, visit

  www.authorkwebster.com

  About Author K Webster

  K Webster is a USA Today Bestselling author. Her titles have claimed many bestseller tags in numerous categories, are translated in multiple languages, and have been adapted into audiobooks. She lives in “Tornado Alley” with her husband, two children, and her baby dog named Blue. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and researching aliens.

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  K. Webster, Terrible Lovely Thing BY K. WEBSTER

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