The stars were shining hard now, like little stubs of diamonds, but only seemingly more alive. Mimi wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, slowly, absent-mindedly. Her mind was heavily burdened with the thoughts of Victor.
Victor, her Prince Charming, her best friend, her soul mate. It had been three days now since they had the fight. It was not a fight, really. Not with physical blows of course. Just words, harsh words that stabbed relentlessly, jamming, squeezing, plugging and unplugging her heart.
“You are so insecure! You shouldn’t let that hurt our relationship!”
“Just leave me alone!”
“Can’t you stop this preaching, eh, Mimi? I am saved already, please, Sister Jesus!”
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The last one had been said with a sneer, a looping, ugly tug of the lips, half-playfully no doubt, but it hurt her nonetheless, the hurt filling her chest in a warm wave, threatening to cut off her air supply. She had been breathing hard, wordless in the face of his berating, eyeing him coldly, the hurt stiffening up certain parts of her. She had stormed off, disappointed by his intolerance, upset by his words, but her own words rebelled and would not come out of her chest, so she reacted instead and flung a copy of The Clearing by Tim Gautreaux in her hands at his face, turning away, running down the street, her face a mess of tears.
It is funny, the way how a fight would leave you so angry at your loved ones, the hurt spurring you away from them, and then, alone in the shell of your thoughts, it would turn to you and mercilessly crush your heart, leaving it broken, and sodden with regret.
She would call him first, Mimi decided, and tell him that she was sorry, that Valentine—which was only a few days away—could still be celebrated, that she would no more force his need of Jesus on him. But first, she had to turn to her Father, to the One who could take care of the hurt and resentment in her heart, and she knew that afterwards, Victor would slowly make out the happy lilt in her voice, the lightness in her chest, over the telephone and he would ask after they had made up, “How do you get over things so easily?” and she would say he does not want to know, smiling. He would then laugh, and mutter something about religious indoctrinations, about how wonderfully it worked for the human mind, for those who accepted it, how he would try it out sometime just to know her secret.
Mimi was already smiling, her nose pressed against the window netting. She pulled away from the window and the gleaming stars to her bed and knelt before it, her scarf-laden head soon trembling, and her hands clasped, in prayer. She would come out of it free, lightened and happier. The bitterness would melt, the hurt would fade and her relationship would continue to go on strong. Valentine, for her and millions of other people around the world, would be full of love, unconditional and unselfish.
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