Valentine's Day: The Cold Truth

The car ride stretched on in miserable silence, my stomach aching with a dull hunger, my heart bruised beneath the weight of shame. Two Wendy's junior bacon cheeseburgers weren't exactly a feast, but they'd taken the edge off. Not that I could enjoy them, not with him glaring at me between bites, chewing like he was punishing the food.

I didn't know where we were going. He hadn't said. He just drove, a quiet tension simmering beneath the surface. I didn't dare ask. I just watched the dark highway blur past, trying not to cry.

Finally, the car pulled into a hotel parking lot. A nice one, too. Glowing lights, a grand entrance, the kind of place that was supposed to feel special. Except all I felt was dread.

I didn't want to be here. I didn't want a romantic surprise. I wanted to go home. I wanted to hide in my own bed, wrap myself in blankets, and pretend this entire night hadn't happened.

But that wasn't an option.

As we walked inside, I felt the ache of emptiness. No bag, no toothbrush, nothing but the clothes I was wearing. Because I hadn't packed. I hadn't even known we'd be staying somewhere. This wasn't a surprise for me. It was a surprise for him. His reward for being such a "good husband."

I opened my mouth, hesitated, and finally whispered, "I didn't bring anything. Not even a toothbrush."

He shrugged, a cold, casual smile slipping across his face. "Should've been home on time to pack a bag." Like it was obvious. Like this was all my fault.

The guilt twisted tighter in my chest, but I didn't argue. I just followed him to the room, feeling smaller with every step.

The room itself was beautiful. White sheets, thick carpet, a view of the city lights beyond the window. But I barely saw any of it. I dropped onto the bed, staring at my empty hands, my fingers trembling slightly.

I didn't want to be here.

The water started running in the bathroom, steam rolling out beneath the door. He was showering. Cleaning up. Perfectly comfortable, perfectly at ease.

I stayed curled on the edge of the bed, hugging myself, my eyes stinging. This was supposed to be special. My first Valentine's Day with someone. It was supposed to be sweet, romantic, something to remember. But all I wanted to do was forget.

The water stopped. The door swung open, and he strolled out. Steam swirling around him, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair damp and tousled. He looked like something out of a magazine. Like he thought he was the main character in some romance movie.

He smiled, leaning against the doorframe, his voice low, mocking. "So, you wanna…?" His eyes swept over me, lingering, a slow, hungry look. Like I was something he'd already paid for.

I stared at him, the ache in my chest twisting. "No," I whispered.

His smile barely faltered. It wasn't even a question to him—just a formality. Something I would eventually agree to if he pushed enough. Because I always did.

He shrugged, taking a step closer, the towel hanging loose around his hips. "Come on. It's Valentine's Day. I did all this for you. A nice hotel, a nice dinner… I didn't have to do any of this."

Nice stuff? I almost laughed, a bitter, broken sound caught in my throat. Was this a joke? This wasn't something he'd done for me. This was something he'd done to me. He didn't even know the difference.

"I said no." This time, the words were sharper, my voice shaking but firm.

His smile thinned, the warmth draining from his eyes. He didn't step back. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. His gaze drifted lower—to my mouth. He leaned in, the air between us thick, suffocating.

"Well, can you at least…?" His voice was a low, hungry whisper, one hand lifting to touch my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my lips.

I knew exactly what he meant. He didn't have to say it. The expectation was heavy, ugly, a weight pressing against my chest.

"No." I leaned back, pulling my face from his hand, a cold spike of fear twisting with my anger. "I said no. Stop."

The flicker of anger in his eyes was instant—hot, dark, a flash of something cruel. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with that same cold, casual smile. "Fine. Be a bitch, then."

But he didn't back away. He didn't leave. He didn't let me breathe.

He stepped closer, the towel slipping lower on his hips. His hand moved again, this time reaching for my hair, trying to pull me forward.

"Come on, you know you're going to," he whispered, the words thick with arrogance. "You always do. Just don't make this difficult."

I could smell the steam from his shower, the sharp, clean scent of the hotel soap mixing with the bitterness in my throat. His hips were level with my face now, his free hand pressing against the back of my head.

"No," I hissed, a wild, desperate heat flooding my chest. "I swear to God, if you shove it near my mouth, I will bite it off."

He froze. A flash of shock. Surprise. And then—anger. Real, hot, burning anger twisting his face.

"You're such a bitch!" He spat the words like venom, shoving me back. The towel dropped, and he didn't even bother to grab it. He turned away, yanking on a pair of boxers, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched.

"Fine. Sleep on the fucking floor for all I care." He stormed to the bed, throwing himself onto it, yanking the blankets around himself. Within minutes, his breathing slowed, evened out.

Just like that. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

But I wasn't crying. Not this time.

I stood there, my heart racing, my body trembling with cold fury. I grabbed the extra pillow and a blanket, dragging them to the tiny loveseat in the corner. It wasn't comfortable. My back ached, my legs cramped, and I was still cold.

But I wasn't going near him. I wasn't getting in that bed.

I grabbed the extra pillow and a blanket, dragging them to the tiny loveseat in the corner. It wasn't comfortable. My back ached, my legs cramped, and I was still cold. But I wasn't going to him. I wasn't giving in.

I curled up, staring at the sliver of light beneath the hotel door, listening to his steady, even breathing as he fell asleep. Just like that. Like none of it mattered. Like I didn't matter.

And I lay there, awake, trapped in the dark, feeling the ache of emptiness spread beneath my ribs.

All I wanted was a Valentine's Day. A stupid, cliché, cheesy Valentine's Day. Flowers. Chocolate. A sweet card. A kiss. I would've settled for a smile.

But instead, I got this.

And as I lay there, alone in the dark, the first flicker of something angry twisted in my chest. A quiet, desperate thought clawing its way through the fog of guilt and shame.

This isn't love.

But tomorrow, I would tell myself that it was. That I was lucky. That he loved me. That I deserved this.

Because I didn't know how to do anything else.