My Valentine is a Villain

“We need a break.”

I clenched my coffee mug, staring at the man I had spent the last four years of my life with.

Dean ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, wearing the dark green flannel I gave him for Christmas only a week ago. Are we seriously having this conversation now in the middle of a shitty coffee shop?

“You mean like a Rachel and Ross break?” I cringed as my voice shot up an octave, almost hitting dolphin levels.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before his light blue eyes met mine. “Becca...”

“Don’t Becca me,” I sat the mug down with a thud, forcing myself to breathe through gritted teeth. “We can get through this together like we always have...we’ve been through a pandemic, for god’s sake, we just need more time–”

“This isn’t something time can fix,” he interrupted, as his shoulders tensed, looking away from me. “I love you, Becc, but we’ve been going through the motions for over a year now. You can’t tell me you haven’t felt it, too.”

I pinched my thigh under the table to keep myself from crying. I can fix this–I can fix anything if Dean will give me time to figure it out. It’s just a moment of doubt and it will pass.

“Every couple has a rough patch,” I said quietly, tugging at the sleeves of my sweater as I looked up at him. “We don’t fight, and we’re comfortable with each other–you know me better than my own family. What’s wrong with that?”

The silence that followed was so heavy, I felt like I was drowning. My chest tightened as I searched his face for something—anything—that said he was willing to fight for us. But his eyes told me everything I didn’t want to hear.

Where did we go wrong? When you know someone, truly know someone, you become a safe space for each other. Dean had always been that safe space for me–thoughtful, kind, a sarcastic tease–I loved every bit of him. Why did he want to throw it all away?

“Becc...This is hard for me to say, but it’s not fair for me to stay with you when I don’t see a future with us," His eyes burned into mine. “You deserve someone who can love you fully.”

Hot tears pricked at my eyes, and I bit my lip hard, shame washing over me for letting him see me cry.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. ‘I deserve better’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “You were there when I lost Gran– ” The words caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard.

“We were there for each other when we lost our jobs during the pandemic, remember? We’ve been through everything together—Who else could possibly compare to that?” My chest felt tight, and I stared down at the scratched table, wishing it could swallow me whole.

“Becca...this isn’t what I wanted either, but–”

“Then don’t do it!” I burst out, tears spilling over as heat rose my up neck. “Take it back, Dean. I don’t want to lose you like this–I want us to try to work it out...don’t we deserve that?”

Pain filled his eyes, but he shook his head. “I can’t do that, Becc. I’m sorry...I think this is what’s best for us.”

He reached into his wallet, pulled out some cash, and left it on the table to cover the coffee. The sound of the money hitting the table shook me like it left a final punctuation mark on everything we were. Then he stood, scraping his chair against the floor.

“Give it some time, okay?” His voice was soft when his blue eyes locked onto mine for a moment. It made my heart ache even more. “You know you can call. I’ll always pick up.”

Every word I wanted to say stuck itself in my throat, ready to choke the life out of me. All I could do was turn away and focus on the scuffs on the tile floor instead of his face.

“Just go,” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears blurred my vision. I knew he heard me, but I couldn’t bear to look at him.

When I heard the front door ding, and the cold air from the streets hit me, I let out a deep breath. The breeze sucked out all the warmth from this place. Instead, a dull, empty void replaced it.

I don’t know how many minutes passed, but I became painfully aware of the patrons and staff sneaking glances at me in this suffocatingly small cafe. If Dean knew he was going to break up with me, why do it out in public over shitty coffee? Was he always this much of a dick?

I ignored the stares from around the room as I stood, leaving with my head held high, and my fur-lined coat slung across my shoulders. When the bitter cold air whipped around me, I let out a breath I held deep in my chest and took in the windy city of Chicago. This was my home, long before Dean became a part of it. I won't let it see me crumble like a depressed mess.

With one hand on my phone, and the other holding my coat together, a single thought ran through my mind:

Hell hath no fury, and I don't need a man to make me happy.

–

“And then he said ‘You know you can call,’” I cried into the phone, wrapped up like a burrito on my bed as I talked to Kaylee.

“Stop wasting tears on that asshat,” she said, and I could imagine the scrunched-up look on her face as she said it, to show how annoyed she was. “It's been three weeks, Becc. We need to get you out of that depressing room and go bar hopping tonight. You should be angry!"

I took a breath and grabbed another handful of tissues. “Four years, Kay. I spent four years with Dean–”

“And he broke up with you in a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop," she said, cutting me off. Owch. That stung a little, but Kay was never one to mince words.

"Listen, you don’t need a man who can’t figure out what he wants,” her tone lowered a little, softening the blow. In my head, I knew she was right, but it didn't make the pain hurt less. “I thought you called me for a night out, not to cry into your Kleenex stash.”

I sniffled, dabbing at my red, puffy eyes. “I don’t know, Kay. I’m not really in the mood to go out and pretend I’m fine.”

“Who said you have to pretend?” Kaylee shot back, cutting through my pity party.

“You don’t have to be fine, but you do have to stop letting that string bean live rent-free in your head. Put on some lipstick, slap on that little black dress you save for special occasions, and let’s go wreck some egos!”

I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. “I’ve been crying for the last hour. You want me to suddenly turn it off and go dancing?”

“Are you watching romance movies again?" I cringed, quickly muting the TV as it played a rerun of Sweet Home Alabama. "That's only going to make you more upset, Becc. Crying time is over. I’m not letting you wallow in your PJs while Dean's off doing god knows what.”

“But Kay–”

“Look, you have two choices,” she interrupted. “Stay home and drown in snot and ice cream, or let me pick you up, down some tequila, and see where our poor judgment takes us.”

I stayed quiet, debating.

“Don’t make me come in there,” she warned. “Because I will. And I’ll throw that entire tissue box in the trash where your ex belongs.”

I let out a reluctant laugh. “You’re so bossy.”

“And you love it. Now get up–I’m leaving in twenty minutes, so you’ve got fifteen to get your act together.”

“Fifteen?” I spluttered. “You’re insane!”

“Clock’s ticking, Becca-babe. Don’t make me drag you out in your pajamas.” She hung up before I could argue, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief.

With a sigh, I threw off the blanket and dragged myself toward the closet.

–

I stood in front of the small mirror in my cramped, 500-square-foot studio, scrutinizing every inch of my freckles and cellulite. The little black dress hugged all the right places—thank you, cardio—but my pale legs weren’t doing me any favors. Loose, light brown waves framed my face, as I put on a touch of eyeliner and mascara to make my green eyes pop. With one swipe of neutral lipstick, I had just enough color to keep me from looking like a ghostly specter.

Getting dumped by the man I thought I’d marry wasn’t the look I was going for, but we’ll make it work.

“What do you think?” I asked, turning to Bean, my tabby cat sprawled across the dresser like it was his castle. He blinked at me slowly, unimpressed by my effort.

“Don’t judge me,” I said, grabbing my heels. “It’s been a month. Dumped in my late twenties, and I got to be alone two weeks before Valentine’s Day. You’d be dramatic, too.” I slipped on one heel, wobbling slightly.

“Maybe the real problem is I’ve been chasing ‘good’ guys like Dean. Look where that got me—drowning in my tears in a coffee shop like a bad, rom-com cliché.”

I snorted, slipping on the second heel and wobbling slightly. “Clearly, being a good guy doesn’t mean you’re actually good for me.”

Bean flicked his tail as I completed the finishing touches on my look.

“What I need,” I declared, fluffing my light brown hair, “is a bad boy. Scratch that—a man. Someone named ‘Ace’ or ‘Ryder’ who’ll distract me. Preferably the kind of guy who has a tragic backstory and refuses to talk about his feelings unless it’s raining.”

Bean tilted his head slightly, questioning my fantasy. My phone buzzed with Kay’s name flashing across the screen, snapping me out of my spiral.

Get your ass outside. We’re wasting prime tequila time.

I sighed, grabbing my fur-lined coat and purse. “Here’s to bad decisions,” I muttered.