One Midnight of March

m i d n i g h t . p r o l o g u e

13th of March. Friday. Bad luck.

When the thirteenth day of the month falls on Friday, there is a stupid superstition that something bad might happen to you. Some says it's creepy. Some gets paranoid. Some becomes cautious with their surrounding as if they killed a human and hid it under their house instead of surrendering themselves to the police.

Some of them pays no attention. Well, who cares? That year, Friday the 13th of March is just a normal day for me. Like any other fucking day.

Or so I thought.

That midnight, I never thought I will meet the person who slapped the fact to my face that not every woman wants to get laid by me.

It was ridiculous.

I mean, who wouldn't want a man with this face and a masculine body similar to Men's magazine models and actors of porn videos to provide pleasure in different ways for free?

For once, I believed it was bad luck. Bad luck on Friday the 13th is real. Damned-fuck bad luck.

But it never occured to me that such bad luck could make me like this. As happy as fuck. As contented as I wasn't used to be.

I gaze at the person who gave me pitiful looks instead of moaning my name that midnight. She was sitting on a stool while watching her friends make fun and tease each other, like the old times. She watched them while I watched her.

A strand of her long black hair fell from her shoulder, and I grimaced when it covered the face I would never get tired to stare at. So I reached for it and tucked it behind her ear.

My lips curled up into a smile. It was involuntary; absolutely unconscious that I'm doing it. Whenever she's around, it's automatic. Sometimes, I even have to pinch myself just to remind me that I shouldn't smile in front of that woman.

Well, she charged me up. She's my powerbank. Okay, that's lame.

The past years had made her face drawn. The brightness of her eyes was fading. Just a flicker was left, like a bit of hope she's holding on to. The red lips that used to smile widely still has that inscrutable grin on it. And I know that once the cosmetic is gone, it will reveal her fragile state. Which she kept hidden from everyone's sight-even from me.

Man, this is bad.

She turned to me and raised a brow. She said, "Stop looking like that."

I know I wouldn't forget everything about her odd self, us being oblivious of her memories slowly slipping away from her mind. Who knows what sort of shit Fate has prepared for us?

So sudden it was-the idea, the nervousness, the fear. A question occured in my head, and I blurted it out wanting second thoughts.

"Will you marry me?"

Seconds just looking at me without blinking passed by. She just stared. My chest tightened with this familiar nervousness. Please don't smile. Please don't.

She smiles.

Sometimes I think she has superpowers because even without speaking, she could send a message to me. Her smile means a lot of things. It might be saying, 'Don't worry, everything will be alright.'

Or it might also mean, 'What the fuck are you doing, you look like shit.'

But this time, her smile means no. Just no.