Love That Kills

My name is Emily, a mayfly spirit who endures pain every single day. Every night at midnight, a pain like blades cutting through my bones crawls in and out of the cracks—a torment no one else could ever imagine. The demon lord Bill said this is the punishment I must bear for love. He gave me three months to make Gino Sheen, the gangster heir, fall in love with me—otherwise, I'll suffer soul dissipation, leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. Gino is ruthless and sharp-eyed, with a heart as hard as iron. When I first met him, he stood in the rain, mercilessly kicking away a stray cat. But I still helplessly fell for him, loving him so deeply that I was willing to endure that knife-like pain day after day. Tonight, Gino set the scene in the private room on the top floor of the Gilded Palace, with his first love, Shirley Johnson, there too. I was curled up on the couch in my rented room when his assistant's voice came through my cell phone: "Mr. Sheen wants you to deliver a box of condoms to the private room." My hand froze suddenly, but I still grabbed the bag and went to the club. The elevator mirror reflected my pale face, the red scratches I'd dug into my neck yesterday still fresh from the pain. The private room door wasn't shut tight; laughter and voices spilled out from inside. First was Shirley's sickly sweet voice: "Gino, you're way too good to her, I'm jealous." Then came Gino's cold reply: "She's just a plaything I call whenever I want. When I get tired of her, I'll just hand her over to Zion to toy with." Zion is his right-hand man, infamous on the streets for being lecherous and violent. My feet instantly froze in place. Shirley smiled again and asked, "Gino, was it true when you said you wanted to marry her before?" Gino's tone dripped with contempt: "Of course not. Otherwise, how else could she be so obedient?" I clenched the bag tighter and tighter, realizing all the tenderness and promises that once stirred my heart were nothing but lies. Bill said the three-month deadline; today is already the eighty-seventh day. In three more days, it will be the day of my soul dissipation—my death. I stood there like an idiot, listening to the laughter and chatter spilling from the private room. My heart felt as if it were being carved out, more agonizing than a thousand knife cuts in the dead of night.