That son of a bitch. That …. bastard- prick, jerk….son of a bitch. Good riddance…it. Was. A freaking… good riddance. The truth of these words would start sinking in me at some point. It was bound to happen…surely.
I felt my fingers numbing around the crushed paper hidden in my hand. Maybe if I pressed it harder it wouldn’t be real. In an act of magic it would disappear, a girl could always hope, right? No, I stopped myself a second later; if an act magic was going to take place let it not be wasted on that. No. I would much rather for him to go impotent. Permanently. And bald… at random spots. That would be good and fair. Themis, herself would be proud. Not that I was Greek…but. Yeah, it applied. Her just love would without doubt unfurl something large enough to welcome a non Greek in its warm, vindictive embrace.
Really. How was it possible for six non-consequentialwords to bring the world down to your feet? I was pretty sure that normally, those words- when separated- wouldn’t mean a thing. But when arranged in such order in such a day? It was sheer luck I was still standing.
Everything felt surreal to me…as though I was a spectator at the back of my throbbing head but nothing more. I swear I could hear the blood pumping in my ears, muting the rest of the world. My body, mind and soul were irrevocably disconnected. Time became irrelevant, my movements little better than lethargic and my traitorous mind was wandering back and forth without coherent pattern to follow. Why wouldn’t my mind stick to the plan? Even Dorothy knew this. Follow the freaking proverbial yellow brick path! But no…the places where my back-stabbing psyche adventured were hellish. Nothing yellow about it. More like blue…like a sad, sad blues. But even those emotions didn’t feel like my own.
With a cold sense of detachment of it all, I stopped staring at my unfamiliar, trembling hands to look afore me. Somehow I had managed avoiding doing so until now. I frowned in open disgust, nothing could have ever prepared me for what I saw; the glee in some eyes, the pity in others. Vultures, a voice in my head whispered in my ear. My stomach knotted in understandable response. I tried to picture the crowd naked…that only increased the speed of bile running its way up my burning throat.
My gaze hadn’t been raised completely when a sudden thought hit me. It’s not odd for a residence with a vantage view to be priced higher than those looking to a wall. Right now…I would pay double for having a wall in front of me instead of this. You see, at the altar there was very little that could not be seen. I could even easily discern the stark pity shinning through in the many eyes focusing on me. For me. I hated it. It wasn’t welcomed. I didn’t want it nor needed it, damn it.
How could he? How could a person be this cruel?
I shook my head, refusing to go there. Not yet. Not when there were so many people watching my downfall. Relishing on it, even. Besides, if I started dwelling on it now it would show. I didn’t have a poker face. It had always been like that. Whatever I think ends up showing in my features as though it was an open search in google for the world to see.
“Can I have your attention, please? I have an announcement to make.” I said this in a steady tone, forcing strength and conviction through my gritted teeth. Even then, I felt tears starting to build behind my eyes, my throat was threatening with closing in on me….choking down the words for good. Not that the idea didn’t have its appeal. But I had to do this. Only then I could give in to the pain consuming my core.
Bastard. Hear, hear! Let it be known that from now on he would be acknowledged as Lord Voldemort. The unmentionable one. That or the bastard. I refused to call him any other way.
Humph. So many eyes. So many freaking eyes were watching me. Heavy droplets of cold sweat ran the length of my stiffened spine; my mouth felt awfully parched. I hated it. In a sudden surge of suppressed anger, I pressed even harder the paper in my hand as though that was his sorry neck. I smiled in dark satisfaction at that.
Raising my chin higher, “The wedding is off. Feel free to show yourself the way to the reception and stuff yourself up.” Like turkeys. “After all, everything is paid for so...” I started to march down the aisle, trying to pay no heed to the insistent gawks and hurtful comments thrown my way. I continued on, never turning around to lock eyes with anyone. I’d have loved to walk in a faster pace but that would have required taking off my high heels…and if I was going to keep something, pride and shoes seemed fine and dandy with me. How very Sex and the City of me to associate pride with high heels. But there it was…I refused to give him what little I had left.
The swoosh among the congregation didn’t have me long to wait. It went from a quiet shushing to a blatant gossiping in less than fifteen seconds flat. And the worse of it all was that all of these people were here for him but I was the one left behind to faze them. To sort out the mess. Damn it. Damn him. I barely knew a few of the vultures sitting here. And those few who did know me looked elsewhere as though I carried the bubonic pest in my gaze.
“I saw it coming.” Said a lady on the front row. The older women sitting next to her nodded her agreement. She bobbed her head enthusiastically. I wished for her head to fall off her neck. That would teach her.
In a spit of anger I wanted to yell at them: “then why the fuck didn’t you say a thing, Betty White?”
No, that wasn’t right, I chastised myself right away. I didn’t like this woman. I liked Betty White. Nobody could hate that particular old lady. She was awesome. Humph. I wished to be her right now; she would know what to do. And if not she would at least keep interesting company…Like Hugh Jackman or Ryan Reynolds.
“Can you blame him, really? I might have done the same thing had I been him.” Said a chubby guy, who I vaguely recognized as one of the college friends of the Unmentionable One.
I sneered mentally at the guy, raising my chin higher still—in a separate note, if I kept that up I would end up looking heavenward--Short of growling, I said, “Well, the joke is on you, frat boy. I wouldn’t have given you even the time of the day. Jerk.” I would like to say his words didn’t hurt me. But they cut deep, and at the moment I didn’t have enough strength left in me to lie, much less, to myself. Maybe after a hard-core week of self-pity I’ll have the strength to start picking up the pieces and put up a front. Smile 24-7 until the inside matches the self-forced-smiley outside.
My scrambling mind started wandering of its own accord...again. But this time I knew where it was headed. Apathy for the bastard should have been rolling off me in strong waves; strong enough to sweep somebody’s feet from under them. The rot feeling was definitely there, at the pit of my stomach, which apparently was taking the whole brunt of the event like a Vietnam Veteran…However, some of that anger was self-directed. I started questioning if there was something wrong with me. If there was something I should have done differently. As stupid as it sounded. But that was that.
Damn it, I didn’t want to think about it right now but….his nerve baffled the mind, really. Questions and more questions started pouring from somewhere deep in my soul. As though the thing was bleeding profusely and now couldn’t be stopped. It’s just that… He could have talked to me. I would have listened. Instead he decided to give me the silence of his absence…For he didn’t considerate necessary to explain why. And to think I approached him nothing short of a month ago and gave him a way out. I did so even when it cost me a part of my soul that will never be the same. Last time I checked that didn’t regenerate. But I couldn’t pretend that things hadn’t changed after the incident five months ago. I wasn’t the same one afterwards…neither was he for that matter. Not willing to play the fool, I went to him and told him that it wasn’t too late to stop everything. That we could have a quiet arrangement and that I wouldn’t think less of him because of it. (Sure. I would have been angry –at the time being- and most likely I’d have hated him for a couple of years. But eventually I would have gotten over it. I’d have been grateful, even. Probably. At some point, surely.) One thing was for certain though. I loved him and because of that I wanted him to be happy even if it wasn’t with me. There was a selfish part about my approaching him. I did it for me as well. I didn’t want to get married for the wrong reasons, I remember saying to him. I didn’t need an honorable, bitter man standing next to me for the rest of my life, I assured him. I wanted a husband who loved me for me… not because of a compromise and some wrongly misplaced sense of honor. I wanted a man who cherished the time spent with me. Not a man who considered me a heavy weight to be dealt with. I wanted a lover…a partner.
To think…that The Bastard looked me in the eye that day and with a heavy tone told me that I was crazy for bringing that up. That he loved me no matter what. That I needed to get it into my thick skull that we belonged together, that nothing would change that…that he was going nowhere without me, he said. So long for that, right?
Working on a faster pace, I made my way out of the church, leaving behind the twilight zone. Trying idly to outrun the turmoil of my sadistic mind which was settled on destroying what little pride I had left. But my mind wouldn’t shut up regardless of how far I went or how hard I ran. One thing was for certain: Mind can be such a bitch.
I felt so utterly lonely…the day I was supposed to get married. The day I wasn’t supposed to be alone anymore. When the heavy doors opened, I welcomed the bitter cold air hitting my face. It was like a wake up slap from reality. I stopped at the front stairs of the church to breathe but soon found out I couldn’t. Not with everything so close…so fresh. So I took my shoes in hand and ran and then kept on running without a real sense of purpose or as it to where. Pressing one last time the paper folded in my hand, I finally let it slip out of my tight hold. I didn’t need it anymore. I knew the words by memory.
“I can’t marry you. Sorry--Keith.”
