by C. J. Wells
I feel like a voyeur standing next to them, completely absorbed in their moment of bliss. Yet I can’t turn away, each second I stare pulling me into a bubble of fantasy as they morph into a visual of Alex and I. It’s Alex’s face I see as he kisses her a second time, my lips he’s kissing; the tingle created there so real it draws the pull of my hand to my mouth, suddenly breaking the spell. Shaking it off, I turn away and close my eyes against the aching pain in my heart.
The hurt doesn’t keep the torturing memories at bay, however, as I’m thrown back in time to our island retreat. All of the beautifully romantic ways Alex showed me his love, proved his love, before even saying the words. His love was perfection, whispered so perfectly in his every touch, every glance, every kiss.
Too good to be true - my inner actress bites, pinching the arm of my inner dreamer. I grimace from the sting of reality, taking a deep breath of composure, its bitter aftertaste begging to be washed down with a large gulp of Champagne as I reach for my glass.
“I’m sorry to see Alex absent from your side, Aby. Filming obligations?” Thomas questions innocently.
I notice Stacey purse her lips as I take another large sip of Champagne. Of course she hasn’t had a chance to fill Thomas in on the latest drama. Humph. My love life can now be summed up in theatrical highlights. Irony really is a bitch. Well, take a bow, Cupid. You deserve it, you chubby-faced whore, I take another drink.
“We’re not…exactly sure if Alex will be able to make it,” Stacey chimes in with an awkward smile.
“Oh, well, it’s a shame he missed dinner, but perhaps he will arrive in time to sweep you onto the dance floor,” Thomas winks.
“Perhaps,” I raise my flute in cheers to my pathetic lie, emptying its contents in time for a refill from the lovely young waiter with impeccable timing. Maybe I can get drunk and stumble my way through the rest of the evening. Yes, that sounds like a perfect plan, I smile to myself on sip as another guest greets Stacey and Thomas.
“You look lovely this evening, Abigail.”
I spin on my heels at the slithering sound of the voice - Helena Adelaide, in all her sickeningly, beautiful glory, smiling radiantly at me. I can’t help peering over her shoulder wondering if Alex lingers not far behind. Instant hatred burns through me, exploding through my veins before hardening my bitter heart. I never had any real reason to hate her before, at least not before last night. But now, as I’m assaulted with the visual of her naked body emerging from Alex’s bathroom, her evil sneer, I realize hate isn’t a strong enough word. My hands tremble noticeably from the onslaught, spilling my glass of Champagne.
“Are you all right, darling? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
No, whore-dusa, actually. For a moment in my mind, she contorts into the whorish reptile that she is, bulging in the center from devouring her latest victim. Well, I’ll be damned if she thinks that’s going to be me. “Let me guess,” I lay the flute down, picking up a napkin to wipe my hand, “…you’re dying to brag about your little conquest? Maybe rub my nose in it a little?” I bend to whisper the latter in her ear with patronizing composure - a silent salute to my inner actress.
“Not at all” she slithers coyly.
Her performance of indifference makes me want to slap her. I refrain, though the idea may have twisted my smirk into a looming snarl.
“You know,” she pauses slightly, “…I’ve always wondered if Alex told you about us. I had my suspicions, of course, based on your behavior.”
Really? Ugh, I roll my eyes, tuning her out. I don’t see any penises in the general vicinity, so why does she keep opening her mouth? “Oh, put the coy card away. Does it really matter that I knew about your slut status, Helena?”
She flashes me a closed-lip smile that screams condescending. “So, I assumed correctly. Alex did tell you,” her smile twists into a smug grin.
Are you kidding me? I want to punch her in the throat. I can’t take my eyes off her little swan neck. Alex didn’t have to tell me you’re a whore. That information, sweetheart, seeps through your pores. Though my inner sarcasm is keeping my calmed demeanor intact, the unconscious use of Alex’s term of endearment almost puts me over the edge.
Her eyes sparkle with glee, peering at me over the rim of her glass of Champagne as she takes a sip, patiently waiting for me to say something. How Alex could have anything to do with this woman is beyond me. Oh, right…Perception is everything. And she plays the game so very well.
Well, I’m tired of playing games. “What is it, exactly, that you want, Helena?” I pull the indifference card from her deck, picking up my Champagne.
“I simply wanted to apologize for leaving you in the dark last night,” she shifts her weight to one perfectly toned leg, running her palm along the pearls around her stupid swan neck - the motion holding my attention to her gullet. I’m not sure how much longer I can refrain from grabbing it.
“Oh, did you need confirmation that I saw you? Surprise!” my brows rise, screaming ta-da, “It certainly was for me,” I mumble the latter into my flute, taking a sip, looking for an escape before I really do hurt this woman.
A couple seated at a table in the corner catch my eye, the dark haired man leaning in to whisper in the woman’s ear as she smiles - a smile full of love. Happiness. She glances my way, our eyes meeting in an instant before she finds the gaze of the man at her side - a gaze full of trust. Devotion. I love you, too, she whispers, the words shooting across the room like an arrow of clarity to my heart.
Try to look past what appears on the surface…try to see what is real beneath, before allowing perception to come into play, Alex’s words rush through my mind, I love you, Aby. He proved his love long before he ever shared the words. He made sure I saw it. Felt it. Trusted in it. And I doubted him once. Am I really going to do it again?
“Is everything okay here?” Stacey’s alarm jars me back to the present, her concerned gaze flickering from mine to Helena’s and back again.
I’m not going to doubt him again…“I have to go,” the words fall from my lips as reality of my love and trust in Alex smacks me in the face. I can’t explain why that whore was there last night, but I do know I can’t believe for one more second that he would do anything to hurt me. I choose to trust him.
I move to sidetrack Helena but Stacey stops me with a soft pull on my arm. “The MC would like to start the toasts,” she says softly, her gaze unwavering between the two of us.
“I have to find Alex,” I mutter, leaning over the table to grab my clutch.
“What? Aby, what’s going on?” Stacey grabs my arm again.
Glancing quickly towards her, I gently pull from her hold, catching a glimpse of Helena’s amused gaze before scanning the crowded ballroom. “I have to find him,” I repeat on a whisper, grabbing my dress to avoid tripping.
Helena steps in front of me, halting my retreat, and I glare at her, “I don’t know what happened last night, but I do know one thing, I trust Alex.”
Smiling, she steps aside. “Clever girl,” I hear her whisper as I pass.
“Excuse me?” I turn to face her.
“I knew you saw me last night, Abigail, but what I needed to know was what you would conclude,” Helena’s smile is surprisingly warm. “A man that loves you as much as Alex does deserves your trust, I’m glad to see he has it.”
“He does. But how sweet of you to decide to test it,” I motion to leave.
“It was Ben, Abigail. I was there with Ben,” her words halt my departure. “But Alex is important to me - as a friend. And I look out for my friends.”
Pausing for a second, I continue on, making my way quickly through the crowd. I need to find Alex. Every cell of my being screams run…run to him. And I know I’d run to the ends of the earth if it meant finding him there.
The crowded room blurs around me, inundating me with grins from guests as I pass. They could all be wearing the same blank mask for all I know, since the only smile I’m hoping to find is on the fa
ce of Alexander Tate - the man of my dreams. The man I love more than anything in this world. The man nothing is going to stop me from getting back, regardless of all my stupid mistakes. Our stupid mistakes.
Reaching the center of the room once more, I stand and turn in an unconscious spin, a lost soul amid a sea of faces. The laughter and smiles dance eerily around me, hauntingly echoing through my panic. He’s not here.
I spy Stacey, now seated at the head table, the MC bending down to her in conversation. I’m running out of time. Frantically, I search for the nearest exit, grabbing my dress to run for the double side doors. I fumble for my phone in my clutch, dialing his number the minute I walk through.
“No, no, no…” I utter, frantically, disengaging the call when his voice mail kicks in before opening the text app. The MC’s call for attention reverberates from inside the reception and my fingers shake as I prepare to type. I have so much that I need to say, and I’m out of time. I’ve wasted so much time.
Struggling to hold back the sudden build of tears threatening to fall, I realize there’s only one thing I need to say. It screams from within me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before…
Subject:
I love you
MY HEAD IS spinning, my pulse pounding in my chest as I make my way back inside the reception hall, the attention of the room on the MC at the podium. Timing has not been my friend lately. Nor has trust and common sense, I grimace at the painful self-inflicted stab to my naïve heart, contemplating the most inconspicuous route back to the head table.
Deciding to go around the long way, I scoot along the far wall in hopes of avoiding attention. The only notice I seem to steal is that of Stacey, eyeing me with equal parts concern and Bridezilla-frustration as I reach my place to sit down. I mouth I’m sorry and try to summon a grin of some kind in return to her momentary loving gaze - very momentary, as in an instant her face contorts back into crazy bride. Jabbing her finger towards the wedding agenda on the table in front of her, I realize she thinks I should have a look at mine.
Great, I’m up next. As a matter of fact, with the exception of the MC reading the regrets and loving messages of those absent right at this moment, I’m the only one making a speech. It was decided that since Evelyn is Stacey’s only family present, I would speak for both the bride and the groom. My mission statement: Don’t focus on either as I say something nice about love and marriage to toast the celebration of their union.
Any other time, that would be lovely. Right now, I just want to find Alex and beg for a reunion of my own. How am I going to get through this? I slide my cell phone partially from my clutch, desperate to see a reply from him. Any reply. I would take ‘fuck you’ even, since that would at least give me the chance to reply with ‘Oh, God, yes…please’.” I just need to know that he saw my message. That he knows I love him. At least from there, I can begin to prove just how much.
But there’s no reply. And I can’t help but look up, attempting to take in the crowded room, scanning every face in hopes of finding his. I don’t. I choke back a sudden need to cry, trying to brace myself for the task at hand. But I’m failing. My heart rate picks up speed as I realize he may not come at all.
What must he be thinking since I’ve ignored his calls and messages since late last evening? Thank God he doesn’t know what I was thinking - what I almost let myself believe. I pull my fingers to my lips, swallowing back a mixture of regret and fear as a sob I’ve been trying to quell builds in my throat. He would have no way of knowing what I walked in on. And, therefore, no idea why I’ve avoided him. Oh God, I feel sick that he thinks I was ignoring him. The threatened sob chokes me as the MC calls my name.
“NEW BEGINNINGS ARE often disguised as painful endings,” I pause to look up with a half-hearted smile, my hands trembling, gripped tightly to the edges of the podium. “I know what you’re thinking…what an inappropriately odd start to a wedding speech. Well, an amazing woman once shared this quote of advice with me, and at the time, I too, thought she was rather odd - just one of her many adorable quirks,” I glance at Stacey, the love I see in her eyes giving me the strength to hold back my looming tears, though my voice is quivering from emotion. “It took a long time for me to find the beautifully hidden message in its meaning, or at least, to find my own interpretation of that message, so in light of saving you time - and the rest of the evening discussing the crazy ramblings of the Maid of Honor - I’ll get to the point and share it with you.”
“The dictionary coins beginnings as an act - the point at which something begins. And every love story is full of so many beginnings, all of which we capture and record into pretty memory capsules.” Pausing, I brace myself against the barrage of memories assailing me, picture perfect memories of Alex and I that I don’t want to let go. “The first time you meet. The first glance. First date. That first kiss,” I pretend to swoon, and the guests giggle, easing my inner turmoil slightly. But as I glance down at my speech, I’m thrown back into the sights of the emotional hurricane…“The first I love you.” I have to pause as it blasts through me along with a vision of Alex’s perfect face. “These, and so many more, are all the beautiful beginnings of love.”
“But love isn’t always pretty. It’s full of acts that don’t make it into the pretty memory capsules, for when they end, they’re discarded in their painful ugliness. The first fight,” I cock my head, pursing my lips playfully, earning another round of quiet laughter, despite feeling as though they can see right through me. “The first ‘I’m sorry’. And even the first heartbreak. We’ve all had at least a few of those,” I brave another small smile. “We’ve actually had many of all of the above, and in most cases with the same person. Welcome to love and marriage,” I tease a wink at Stacey and Thomas, the quick glance affording me another little shot of strength from the loving gaze of my best friend.
Looking back to the seated guests I fight the urge to look for him, the thought of finding his blue eyes staring back at me sending a stutter of hope through my heart. It takes a moment to catch my breath and my focus back in place on the paper before me.
“Yes love, ugly or pretty, is full of repeated beginnings and endings. And it comes with this amazing gift at the end of every single day - the gift of knowing that when you wake up in the morning, you have the chance to start them all over again.” Looking down for a moment, I close my eyes in hopes of squeezing back the tears that I can no longer fight. “That’s the message that spoke to me from that odd quote. That true love is trusting in the magic of starting over - new beginnings from what may sometimes feel like painful endings. Because with the start of every new act comes an end, and with that, another beautiful new beginning.”
Picking up my glass, my hand trembling a little, I feign a smile at Stacey before turning back to the crowd. “Please raise your glasses with me in celebration of Thomas and Stacey, and their love. May they always trust in the magic of starting over, and wake up every day together to experience a lifetime of beautiful new beginnings.”
Taking a sip of my Champagne, I turn to lay it down as Stacey catches me in a bone-crushing hug amid the claps and cheers of the crowd. Instantly an escaped tear slips down my face. “I love you, Stacey, but I have to go,” I whisper, pulling from her hold.
“Aby…?” she questions, a gentle grab of my arm halting my process.
“I just need some air,” I plead, wiping the tear from my cheek as I welcome her understanding gaze.
“Okay…” is all I allow her to get in before I turn and step down from the podium, lifting my dress in preparation to run.
My aim is on the quickest retreat - the side doors - however, I don’t make it past the first row of tables; an isle full of smiling guests all waiting to say something nice as I pass. Their kind comments about my ‘beautiful words’, and my ‘witty’ and ‘well written’ speech are all a blur with each forced smile and empty ‘thank you’ I offer, my focus dominated by my desperate need to escape.
Flashing a fi
nal appreciative smile to the ‘you make a lovely Maid of Honor’ from the last table, I turn my attention back to my destination, the wide gap of bare floor the only thing separating me from the exit doors I crave. Doors now blocked by the one thing I crave more…Alex Tate.
Alex, I tremble, his name echoing through my mind, his presence stopping me dead in my tracks. He takes my breath away as I devour him, dressed to perfection in a black tux, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his pants. For a moment I wonder if he’s a figment of my imagination, so desperate to find him that I’ve actually conjured him from fantasy. He certainly looks as though he just stepped out of one. But when I meet his gaze, his penetrating stare, the reality of him hits me harder than a bolt of lightning. It’s an overwhelming blast that shatters me into a million thankful pieces.
He’s really here, I gasp for air, swallowing hard against my suddenly dry throat. Every part of me screams run. Run to him. Yet I don’t. I walk slowly. As though time is in slow motion, and if I rush, if I move too quickly, it will speed up again and whisk him away.
I reach him in an envelope of silence, lost only to his eyes. Eyes that never left mine, wrapping me in a cocoon of calm, pulling me to stand before him to say the only thing I need him to hear, “I love you.”
He says nothing as he stares into my soul, and that’s okay, because I feel safe having him there. And in his silence, I’m grateful for this chance to say more. “I’m so sorry,” I search his eyes, needing to see my hope reflected there.
His returned gaze glistens in its penetration, almost as though he’s capturing a moment for himself, before he reaches up to wipe a slow falling tear from my cheek.
A breathless whisper escapes my lips at the touch, our stare broken as he looks down momentarily, almost bashfully, before returning his gaze to mine. His eyes ensnare me, holding me hostage as I painstakingly await his reply, frightened to death that he’ll say nothing in return.
