She gazed into the full-length mirror and saw a tall, slim girl in a flowing, ivory wedding gown. Her dark, wavy hair was swept back into simple, but exquisite curls, adorned all the way with tiny stones, the rest of it falling free on her shoulders.
Her mother walked up to her, placed a sparkling tiara on her head, and smiled. "The perfect bride."
No one saw the dark eyes, empty, devoid of emotion.
He stifled a scream, looking aghast around the hall. He hadn't expected everything to be so...pink.
When he had agreed to the theme of the wedding, lilies, he had pictured white lilies. Not that he cared, but he'd have preferred it if it didn't look like he was going to be married in Barbie-land.
"...may now kiss the bride."
The moment she had been dreading.
She didn't make eye-contact as her veil was lifted. Sensing her obvious discomfort, he simply brushed his lips against hers. A twinge of pain and unease shot through her, and she winced ever so slightly.
The audience sighed happily. The perfect wedding.
For the millionth time that day, she wished she could forget, willing the tears not to come.
"...may now kiss the bride."
A giggle. He strained to stop rolling his eyes.
As the veil lifted, he had a sudden vision of another face with dark eyes, looking back at him defiantly, a ghost of a grin playing on her lips, as though daring him to approach. The face that had haunted him for two years. The face he could never glance upon without a stab of guilt and pain.
Another giggle brought him back to the present. He leaned across, moving mechanically, and kissed her, lips hardly touching.
A shower of pink confetti rained down on the couple. He suppressed a groan.
She couldn't handle it any longer. She excused herself from the party, and walked quickly towards her room. She closed the door behind her , and let the silent tears flow.
The instant she had whispered the words, "I do," she had felt a dreadful helplessness. It was all over. She closed her eyes.
She had taken the first steps to a new life, yet, she couldn't let go.
She wasn't sure she wanted to.
No one noticed the blue eyes assume a far-away expression, or the slight frown on his features as he looked out of the window, unseeing. He knew it was hopeless, but he refused to let go.
He wondered if she remembered. Day after day, the memory only etched itself more clearly, the pain slowly consuming him.
The worst part was the lingering doubtfulness.
She walked as quickly as her heels would allow her; the wet mud on the roads wasn't helpful, nor was the deep rumble of thunder overhead. She groaned as the slight drizzle suddenly roared into a full blown downpour.
As though his weekend hadn't been bad enough, rain started beating down on his car. He gritted his teeth at the sight of the traffic ahead of him, shook his head, and looked out of the window.
And there she was, on the sidewalk, glaring at the grey sky with all the contempt she could muster.
"So...your plan was to stare at the sky and make it stop raining?"
"Nice to see you too."
"You could've called."
"And asked you to...what, exactly? Drive along the road in the rain until you find me?"
"Not like I had anything better to do."
She shifted in her seat. Being inside the car in her damp clothes was even worse than standing outside getting wet.
She looked at him, struck by a thought, "Is everything alright?"
"Why the question?"
"Well, first, you didn't answer, and that means no. And second, I've been sitting here dripping water on your leather interiors for a while now; and you haven't made an effort to even look annoyed."
He glanced at her, "I did see that," he said with a smirk, "Interesting choice of color for the weather. White, I ask you?"
Any other girl would have blushed and looked away. This one, well, she saw through his bullshit in a second.
"Shut up, perv" she said, "But seriously, what's wrong?"
He took a deep breath, let out an audible sigh, and as though each word caused him physical pain, said, "Last night was bad. And I mean, bad bad. I got sloshed, because when I sleep sober, the dreams happen. And then he dies all over again."
"Okay, I am not even going to pretend to know what it is like to lose your brother, but this is definitely not what he would've wanted for you. It's been a year."
"Time only makes it worse. You start forgetting the little things."
"I don't know how to respond to that."
"Yeah, pain makes you do stuff."
"Oh crap. What did you do?"
He sighed. "Nothing, I didn't do anything."
She knew that look, she had seen it a million times in the mirror. He was in pain, he needed help, he needed a friend. Her eyes bored through him with each word, "What. Did. You. Do."
He shrugged, and pulled up his sleeve to reveal parallel cuts across the forearm, and tiny circular wounds, all barely healed.
"Cutting wasn't enough? You had to burn yourself too?"
"Well, I found a cigarette. And I don't smoke."
"Not funny." "I was drunk! I didn't know what I was doing! Look, I don't expect you to get it," he said, looking away.
She wondered if she had pushed him too far.
She let him drive along in silence for a while, and then, not looking at him, she said, "I get it. I don't expect you to believe me. But I do. When you take the blade in your hand, you feel powerful. You feel like you are in control. No one else can hurt you, but you. And for a while after, as the blood flows and the pain burns, it overcomes all other emotions; it makes you feel free somehow, like physical pain is the only thing you have to deal with, at least for the moment."
He froze. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.
She kept her eyes on the road, like she didn't want to see his reaction to what she had said, what she had admitted about herself.
He wanted to reach out, say something; but there was too much tension in the air, too much baggage out in the open. He wanted to make her feel safe, all his problems suddenly seemed irrelevant somehow.
They drove on until they reached her hostel, the silence only punctured by the occasional biker speeding ahead in front of them. "I'm sorry, I didn't..." he started, but stuttered to a stop when she looked his way.
She had expected to feel exposed, vulnerable or angry even; but as she held his gaze, she felt like a burden had been lifted.
As the unrelenting rain crashed down around them, she felt her heart race.
He was close enough to smell her, and as the subtle scent of orange blossoms enveloped him, his heart hammered away in his throat.
He stared into her deep brown eyes, eyes so intense that he could have looked into them forever without questioning reality or destiny.
He hesitated, a moment too long.
A sudden knock on the door startled them.
Someone pulled her door open before she had a chance to react. "Dude, I saw your car! Oh, hello!"
His friend gaped at her, taking in her dripping wet hair, and her disgruntled expression.
He laughed, "Went out for a walk in the rain, did we?"
She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Things had ended so abruptly, it took her a minute to realize he was talking to her.
"No kidding, Sherlock," she said, stepping out of the car."
"Wait. He let you in his car? I'm not allowed to bring my beer in here, but it's okay for you to drip rainwater all over his precious leather seats?"
His friend got in, still chattering about the unfairness of it all, oblivious to what he had stumbled upon.
As he drove away, she risked a quick glance at the car to see if he would look back, wave, anything.
He didn't.
She didn't know he was watching her in the mirror.
He waited for her to wave, do something.
She didn't.
(Present day)
She splashed cold water on her face, and fixed her make-up. She wondered if he even remembered. Maybe she had read too much into nothing.
She forced herself to believe it, every day of her existence.
There was a part of her that was never convinced.
(Present day)
Out of his reverie, he blinked away the wetness in his eyes. He would never know.
The uncertainty crushed him.
The pain brought a distorted comfort, and he would rather die than give it up.
Her mother walked up to her, placed a sparkling tiara on her head, and smiled. "The perfect bride."
No one saw the dark eyes, empty, devoid of emotion.
***
He stifled a scream, looking aghast around the hall. He hadn't expected everything to be so...pink.
When he had agreed to the theme of the wedding, lilies, he had pictured white lilies. Not that he cared, but he'd have preferred it if it didn't look like he was going to be married in Barbie-land.
***
"...may now kiss the bride."
The moment she had been dreading.
She didn't make eye-contact as her veil was lifted. Sensing her obvious discomfort, he simply brushed his lips against hers. A twinge of pain and unease shot through her, and she winced ever so slightly.
The audience sighed happily. The perfect wedding.
For the millionth time that day, she wished she could forget, willing the tears not to come.
***
"...may now kiss the bride."
A giggle. He strained to stop rolling his eyes.
As the veil lifted, he had a sudden vision of another face with dark eyes, looking back at him defiantly, a ghost of a grin playing on her lips, as though daring him to approach. The face that had haunted him for two years. The face he could never glance upon without a stab of guilt and pain.
Another giggle brought him back to the present. He leaned across, moving mechanically, and kissed her, lips hardly touching.
A shower of pink confetti rained down on the couple. He suppressed a groan.
***
She couldn't handle it any longer. She excused herself from the party, and walked quickly towards her room. She closed the door behind her , and let the silent tears flow.
The instant she had whispered the words, "I do," she had felt a dreadful helplessness. It was all over. She closed her eyes.
She had taken the first steps to a new life, yet, she couldn't let go.
She wasn't sure she wanted to.
***
No one noticed the blue eyes assume a far-away expression, or the slight frown on his features as he looked out of the window, unseeing. He knew it was hopeless, but he refused to let go.
He wondered if she remembered. Day after day, the memory only etched itself more clearly, the pain slowly consuming him.
The worst part was the lingering doubtfulness.
***
(2 years ago)She walked as quickly as her heels would allow her; the wet mud on the roads wasn't helpful, nor was the deep rumble of thunder overhead. She groaned as the slight drizzle suddenly roared into a full blown downpour.
*
As though his weekend hadn't been bad enough, rain started beating down on his car. He gritted his teeth at the sight of the traffic ahead of him, shook his head, and looked out of the window.
And there she was, on the sidewalk, glaring at the grey sky with all the contempt she could muster.
"So...your plan was to stare at the sky and make it stop raining?"
"Nice to see you too."
"You could've called."
"And asked you to...what, exactly? Drive along the road in the rain until you find me?"
"Not like I had anything better to do."
*
She shifted in her seat. Being inside the car in her damp clothes was even worse than standing outside getting wet.
She looked at him, struck by a thought, "Is everything alright?"
"Why the question?"
"Well, first, you didn't answer, and that means no. And second, I've been sitting here dripping water on your leather interiors for a while now; and you haven't made an effort to even look annoyed."
He glanced at her, "I did see that," he said with a smirk, "Interesting choice of color for the weather. White, I ask you?"
Any other girl would have blushed and looked away. This one, well, she saw through his bullshit in a second.
"Shut up, perv" she said, "But seriously, what's wrong?"
He took a deep breath, let out an audible sigh, and as though each word caused him physical pain, said, "Last night was bad. And I mean, bad bad. I got sloshed, because when I sleep sober, the dreams happen. And then he dies all over again."
"Okay, I am not even going to pretend to know what it is like to lose your brother, but this is definitely not what he would've wanted for you. It's been a year."
"Time only makes it worse. You start forgetting the little things."
"I don't know how to respond to that."
"Yeah, pain makes you do stuff."
"Oh crap. What did you do?"
He sighed. "Nothing, I didn't do anything."
She knew that look, she had seen it a million times in the mirror. He was in pain, he needed help, he needed a friend. Her eyes bored through him with each word, "What. Did. You. Do."
He shrugged, and pulled up his sleeve to reveal parallel cuts across the forearm, and tiny circular wounds, all barely healed.
"Cutting wasn't enough? You had to burn yourself too?"
"Well, I found a cigarette. And I don't smoke."
"Not funny." "I was drunk! I didn't know what I was doing! Look, I don't expect you to get it," he said, looking away.
*
She wondered if she had pushed him too far.
She let him drive along in silence for a while, and then, not looking at him, she said, "I get it. I don't expect you to believe me. But I do. When you take the blade in your hand, you feel powerful. You feel like you are in control. No one else can hurt you, but you. And for a while after, as the blood flows and the pain burns, it overcomes all other emotions; it makes you feel free somehow, like physical pain is the only thing you have to deal with, at least for the moment."
*
He froze. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.
She kept her eyes on the road, like she didn't want to see his reaction to what she had said, what she had admitted about herself.
He wanted to reach out, say something; but there was too much tension in the air, too much baggage out in the open. He wanted to make her feel safe, all his problems suddenly seemed irrelevant somehow.
They drove on until they reached her hostel, the silence only punctured by the occasional biker speeding ahead in front of them. "I'm sorry, I didn't..." he started, but stuttered to a stop when she looked his way.
*
She had expected to feel exposed, vulnerable or angry even; but as she held his gaze, she felt like a burden had been lifted.
As the unrelenting rain crashed down around them, she felt her heart race.
*
He was close enough to smell her, and as the subtle scent of orange blossoms enveloped him, his heart hammered away in his throat.
He stared into her deep brown eyes, eyes so intense that he could have looked into them forever without questioning reality or destiny.
He hesitated, a moment too long.
*
A sudden knock on the door startled them.
Someone pulled her door open before she had a chance to react. "Dude, I saw your car! Oh, hello!"
His friend gaped at her, taking in her dripping wet hair, and her disgruntled expression.
He laughed, "Went out for a walk in the rain, did we?"
She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Things had ended so abruptly, it took her a minute to realize he was talking to her.
"No kidding, Sherlock," she said, stepping out of the car."
"Wait. He let you in his car? I'm not allowed to bring my beer in here, but it's okay for you to drip rainwater all over his precious leather seats?"
His friend got in, still chattering about the unfairness of it all, oblivious to what he had stumbled upon.
As he drove away, she risked a quick glance at the car to see if he would look back, wave, anything.
He didn't.
*
She didn't know he was watching her in the mirror.
He waited for her to wave, do something.
She didn't.
***
(Present day)
She splashed cold water on her face, and fixed her make-up. She wondered if he even remembered. Maybe she had read too much into nothing.
She forced herself to believe it, every day of her existence.
There was a part of her that was never convinced.
***
(Present day)
Out of his reverie, he blinked away the wetness in his eyes. He would never know.
The uncertainty crushed him.
The pain brought a distorted comfort, and he would rather die than give it up.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment