This chapter may seem a little ordinary, but it is just setting the scene. Reviews and criticisms would be greatly appreciated.
July 8th, 1997
And so I stood up there, waiting. My polished black shoes gleamed, and no one sitting on those stiff, wooden pews would ever have guessed that they were too tight for me. My chest felt somewhat the same: on the outside it was completely covered in a tasteless white striped shirt with a purple cravat that partially hid underneath a black suit jacket, and on the inside it was compressed so tightly that breathing was officially deemed a luxury.
My eyes ventured across the alter and fell upon the woman, or more-so girl, that I was partnered with. His sister. She wasn't gushing, babbling and wallowing like the other, typical hyena-esque bridesmaids. Her disinterest greatly complimented my deliberate ignorance of the entire jazzed, polished, extravagant, poorly lit and overdone ceremony. The only two things that had made me smile all day were the camera man (Unfairly forced. I personally didn't see a problem with appearing mysterious and rugged.) and watching that bridesmaid actively attempt to cover her yawn while standing next to the alter. I studied her as she pretended that she was wiping tears away so she could have that split second of privacy.
Hell, if she can get away with feigning genuine happiness, then damn it, so can I, the Best Man.
"Light up that cigarette I know that you've been hanging to inhale, and then I want you to say it."
"Say it, Fynn. I mean it. If you're going to destroy something, why not let it be perfectly choreographed like your entire life?" I spat out.
"Fuck, Lucas! Ok then. I want this. M…more than I want…you."
Cue the pondering, sorrowfully enraged brief silence of vulnerability that one often experiences when enduring the potential loss of the human version of ones air supply.
"I know that both you and I will forget that sentence eventually, but I also know that we both will always remember that you stuttered like a bitch while trying to get it out."
Actually, no. cynicism always trumps optimism. I don't have to be happy right now. Forget it.
The priest's booming voice was just a feint murmur until I decided to tune back in to him.
"If there is any reason that these two should not be married…"
"…speak now or forever hold your peace."
The almost newly-weds nervously scanned the crowd, silently daring anybody to make even so much as a sigh. I stared at him, and for the first time since the wedding service began, he finally caught my eyes boring into him. His smile dropped and I swear I caught a flicker of the real him…the way he often used to see through me when he'd express some form of, well…love.
His usually erratic dyed blonde hair was split to the side and neatly groomed and sprayed back. Ugh, who the hell did that? Who cut his hair that short? Who even suggested that? Her. I bet it was her. I bet she was cackling like the witch she is as she did it, along with his mother: the controller of this living nightmare.
"Do you, Fynn-Alexander Hayden Blackworth, take Charlotte Emily Herrin to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"
Funny how her name rhymes with Harlot. Coincidence? Unlikely.
I watched him closer than I have ever watched anything as that small glimmer of hope that I couldn't get rid of decided to poke through and say 'Hey, Lucas, maybe he'll say that he doesn't…PS: You look fantastic!'
And there it was. The two dreaded words stung my numbed body more than I could have ever expected.