I felt my insides jerk and fold over. My brain quivered, trying to get me out of this situation. My feet were nailed to the ground. I was tired of fighting. I’ve had enough of it for the night. I didn’t know whether I should just drop down and break down or… no, no. What’s another weakness to hide?
I ran away as fast as I could. Yes, I, Dylan Marvil, ran. My dress floated with every movement. My heel kept sinking into the grass. But it didn’t matter. I needed to get away. So I ran, and ran, and ran…
The once cool night breeze turned into a thick, humid mess.
I could hear Blake calling after me, but it was too late. I couldn’t look back. I was already a runaway bride. I went through the back door, desperately praying that nobody would see my streaked face. I cold feel the door pulling me closer to it as I got closer, teasingly tugging at me as I started to pick up my pace. I’m sorry, Louboutin.
I shut the door, resting my back against it, using the opportunity to regain my breath. But all I could do was whimper. Any attempt to keep my composure died in vain. I slid down the door, snivelling.
Somehow, he found me. I, myself, have never known that this part of the country club existed, even after years of attending exclusive events in every single one of its many ballrooms and exploring every nook and cranny as a child, let alone been to it. What the hell? I thought. Did I flash him a Bat-Signal?
I was ashamed. Ashamed of my state of distress. Ashamed that I allowed myself to curl on the dirty floor. Ashamed to have let my 60 dollar Guerlain mascara run down my face. Ashamed to have stained my nude patent leather heels green. Ashamed to not have known how to face him, what to tell him, or how to look at him. Ashamed because I knew that if I so much as tried to stifle the tears, I would hear the chock in my own voice.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything at all. He crouched down next to me and held me. He enveloped me in his arms, practically giving me permission to ruin his tux. I buried my head in it longingly, inhaling the comforting smell of his Calvin Klein. It was like he was there but not really there. I needed him next to me but wanted him away from me. I was a paradox.
Blake laced our fingers together and rested his head on top of mine. I was broken. A broken CD that refused to accept being broken. Yet, he fixed me. I didn’t ask for it. He didn’t ask me. He just… did. For a second, it felt like time stopped. I stopped fighting. I let myself sob, and I let him watch me sob, and I let him comfort me. And, as badly as it hurt, it may have been the best thing I’ve ever done.
My dad, my mum, Blake, my friends, my body. Everything was washed away by my salty tears.
We walked out as soon as my eyes were drained of all tears, his blazer soaking wet. The car park was empty. Everyone had left. It was just the two of us. And it couldn’t have been more awkward.
Blake looked at me, and then at the closed gate. Security had already locked up for the night. My family had clearly forgotten about me.
“Bet you can’t climb over it with that on,” he said, eying my discoloured shoes.
I kicked them off confidently, “Challenge accepted.”
I jumped onto the fence, clinging to it with one hand while letting my shoes dangle from my other. Today must have been a day of epiphany, because I’ve burned way more calories in just this night than weeks at the gym. I ran, I jumped and I climbed.
I wipe a dripping tear, suppressing any ones that would have followed. I sigh, closing my laptop and shoving it into my over-stuffed suitcase. I zip it up with great effort and yell, “Ready!” to my Mum, sisters and, yes, my dad. Spring break awaits.
What did you guys thing of this post? A rather short & bitter one, no? I typed it up last week but thought it was way too messy and have been avoiding editing it since. It’s obviously a lot different than my other posts. It’s a lot more… feeling, almost self-discovery, oriented.
Also, thank you all for the kind wishes. I am feeling better, and the wound from my surgery is healing really well! 🙂