My heart pounds in my chest. My palms sweat… so much so that I feel the intense urge to wipe them on something, anything. But, unfortunately, the only thing in close proximity is the wedding dress that’s squeezing me so tightly that it steals my breath.
Groaning, I bend at the waist, placing my palms against the cold granite of the bathroom sink. If only my face wasn’t already made up. It would be so nice to just place my blazing cheeks against the implacable stone.
All around me, my bridesmaids buzz about, the happiness palpable in the air. I feel it too. It’s not as if I’m immune. It’s more that my brain is constantly working, constantly calculating.
When I say I do, it’s forever. That’s just the way it is. My parents were like that, my grandparents, and so on. It’s not as if I have something against divorce. Trust me, if someday Grant decides to get a wild hair up his ass and gets out of pocket, I’m out.
But honestly, most things can be worked through. At least, that’s my personal opinion. Just like with my work life, all I need is to have the numbers add up. With Grant and I, they add up.
Most people would find us boring, but there’s something to be said about a quiet life at home. As long as the sex stays hot, everything will be nice and calm. Easy.
Easy is the perfect word for what we are. Taking in a deep breath, I repeat that word like a mantra. Easy. Once we’re married, that will be the last thing to slide into place. Easy.
Ugh. But why, oh why, did I let him talk me into getting married on Valentine’s Day? Only people deep in their emotions would do something this sappy. It’s not me.
I’m just not sentimental. Grant isn’t either. At least I don’t think he is. Perhaps there’s some financial significance to this day that I’m not thinking about. Leave it to Grant to find some deal. It’s one thing I love most about him.
Gathering my courage, I breathe in and out, looking at the cheerful faces beaming at me. All but one. I squint, counting them out, and repeating their names.
Something’s not right. Where is Jessica my maid of honor? Shaking my head, I push through the girls and go into the main room. Her dress is gone.
Like the others, she must already be dressed. Perhaps she wanted to go to a different bathroom while we were in here? But then, as my best friend, we heard everything from each other in the bathroom. Why go run away now?
Pushing out of the room, I go down the hallway, looking for the other room. It’s not that I just had to have her there, but something feels wrong. I can’t put my finger on it.
Though I never gave much stock to women’s intuition, this time, my gut screams at me so freaking loud that I can’t ignore it. The very worst thing that could happen is that she’s hurt somehow.
Not only would it throw off the even number, which, yes, I know isn’t the absolute worst part, but the thought of my bestie being in pain is something I don’t even want to contemplate.
Unbidden, my brain races back to the time she broke her arm jumping off of the roof of my house. Granted, we were kids then, giving to bouts of imaginative madness. As adults, I know she wouldn’t do something so reckless. But I could never forget the way she screamed.
The pain and terror in her voice stuck with me. Even now, it bounces around my mind, flooding my veins with some unnamable fear. She has to be okay. She just has to.
Flinging open the door to the other bathroom, I freeze, my brain and eyes fighting with each other, trying to make sense of the scene in front of me. Instead of being sprawled out, injured, and unable to call for help, she is on all fours.
Her mouth hangs open as lurid sounds pour out, decadent and heady. Before, I thought the very worst thing that could happen to me was to find her hurt. But I was wrong. So very wrong.
My sensible, light blue bridal party gown is hoisted up about her hips, wrinkling, and probably already covered in fluids I’d rather not think about. But that still isn’t the worst part.
It isn’t the wild abandon, the slack, relaxed pose of her body as she’s being reamed from behind. It isn’t the fact that I envy the look of sheer joy on her face, an ecstasy I somehow have never seemed to experience. It isn’t even the loud cries of pleasure that reach a crescendo mine never have.
No.
It’s the fact that the person giving her this, pleasuring her in this way, on my fucking wedding day, is none other than my fiancé. I want to leave, to put these images out of my mind, but I can’t bring myself to do that.
It’s as if I’m locked in some nightmare that I can’t escape. Maybe that’s it! Maybe I’m just having a pre-wedding nightmare! Though, granted, I never expected my subconscious to bring this up.
To my knowledge, I’ve never had any worries about my betrothed sleeping with someone else, much less my best friend. Interesting what the mind will conjure. Since this is a dream, however, I figure it’s best to watch it to its conclusion and see if I can learn something from it.
However, the longer I stand there, the more I wonder if this is in fact my reality. Once more, sweat gathers on my palms, hot and sticky. I rarely felt things in dreams. Yet another conundrum to pick at my brain.
Jessica’s cries pierce the air, punctuated, loud, in time with Grant’s forceful thrusts. Does he enjoy that position? He always seems content with the missionary sex we have.
He got off. I got off. What more is needed? But as I watch, my stomach twists painfully. I find my breathing matching theirs. I gulp for air but find none.
A loud screech erupts from my throat as my hysteria finally rises enough for me to take action. Both yelp, Grant pulling from her. Like dominoes, everything falls into place.
This is not a dream. This is not a nightmare. This is real life. And not only does my fiancé seem to enjoy doggy style, but he also seems to really enjoy it with Jessica. My head spins as I take in their shocked faces.
“Babe,” Grant cries out, doing his best to zip up his pants with a flagging erection. “It’s not what it looks like. I-”
“You what? You were undoing your pants to go pee and slipped and fell into Jessica’s pussy? Is that what you’re about to tell me? Is that what you think is most believable? I might be naïve, but I’m not stupid. At least give me that much credit.”
On the floor, sprawled out in the most unladylike manner, Jessica looks up at me, her eyes wide and wet… with tears? What is she crying for? It’s not like she’s the one that just got cheated on.
“Please Candy. I-”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare Candy me. Get up.” When she doesn’t move, rage floods my system, filling me until I’m unable to see. Reaching over, I grab her by the arm and haul her to her feet. “I said get the fuck up.”
“Please, Candice. I can explain,” she babbles. “It was an accident.”
Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms and stare both of them down. “Again, the only way this can be an accident is if I suspend disbelief. Which I refuse to do. Try again.”
“It’s true, babe,” Grant cajoles, easing his way over to run his hand up and down my arm. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Damn right it wasn’t. I want answers. I want them now.”
“I wanted to use the bathroom,” Jessica stammered. “When I got out, Grant was there. But he was a mess.”
“It’s true. My heart was racing and everything.”
“I went to talk him down, you know, give him a little comfort. Well…”
“Well?” I tap my foot against the tile, the rhythmic clicking taking the edge off.
Grant picks up where Jessica leaves off. “One thing led to another, and I realized I just needed to get these nerves out of my system.”
“Uh-huh. Nerves. That’s what we’re calling it.”
“What do you want me to say, babe?” Grant pauses to run a hand over his face. “You refused to sleep with me the last two months.”
“So that tonight would be special,” I scream, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“I have needs, okay? I just needed a release. Pure and simple. It was clinical. Nothing more. Jess was just a hole to use to relieve that tension.”
This time, it’s Jessica’s turn to look enraged. She leans over and smacks Grant’s arm. It gives me a modicum of satisfaction, but not nearly enough. I want him to hurt. I want both of them to hurt. To feel even a slice of the agony that threatens to rip my heart in two.
“Enough. This is what we’re going to do. I’m just going to leave. I’m going to act like this never happened. You get to explain to the people why there will not be a wedding today. I want no part in this.”
“Babe,” Grant whines. “But the venues. I’m never getting this money back.”
“I guess you should have thought about that before relieving your tension with someone other than your fiancée.” Gripping the enormous diamond on my finger, I fling it on the floor. “Perhaps that can help you recoup. Unless it’s just as fake as your loyalty to me. I want you and your stuff out of my apartment by tomorrow morning. Anything that’s left will be tossed out.”
I don’t even wait for him to respond. Whirling about, I tear through the door and down the hall, pulling shit out of my hair on the way. I don’t care that I’m leaving behind a mess. Someone else can deal with it. I’m done.
Part of me wonders if I should tell the bridal party, but no doubt they’ll just make the situation worse. I don’t want coddling right now. I want a stiff drink and perhaps someone I can fuck to get today out of my system.
This isn’t like me. I’m not vindictive like that. However, the further I walk away from the situation the more I don’t actually give a damn. Tonight is my wedding, and I’m not going to bed until I have a wedding night.
