𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 → 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

62. a gift

monday,
february 14th, 2021

EZRA GREYSTONE

The bubbling of the bitter champagne causes me to wrinkle my nose as it washes down my throat.

When I finish off my drink — purely to feel something other than the loneliness easing its way through my veins tonight — I tilt my head at my reflection.

I've managed to sneak away from the bustling wedding reception downstairs in the hotel's ballroom to freshen myself up in my hotel room. It wasn't a huge ordeal, I'm sat at a table near the ballroom's back exit anyways.

The lilac dress that I chose the day I met Rachel and the other bridesmaids hugs me well. There's certainly a little tension around my tummy considering I absolutely devoured my meal and have been drinking bouts of rosé since.

I don't even like rosé.

The wedding ceremony was beautiful. It was held in this quaint church in Edinburgh's city before the reception moved to the posh hotel where most guests are staying tonight. The hotel is gorgeous too — high ceilings and arched windows, the exterior walls built out of a beautiful aged stone.

I'm genuinely over the moon for Roy and Rachel — they look so damn happy and I'm glad for them.

Though selfishly, a piece of me wishes at least one of my smiles tonight was genuine.

It isn't that I'm unhappy. In fact, seeing my family all together again has really made my heart feel so full tonight. Everybody's of high spirits, dancing and laughing and I'm elated because of it.

I just can't stop thinking of him.

And I hate myself for it. He isn't thinking of me. He isn't craving my company like I am his. He doesn't miss me — not the way I miss him. He doesn't feel swallowed whole by guilt the way I do, because for once I'm so confident in admitting that I should've never let him go.

I don't even know when I fully realised the extent of my mistakes. But I do know that I no longer care about his secretive nature when it comes to Riverside. I don't give a fuck about his dangerous hobby anymore.

I care about him so endlessly that sometimes it aches a little. I miss him. I wish I could tell him.

I sigh, shuffling through my makeup bag to find a couple of lip products. Between dinner, drinking and finding myself smothered by family members and their conversations, my lipstick has worn off.

Carefully, I squint my eyes as I lean closer to the circular mirror hung above the bathroom sink. I simply line my lips with a dark nude, using some lip oil to erase the harshness of the look. I touch up my mascara and powder too, not wanting to look so withered when it's barely 9pm.

I exhale deeply, staring at myself in the mirror.

"Happy Valentine's day," I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes.

My heels patter against the marble floor before they're cushioned by the carpet of the bedroom. I ensure my clutch has my lip products inside this time, along with my room key before leaving the pretty room again with my phone in hand.

I sort of wish I could stay there and just take this professionally done makeup off before sliding out of my dress and falling asleep. For tonight though, I will myself to push away those feelings of unwarranted isolation and plaster a grin on my face after taking the lift down to the ballroom.

The bountiful echo of laughter and chatter clashes nicely with the music of the jazz band as I re-enter the vast ballroom. My table is the nearest to this entrance so I quickly find my seat again.