Walls Between Us

30 | what we leave behind

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C A R T E R

almost five years ago:

Today is the happiest day of my life. It is the day she becomes exclusively mine.

Grinning widely at the mirror, I twist the bowtie around my neck. I am alone in the dressing room for the groom. Melody and Shaun left me on my own after helping me with the tidbits. Our entire family is busy helping Amaya get ready for the wedding which makes a lot of sense considering she has been waiting for this day forever.

For me, I am just happy that after today, I would get to call her mine both affectionately and on paper. I am elated like anything and have the gut feeling that nothing could go wrong. Not today.

My phone lights up on the dressing table. I swipe it open to find a text from Amaya.

Amaya:

I know the groom doesn't get to see the bride before the wedding but I still wanted to share this for your approval

Underneath the text is a picture attached of her in the luscious wedding gown as her back faces the camera. The light from the window makes her shimmer as the dress clings to her beautiful curves. Even without seeing her face, I know that she looks like she is the most beautiful woman on earth today.

And she is my bride. That fills me with more pride.

Me:

Looking gorgeous, babe. I can't wait to see you in person.

Amaya:

Me too. <3

Love you!

Me:

Love you too!

I put the phone down and take a look in the mirror, spotting the cuff links I am still missing. I head to my backpack and start scrounging through it.

"Cufflinks...cuff links...where art thou?" I hum to myself, feeling stupid but I guess that's what happiness can make you do at times.

This has been the best morning of my life. I woke up with her in my arms, knowing that today was the last day we woke up as girlfriend and boyfriend. From tomorrow, we will greet the morning as husband and wife. Finally.

I am so focused on my task that I don't hear the click of the gun at all. It is when the cold barrel is pressed to my neck, my movements come to a cease.

I feel his presence before he speaks.

"Raise your hands above your head and turn around," he orders in a roguish voice. "Very slowly now. You don't want me to kill you."

Chills run down my spine when I recognize the man who carries that tone. I do as he says, cold sweat forming on my forehead as I turn to face him with my hands raised over my head.

Four years of prison didn't change him the least bit. Except for his grown beard and hair, he still looks the same. The same Mark who was Panther's right-hand man.

He is dressed in a three-piece suit. I don't know where he got the clothes from but they are shorter than his size. They cling to parts of him almost uncomfortably.