Someone Like You; Camren

one

Lauren sat across the table staring blankly at the pink envelope that had spent the last seventeen weeks taunting her. She remembers the feeling in her chest when she first opened her mailbox, instantly recognizing the handwriting that she hadn't seen in years, her knees growing weak as she read the return address. This couldn't be happening.

I heard that you're settled down
That you found a girl and you're married now
I heard that your dreams came true
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you

Now, over five months later, her body had become progressively more numb. Maybe it was because of the absurd amount of alcohol she had been consuming since then. Regardless, it still wasn't enough to truly block out everything she was feeling; the aching in her chest, the throbbing in her head, the shaky feeling in her limbs whenever she even looked at the pink piece of paper.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, she squinted at the clock on the wall. It's annoying tick-tock-tick-tock ringing deafeningly in her ears. 10:37 am. This was a new low, even for her. But she couldn't help it. She was going to need a whole lot more liquid courage if she was ever going to work up the nerve to open that damn envelope.

Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light

Four glasses later, the entire bottle of Moscato was empty, unlike her heart, which was still drowning in its own liquid demise. She could literally hear her blood pumping through her veins, echoing in her ears. With quivering hands, she tore open the envelope. It smells like her.

She gulped, her eyes struggling to focus on the text in front of her as her pupils dilated rapidly, attempting to read each word.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of
Ariana Grande-Butera
and
Karla Camila Cabello

On Saturday afternoon
June the 2nd
4:00pm

She barely made it to the bathroom in time, throwing the card back onto the table, clutching her stomach, emptying its contents into the toilet. Her head was spinning as she clung to the bowl as if her life depended on it, dry heaving with tears running down her face. Everything burned; the tears, her throat, her lungs, her heart.

After falling asleep on the cold tile floor for three hours, Lauren awoke shivering. Taking in her appearance in the mirror she sighed before opening the cabinet, carelessly emptying a few pills from the Ibuprofen bottle into her hand. She looked like shit. There were bags under her bloodshot eyes, her hair, tattered and disheveled. On top of that, she just reeked of alcohol. She counted the pills in her hand. Recommended dosage: 2... 3... maybe 6. Whatever.  Knocking them back without the aid of any water she winced as the meds slid slowly scratching their way down her throat.

She felt disconnected from her legs as they carried her toward the kitchen, positioning her in front of the invitation that had, just a few hours early, initiated her nausea. With a heavy heart, she lifted the sheet to her gaze again, noticing that she hadn't finished reading the entire thing. Written in unkempt scrawl was a message specifically for her. She immediately knew who had written it and fought off yet another wave of queasiness.

Lo,

I know we haven't talked but it would mean the world to me if you could make it. 

Always,
Camz

She glanced at the calendar. June 14th. Her eyes filled with tears as she spun on her heels, one hand clenched around the card and envelope as the other was busy unlocking the door. Typing the address into her GPS, she clicked the seatbelt and went speeding off.

The drive from Miami to Boca wasn't necessarily that far. An hour or so, max. But it felt like an eternity. The fact that she had just thrown up and overdosed on painkillers might have warped her sense of time just a bit. When she finally pulled up to the residence that she had gathered from the envelope's return address, her jaw dropped.