Blood Wedding

It was a beautiful day for a wedding. The sky was a bright happy blue with the classic puffy clouds dotting the sky. The garden was amazing. The flowers were in bloom and lacy white decorations gave the whole place a wonderful elegance. A wonderful floral scent was carried in the air and the temperature was perfect for an outdoor wedding.

I knew I should have been happy for her. My mother looks so beautiful in her white dress. She was a picture of perfection, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel the joy in the day. Whether Mother would admit it or not, her wedding day would always be soaked in tragedy.

I was only ten when my father killed himself. He put a bullet through his brain in the middle of the night. I found the body.

My mother made sure to tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault, and I believed her. I believed her because I knew whose fault it really was.

She told me that he was weak. She told me that a strong person wouldn’t kill them self and do that to their family. If he were strong he would have stayed. He should have stayed. For me. She tried to hard to convince me that he was the one to blame in everything. Mother tried to hard for me to believe it was his fault.

I was ten but I wasn’t stupid.

She looked so happy as she stood at the alter. She smiled and stared deeply into Mark’s eyes. I wasn’t blind either. I could see the love in their eyes and I knew they truly were in love, but as I stood behind her, in my light pink bridesmaid dress I couldn’t help but feel disgusted. The disgust and hatred that was brewing in the pit of my stomach only grew as they leaned in and kissed. They were husband and wife. My mother was married again, but Mark would never be my father. Mark is the reason my father was dead.

Well, it’s not really all his fault, but I know if I blame my mother I won’t be able to take it. I know in my heart and in my head that it is really her fault, but blaming Mark makes it so much easier. I loved my father so much, and thinking that my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, is the reason he is dead would be too much. I couldn’t take it. I would run, and I would never go back. But running never solves anything, so instead I blame Mark.

I may have been ten, but I was an observant ten-year-old. I noticed all those nights when my mother showed up late. Plenty of times she wasn’t home before I went to sleep. Father said she was working late, but it happened for months. I knew it wasn’t normal.

I didn’t put it together until one December night when Father was out of town. It was late, and I was supposed to be in bed, but I was so, so cold. I crept down the hallway to the stairs, quiet as a mouse. I was going to make myself a cup of hot chocolate than go right back to bed. I was so careful not to wake Mother that I didn’t even turn on the lights. It was so late I was positive she would be in bed, and she had told me so many times that the hall light wakes her up. She would yell if she found me out of bed, so the lights stayed off.

I was halfway down the stairs when she heard the moans. They were coming from downstairs, and I had no idea what would be making that sound, but I knew deep in my gut that I should stay quiet. I couldn’t make a sound.

I crouched down and peered around the stairs. The living room was dark, lit with only a few candles, but I could just make out what was happening. My mother was lying on the couch, naked, and a man was lying on top of her.  A man that wasn’t my father.

I squeezed my eyes shut and scampered back up the stairs, still being deathly silent. I was young, but I still knew what was happening, and I knew how wrong it was. Mother was cheating on Father, and she was doing it in their house. The house they bought together when they were in love. At least, that’s what Father thought.