Pocket Pickers #projectwomanup

Marriange Shingles

Are you suppose to feel like running on your wedding day?

To be fair, I didn't really know what to feel right then, but I had a tingling sensation that I wasn't suppose to feel like fleeing.

Before I could ruminate on the idea any longer, a tight pull on my waist made me gasp. The tailor shook her head, silently tsking at me. God, I shouldn't have stress-eaten all of those croissants yesterday.

A girl with bright eyes burst into the dressing room. I think her name was Florence. I didn't know.

"This is so exciting!" Florence said giddily. I held back a snort. Exciting was a nice way to put it. I preferred embarrassing and demeaning, but whatever floats her boat.

She probably had a boat.

Another tight yank brought me back from another thought tangent. Holy Nutter, could this dress get any tighter?

I looked around the room. It mostly consisted of pretty women who coalesced into a mixture of excitement and chatter.

I felt sick. It was probably the dress. The waistband seemed to be suffocating me.

The door slammed open again, but the woman who entered didn't seem to match the cheerfulness present on the other ladies. The chatter in the room deescalated to a judgmental whisper.

She staggered, and stumbled a little before collapsing on the chair. One of Pierre's aunts, Agatha, grimaced.

The girl was gorgeous, no doubt. Even in her obviously tipsy state, she seemed to own the smoky eye look, and her dress made her look like a walking hourglass. I didn't realize I was staring until she looked at me. Her cheeks broadened into a lazy grin.

"So you're the lady my cousin has been talking about," her slurred voice made it hard to decipher what she was saying. "Remi, right? Sounds kind if like rum. I like rum."

I could tell.

She slowly pushed herself off the couch and flung herself onto me in a violent hug of some sort. "Can we be best friends, please?"

By then, the commotion seemed to return, and with that, disdain.

"Teresa Von Pierre! Get off her this instant!" A chubby lady grabbed Teresa's heavy shoulders and pulled her off me. I was aghast at the sudden contact, but also at my inability to move.

Teresa chuckled. "I'm trying to get to know her better! I didn't come to the party when you all got to meet her." Her mouth folded into a pout.

"That's probably because you were too busy drinking with your friends," the Agatha sneered. There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room.

I turned my attention away from their quarrel. What a weird girl.

"All done," the tailor pursed her lips and turned me towards the mirror.

I gasped.

I looked horrible.

My skin was polished to glowing finish, but I could only focus on how my former self seemed to have been scrubbed away. What did they do to me? My arms were bare and I could see the faint chicken pox scars that never went away. The dress made me look inhumane, harsh curves and edges.

I hated it all. God, I'm going to throw up.

The door slammed open again, and I felt like screaming. What is with it with Turners and doors? I thought. Before I could say anything, a teenager bounced into the room.

"It's beginning!" She squealed.

. . . . .

Every step I took felt like a promise. I hated it.

Step, step, step.

I looked to my side. My father wasn't walking me down the isle. It was a man I didn't know.

Step, step.

The wedding music bled through my skull. Could they turn it off? I was getting a migraine.

Step,

step,

step.

I looked up when we reached the end of the path, only to make eye contact with Pierre. Usually, he seemed easily readable. But now, his eyes were guarded, as if he didn't want to show anyone his true emotions. My eyes immediately focused on the floor.

Good, I was already doing it for the both of us.

He extended his hand. It took me a minute to realize that I was suppose to take it.

Step.

Was I suppose to look at him again? I glanced up. My heart was pounding in my ears. Pierre took a step closer to me.

I turned away and scanned the crowd.

My dad was in the second row, looki g dapper in a black suit. I couldn't help but wonder why he didn't walk me down the isle. The officiant droned on behind me.

These are the hands that will hold you when grief or fear torments your mind...

My eyes caught on a head of blonde hair. My heart stopped.

These are the hands that will love you...

Was that-

"Pierre Von Turner, do you take Remi Greggs to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

I pried my attention away from the gold tufts of hair. My heart was on overdrive.

Pierre's adams apple bobbed. "I do."

The officiant turned towards me. "Remi Greggs, do you take Pierre Von Turner as your-"

"Objection!"

Gasped rippled throughout the crowd of people. Pierre's eyes widened. I didn't even turn around to confirm the sinking feeling in my guts. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Henry, what are you doing?