twisted | ✔️

chapter eight

The house was quiet when I returned home. Everyone had already left for the church, and I knew I had to meet up with them within the hour, but for a moment, in the middle of that foyer, it felt good to be completely, entirely alone. I let my bag drop on the ground with a loud thud, letting out a loud sigh of relief. My dress was hanging on the side of the stair banister, reminding me of my obligation, but for now, I slinked into the kitchen and grabbed a wine glass out of the cabinet and a bottle out of the refrigerator, filling the glass all the way to the top.

I was halfway through the glass when I finally slipped into the dress. My phone buzzed next to my makeup bag on my vanity, and it was my mother asking me where I was. It was t-minus thirty minutes until she stepped foot on that aisle, but I was in no hurry. I ignored her text.

I swiped a brush across my eyelids, gold appearing in the place of flesh, and then brushed a mascara wand through my eyelashes, and I didn't look any better with makeup, like I was a ghost. I put some bronzer across my skin and some blush on my cheeks, but I just ended up looking like a plastic version of myself, mirroring how I felt. I pinched my face up into a smile, practicing for the photos, for the family, for the moment my mother walked down the aisle and took her place next to me.

I teetered down the staircase, heels and clutch purse in hand, and meandered into the kitchen to pour myself another glass. I drank it way too quickly, and it went to my head, into my blood, and my arms felt heavy. I shouldn't have been driving, but I stepped into my car, throwing my things in the passenger seat, and made my way to the church.

There was no place to park when I arrived, so I drove a little ways down the street, pulling between an SUV and a sedan. A family stepped out from the Suburban in front of me, two parents followed by a teenage son and a little girl, and I didn't recognize any of them, and my stomach churned. I dug out the flask hidden in my middle console, warm vodka slipping down my throat with ease. I wasn't prepared for this.

The church pews were filled, and there was a low murmur of voices accompanied by soft music coming from the piano player at the front of the building. Nobody was at the altar yet except for the minister, and I almost wished I would have shown up late. My family was on the left side, Jonathan's on the left, and I wanted it to stay that way forever, two separate entities. Flowers lined the walkway as I forced myself to take a step, then two, and then three, until I had my rhythm down; I had to focus on walking instead of the dizziness that was rattling around in my brain, threatening to extend to my limbs.

I peeked at my phone: ten minutes until show time.

My mother was in the back, surrounded by her horde of bridesmaids and my grandmother, all of them gazing at her adoringly, fussing with her hair, and she had a huge smile across her face, I almost didn't want to interrupt. But my heels clacked against the hardwood floor, and everyone turned to face me. Her face fell.

"I hope I'm not too late," I murmured, taking a few steps toward the group.

"No," my mom said, breaking away, coming my way. She stopped, and there was a few feet separating us, what felt like miles. She looked beautiful, and I hated admitting that to myself. Her dress dropped off her shoulders, lace trailing all the way down to her elbows, and it hugged her waist, her hips, the tulle of the skirt dusting the floor slightly. Her hair was curled into a crown around her head, and a veil rested on top. She was looking up at me through her eyelashes, unsure of what to say; last time, I'd completely blown up in her face.

"You look great," I said, only because I knew I had to.

"Do you still need to do your hair?" she asked, and I self-consciously touched the top of my head. The knot was still tight, slicked down, and I could feel it pulling back my forehead, my eyebrows, way neater than I normally would have made it.