Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was starting. Fuck, it was actually starting, and it was now or never.
The wedding procession had begun, and to be honest, I was absolutely shocked that Chelsea had chosen to have the actual creaky, old pipe organ up in the choir loft play, 'Here Comes the Bride.'
I didn't think she knew what an organ was.
Even though every fiber of my being was completely against this sham of a wedding, I had to begrudgingly admit that it was gorgeous. You know, despite the fact that it looked like Pinkie Pie the MyLittle Pony had shat everywhere. The fall sunlight from outside filtered through the huge and ornate stain glass windows onto each wall and illuminated the space in a spectrum of colors that was almost magical.
The organ croaked along at a snail's pace and sounded eerily similar to the songs played at every funeral I'd ever attended. It seemed fitting, a song that sounded like a death march playing when the friendship I cherished more than anything in the world had the potential to die a slow, painful, and publicly humiliating death within the next ten minutes.
Reese moved up the aisle. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him. He'd been slightly disheveled at the clubhouse barely twenty minutes ago, now he stood in his full glory in a pristine grey suit that made his blue eyes stand out. His light blue button-down stretched across his chest and a simple silver and white tie was cinched around his throat.
He stopped at the edge of the stairs that led up to the altar and turned around. His gaze slammed to mine and suddenly, I'd stopped breathing altogether.
I could always read him like a book from day one. Those eyes had always said everything he was feeling and thinking, and on his wedding day, one would expect to see love and joy and excitement for the first day of a brand-new life to be spent together.
Instead, as I locked gazes with him from across that room, I saw regret, doubt, confusion, and a mix of other emotions and feelings I didn't really recognize. Shame, longing, maybe? No. No, absolutely not. There was no way. The very idea of that was ridiculous and a verging on pathetic.
I forced myself to look down at my tightly clasped hands, which were turning white from my vice grip. I couldn't look at him now. If I did, I'd start crying and lose my nerve.
The bridal party made their way down the aisle in perfect step, the groomsmen in suits that matched but slightly deviated from Reese's, and the bridesmaids in blush pink, floor-length gowns. I made the mistake of looking down at my own stupid dress, realized that I matched perfectly, and nearly gagged out of disgust.
I was definitely fucking burning this thing when I got home.
i picked at a loose thread hanging from the hem and tried to ignore the imploring and concerned looks my parents were shooting my way. If this scheme went south, I'd have to go into hiding after doing this to them. We lived in a small town and I didn't want my parents to forever be branded as the people who'd spawned the homewrecker who thought she could crash her best friend's wedding day. I'd change my name, buy a wig, and only visit them on holidays in unmarked locations.
