Phoenix ✔️

Chapter 6: No More Wings

Each foot that is covered by driving to the venue is a foot closer to my doom. She's slowly driving me to a place where I know it will be the start of something potentially horrible. She senses my fear that's boiling in the pits of my stomach, and she's entertained by it. The only thing she lives to see is my pain and suffering through everything I've conquered in life. And now, her dreams have come true on this day. 

When we get there, I notice that it's not a big hall. It's like the size of the city hall in our town. My cost efficient Mom didn't want to blow too much money on the wedding itself. And yet she blows so much money every week on booze at the local bar. How convenient. 

She takes me out of the car and starts to roughly pulls me to a small room. She's acting like a dog owner pulling their misbehaving pitbull by the leash because they're trying to chase a cat. As she drags me to the dressing room, I pay attention to the design and the feel of the hall. It's almost like a small, cheap motel, where everyone's staying on a road trip because they didn't want to spend too much on money. 

Eventually, she takes out a little key, and shoves it into the lock, twisting it sharply to open the door. She yanks me into the dressing room, which is nothing short of a motel room. I see my wedding dress hanging from a little bar. 

In my opinion, it looks no different from a white nightgown that I once owned as a teenager. That must have cost, like, $15 at Macy's. She opens a door, and there's a small bathroom inside. "Get changed. We have to do your makeup," she says harshly.

I snatch the dress and I drag myself inside the bathroom. I look at my eyes, which are like pink gumballs in my eye sockets. My sun kissed face feels crusty from the dried tears that fell like rain drops. I hold up the wedding dress, and examine its slight shimmer, resembling the full moon that hangs in the night sky. 

I examine it in more detail, and it's slightly more glamorous than an old nightgown. It slips on easily, which I appreciate, and it's comfortable. It has laced sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a flowing skirt. I'm not going to lie, it's a little bit pretty. 

A small wave of satisfaction washes over me. At least my mom chose a dress that was fairly stylish. As I'm admiring myself in the mirror, a sharp knock snaps me out of my trance. "Are you done yet?" my mom demands. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, I'm done," I tell her, and stroll out of the bathroom. My mom's waiting there, with an annoyed and impatient look on her face. When she sees me, satisfaction forms on her face. This is what she wants to see today as she gives me away. She wants to see me, in this dress, not arguing with her as she possibly ruins my life. 

"See, this is beautiful. Your husband is going to fall in love with you so quickly when he sees you in that dress," my mom says. I resist the urge to gag at her admiration. The thought of the man that's willingly marrying me, with the possibility that he knows that I'm marrying him against my will, makes me nauseous. I suppress that nausea so that I don't throw up on my mom, the dress, or my husband. 

"Now, sit down over here," my mom says. I walk over and I sit down on a little stool. She takes out a little makeup kit and she paints some pink lipstick on my lips, draws some eyeliner on my eyelids, fluffs my eyelashes with mascara, and dusts on a little bit of blush. She then ties some flowers into my hair, and gives me a bouquet that looks like the flowers were pulled from my neighbor's garden.

"Beautiful, Nicole. So beautiful," she admires. I fight the urge to smile at the rare compliment. It's something that I'm not used to hearing, so when I hear the compliment, it makes me a little bit happy. Then, my mom's phone rings. She takes the call, and she speaks for 30 seconds. 

"He's ready. Let's go," she says, putting an end to the short lived happiness that I experienced.

Once we get to the hall, I see the ushers open up the doors. The small hall is barely decorated with some simple flowers and ribbons. I then see my future husband waiting at the end of the aisle, and he looks happy. A cheap suit is slipped on, and his hair is somewhat combed.