The Dead Poets

57: The End Part One

One Year Later— 1961

I stare in the mirror.

A rose-coloured blush is swiped across my cheeks, a matching-tinted gloss over my lips, and a beaded pearl necklace sits atop my collarbone.

It feels surreal— it all felt so surreal.

Today is my wedding day.

I am anxious, I am scared, I am nervous— but even more so— I am excited, I am happy, and I know I will never regret this decision— I just know it.

Charlie was made for me. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I was one of the lucky few who found their soulmate; billions of people on this earth and I found the one person who makes my heart skip a beat, the one who never fails to give me butterflies or make me smile when I'm down, the one who makes me feel so beautiful and loved always, the one who was made for me— and only me.

And that is how I know that I won't have any regrets. I could live another million years, and I would never meet another Charlie.

I would never want to.

We were still in college; we were establishing our careers and embarking on our newfound adulthood. Some may think it strange, that Charlie and I were to be wed at our young age, but I was happy— we were happy. Besides, if Neil's death taught me anything, it's that you should always live your life how you want to live it— and screw what anyone else thinks.

Neil, quite literally, died for that cause. He refused to live his life any other way than his own way. To Neil, life wasn't worth living if it wasn't to be lived.

And today, despite my wedding day jitters, I was living life for Neil, but mostly, for me— and I knew he would be proud.

"You look beautiful."

I spin on my heel, Charlie is standing behind me. His hair was neatly and perfectly combed into place, his skin bright and glowing, his lips fell into their usual goofy grin, and his black, pressed tuxedo looked amazing— he was so handsome and he was all mine.

"Charlie!" I scold lightly, "it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

Bride... I still can't believe I'm saying that.

"I don't care," he says, dismissing the fable and stepping closer towards me.

"Your dress," he breaths, running his hand along my hip, gently grazing the beaded-lace fabric.

"You're breath-taking, Vi."

My cheeks tinted rose— even rosier than my blush, no doubt. Charlie never failed to make me feel like the silly schoolgirl with a crush— just as I had been when we first met.

"You don't look so bad yourself," I grin, slapping his wandering hand from my hip.

"Save it for the honeymoon, slick," I scold, causing his chest to rumble with his deep chuckle— to think I would spend the rest of my life listening to that laugh— nothing could make me happier.

"Oh, I will," Charlie smirks, his lips hovering over my own— dangerously close.

A throat clears behind us, causing our heads to snap in its direction.

"Ugh Knox! Way to be a buzzkill," Charlie groans exaggeratedly, to which Knox rolls his eyes.

"It may be your wedding day, but I'll still hit you," Knox countered, stepping into the room.