My Dear Laurens (Lams)

J. Laurens

"Now, everyone, give it up for the maid of honor, Angelica Schuyler!"

Angelica stood and walked past Laurens with a smile on her face. Or was she frowning? Laurens couldn't remember. He tried to remember the expression on other's faces as well, but his eyes rested on nothing. His hands found the headrests of chairs, and his own he thought. At least at one point. But now? Now, he filled another pint away from his friends, away from the audience. Just him and the liquor. He watched a fizz bubble at the top when he poured. Light brown liquid. A remedy, a medicine, brimming in a glass, then slowly washing through him inside and out.

He heard Angelica's voice in the background. He heard her speech, and the wavering in her voice. What was she feeling now? He had always known Angelica to be a strong, proud, and sometimes terrifying woman. So, what caused the trembling in her tones? At first, one might assume it was happiness. An abundance of it made a mess. Made to ruin because of its power, blinding and earth-shattering.

But then, he looked into her eyes. This, he remembered. He remembered because it was the same look he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. The mirror he used to get ready for the wedding, and the same mirror he and Alexander used to get him ready for the wedding. The one he used to straighten Alexander's collar. The one he looked into as Alexander hugged him, and told him he loved him. And when he stared back at himself as he heard those words, he could have flown.

Did Alexander know he meant it when he said those words back? Did Alexander mean it the same way he meant it?

Laurens spent the ceremony mulling over those questions. He wanted Alexander to love him, but he knew he didn't. Not in the way he wanted, at least. Or else he would be with him and not with Eliza. Just because they couldn't get married traditionally, couldn't they have made something work?

Couldn't we make anything work? Laurens thought, frozen in a loop of drink, then refill, drink, then refill.

It didn't take long for his mind to shut off completely, or, then again, was it his mind? Or was it his heart?

If it was his mind, he'd have blacked out or something. He wouldn't be able to watch people dancing, or watch Alexander and Eliza... kissing. He wouldn't see the joy that others felt if his brain took the jump off a cliff. So, what did?

It must be what he couldn't feel anymore.

He put his free hand over his chest in hopes of feeling a beating. A sign of life. But he felt nothing. He could feel his lungs working. He breathed in and out. He could feel his face and his chest and the skin on his bones, but not his heart. When he touched his neck to feel for a pulse, it was there. But, in truth, he felt like a puzzle. Almost finished, just one more, and then you realize you've lost the last piece. A bit of him was missing, and because of that one lost piece, all of him felt off. Out of place. Unfinished.

Then, Laurens tried to smile. Maybe if happiness wouldn't come to him on its own, he could force it in. The corners of his lips twitched, they pulled upwards, and there it was. A smile. Or was it a frown? Had he got it wrong? He couldn't tell what he was doing anymore.

"Help me," he whispered. But no one came.

"Anyone, please help me." His cry was too quiet for anyone to hear. So, yet again, no one came. He wanted to reach out and grab Lafayette. Grab Mulligan. Grab anyone. Why couldn't he feel anything? What was happening to him?

But then, a voice. Rough and heavy and full of life.

"Did you say something?" It said.

Laurens twisted his head to the left and discovered the voice. It was a man. His skin was pale, and his hair was blond. Dirty blond, and pulled into a ponytail. Without a hair to cover his face, every feature was on display. Small forehead, dark brows, hooded eyes, a sharp nose, and thin, pink lips.