Silent Night

24th December, 2012

I sat on the floor heaving - my breath came out in gasps like I was stuck under water and the corset that I’d struggled to lose weight to fit into, felt like it was growing tighter by the minute. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I thanked the stars that I’d had the sense not to gorge down all those pancakes for breakfast like I usually do, for I was sure I’d have brought every last morsel out now.

I caught my reflection in a large shard of glass, a remnant of the mirror I had knocked over just a few seconds ago – a wild nymph stared back at me, an imperfect beauty wrapped in yards and yards of lace and silk, a wedding dress made for an angel by angels. A pretty rose bud mouth, the lower lip bled a little from having been bitten too hard, a tiny droplet of blood marring the pristine white of the dress. The makeup was starting to wear off, I vaguely registered that the lady from the parlor had probably scammed me with cheap products. Or it could be that I was sweating bullets.

I stared some more at the reflection. She had made imperfect features, perfect – small but expressive eyes, ones which always held a twinkle, now brimmed with panic and realization. A small button nose, the only thing I had from my father and no amount of hating it would stop people from calling it cute. My short, fluffy tresses which I kept short with a vengeance had been teased into soft waves to frame my long face. The small tiara which I had sullenly agreed to wear glittered in the evening sun light while my veil fluttered; the slight breeze whipping through the large tear right in the middle. Its fault had been to flutter into my eyes gently right when I was going into an emotional shutdown.

What I saw was a mask that was slowly breaking apart. Just like the unexpected fairytale that I had thought my life to be. This was reality. The kind of reality that I was used to. It was almost like I was waiting for it to happen.

What struck me suddenly was that he had let me get completely ready, fully dressed before walking out – he could have saved me all those hours of torture if only he had had his grand realization earlier in the day. I laughed out loud, the voice that came out didn’t sound anything like mine, the one with rough edges, and then I choked on my own laugh.

He was the one who talked me into it, in the first place. 

After a father who professed undying affection and never bothered showing up ever, a step-father who was borderline sex maniac, a first love who abused me enough to plummet my self-esteem levels right into the ground and yet another relationship which almost brought me to my knees, I had pretty much given up on men – I wasn’t the raging feminist, I just wanted nothing to do with them for I had let enough men treat me like a doormat to make the same mistake again.

And yet, yet, I had let him talk me into it.

I found comfort in him, I found peace. I wanted nothing else but companionship so it was a bonus that the chemistry between us was off the charts, enough to steam up cars. And we did.

Then I said I wasn’t ready for marriage. I asked him to guarantee that our relationship will never fall apart – an assurance that I knew wasn’t giveable but I asked him for it anyway because I knew I didn’t want to wake up next to someone I hated in ten years. I didn’t want to add to the number of broken, messed up families and children, there already are in the world.

And yet, yet, I had let him talk me into it.

He had patiently chipped away at my armor and eaten into my solid reasoning ultimately leading me to believe that love just might conquer all. He did the whole will-you-marry-me hoopla too. I had stopped being cheesy after my first relationship, yet I felt like a girl, like a teenager seeing stars and wanting the moon, when he sank down onto a knee in front of the whole restaurant and asked me to walk down the aisle with him.

Everyone cheered when I said yes and completely ignored the hiccup moment I had right in the middle of it, dork that I am. While I was questioning all sorts of motives, futures and possibilities, I watched him smile into the night with unrepressed glee and happiness that I’d previously seen only in a three year-old who found his favorite RC car under his Christmas tree.

And now, I was sitting on the marble floor of my ridiculously expensive bridal suite which I’d sunken onto while still wrapped up uncomfortably tight in a ridiculously expensive white dress from an amazingly famous and equally shallow designer; this was right after he came into the room and told me that he couldn’t do it and that he was really very sorry. He also said that I deserved better and then walked out. 

Not once did he meet my eye.

(to be continued....)