I've been staring at this cream envelope holding the wedding invitation for the past hour, and I've come up with five perfectly reasonable options to deal with the dilemma it poses.
1. Tell my brother to man up and deal with my absence on his wedding. After all, he's the bastard who introduced me to Otis and then decided to marry Otis' sister, so this is all his fault to begin with.
2. Be rational and fierce and show up alone, head held high. Otis can go screw himself.
3. Find myself the perfect boyfriend within a month and drag him to the wedding in a rented tux to meet my parents (I pity the man before even meeting him).
4. Hire a man for the day like they do in the all-goes-to-hell-but-ends-happily-ever-after movies I keep watching with my big bucket of ice cream. No, I swear I wasn't crying last night. I have allergies.
5. Make a deal with the devil to solve this mess, even if it costs me my soul.
I've gone as far as jotting down my options on a notepad, and I'm considering writing a pros-and-cons-list. In the end, I decide on tequila instead.
Not the first time I've been making questionable choices since I heard the man who I thought was The One brag to his best friend about his extra-curricular activities.
Falling back into an armchair, I nudge my pumps off with my toes and sink into the soft leather. The television blares its usual nonsense at me while I nurse my glass.
By the time my third glass is empty, I'm drinking from the bottle while eyeing my list.
One is out. My brother is the only person I'd do anything for. I'd prefer walking on broken glass over seeing Otis parade his latest girlfriend around, but that's not a trade-off I can make unfortunately.
Unless the gorgeous males I can find on-line accept payment in the forms of sarcasm and cat memes, option four is out. I'm broke enough to buy the white-label brand of tequila, which I'll regret with all my being tomorrow morning.
I can't even face option three while drunk. Otis broke me to the point I can't look at a man without feeling stabby. My brother is the one exception to the rule, but I can hardly date him, can I?
Actually—
No, never mind, it's his wedding.
I put the bottle away and bury my head in my hands, scared by the unholy twist my thoughts have taken.
The broken part of me is quivering in a corner of my buzzing body, doubled over while holding the big ball of sadness I've been nursing in her lap. The old me, the confident girl I used to be, is shouting, raging, pounding against my skin until every nerve ending in my body is alive.
Why am I the one to agonize over my own brother's wedding?
Why should I suffer when Otis was the one who betrayed me? Not once, not twice, but for three long years. He told his best friend he found a girl on-line a week after we moved in together. I still remember the glee in his voice as he did.
Fury burns at the bottom of my stomach.
I stare at the last option on my list until the words blur. When I swipe at the itch on my cheek, my fingers come away warm and wet.
"Come and get me! I'll give you whatever the hell you want. All I want is for Otis to suffer as much as I do," I scream at whoever cares to listen.
Scrambling up, I shout again, scream and curse until my throat is a scratchy, parched mess.
I stumble against the corner of the coffee table and crash to the floor, taking the bottle perched on the surface with me. Glass crunches beneath my hands, but there's no pain.
Sticky.
Grit and glass and bright red mixing with the clear liquid pooling on the floor.
A dark veil encroaches on my already impaired vision, and a throaty whisper echoes around my deserted apartment. I'm not sure if it's me or my imagination talking.
I crawl back until my shoulders touch the armchair and stare at the mess I made until even those images blur and disappear into the black of night.
###
Being broke is a bitch. I need better tequila in my life.
The sunlight tortures my poor eyes. Someone seems to be playing a drum set inside my skull, with unpracticed vigor. I sit up and curse my poor decision-making skills.
The world has turned into a ship overnight, swaying on a tempestuous ocean.
It takes me a while to feel the pain in my hand through the agony ruling my head and stomach. I squint at the white bandage covering my left hand and wonder who broke into my apartment to take care of me. There's no way my drunk ass put a perfectly aligned dressing like this. I can't even do it while sober and focused.
When the sway of the ocean calms down to nauseating little waves, I venture out of bed. Leaning against the wall, I make my way to the living room and gape at the scene.
Not a spot of blood mars the linoleum or the remnants of my poor coffee table. The glass top is missing, but even the shards are gone.
"Hello?" I croak.
If I didn't need both my hands to stay upright, I'd find a bat or knife before searching for whoever did this. Then again, I doubt the intruder would clean my wound and my floor only to kill me after.
By the time I've shuffled through my tiny apartment, I'm sure there's nobody but me inside. Unless they're small enough to hide in the corners I'm too lazy to vacuum.
The only thing I find is the blood-spattered paper with five options, laid out on my counter.
I read it over once more and sigh. In the harsh light of day, I know what I need to do.
I'll pretend to be the cheerful, confident girl I once was and walk in alone. I'll hide my tears so my brother won't worry. I'll turn my back on Otis and try not to kill the smirking bastard.
This too will pass.
I'll look back at this list and laugh about it with my best friend. We'll google men-for-hire and fantasize about our own happily-ever-after with one of them. Damn Pretty Woman for brainwashing us all.
Once I've burried the note beneath the pile of catalogs littering my counter, I shuffle back to bed.
###
My hands shake as I pull down the sun visor to check my make-up one last time. I'm done up to perfection. Blond curls frame my creamy skin, blue eyes lined, lashes curled, lips a shimmering pink.
All I can think about is the mess my mascara will make when I'm crying my eyes out in the bathroom the moment I've laid eyes on Otis.
No matter how often I try to steel my heart, it still lays shattered in my chest.
With a deep breath, I open the door and slide out, trying not to crease the emerald dress that cost me a month's salary.
Everything for my brother. Right.
Before I can head for the side door of the church to meet my mother for the final arrangements, a stunning redhead blocks my path.
"Took you long enough, blondie," she drawls.
"E-Excuse me?" I stutter.
She thrusts out her hand with a pearly white smile. "Nice to meet you under better circumstances, blondie. I'm Lucy."
I gape at her until she pats my cheek.
"Wakey, wakey. We've got a lot of ground to cover today," Lucy tells me.
"What are you talking about?" I bristle.
After the sleepless night I had, I struggle to find my wits to deal with this obstacle.
"Oh, blondie," she sighs. "When you make a deal with the devil, the devil always delivers. After all, better make sure you get your soul's worth, right?"
I fall back against my car, no longer thinking about my dress or my mother, who will be furious at me for being late.
"W-What?"
Lucy rolls her eyes. "I should have known you were too drunk to remember. Doesn't matter. You asked for me, you offered 'anything I wanted', and you spilled your blood to seal the deal. No returns on this contract, blondie."
The sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that my subconscious does remember. All I can think about is my bandaged hand, the cleaned-up mess. Someone was there alright.
Either I've not just gone off my rocker, but actually fell off my rocking chair, broke every bone of my body in the process and then got crushed by a passing truck, or this is real.
"W-what did I ask for?" My voice is barely audible over the buzzing in my ears.
"To make Otis suffer." Lucy's smile chills me to my marrow. "Let's say I have some tricks when it comes to tormenting humans."
I eye the door of the church and decide to believe. She may be playing me but if there's the slightest chance to make him hurt, I'm willing to try.
"Let's do this," I blurt out. "What's the plan?"
"That's the spirit, blondie." Lucy chuckles and pulls out a phone from her clutch.
She holds the phone to her ear for a moment before speaking, "Am I talking to Ms. Ganner?"
Lucy taps her blood-red nail against the back of the sleek device. "I've been informed that you manage Mr. Otis Lake, am I correct? I need to speak to his supervisor."
My heart is racing while I stare at the way the sun catches in the devil's red hair, hear the sweet notes of her voice as she informs Otis' boss of the fraud he's committing, before telling the woman exactly where the police can find the bastard.
"Can I ask for a favor, Ms. Ganner?" she adds. Her radiant smile tells me Otis' boss is more than happy to give her anything. "Once you find the evidence I told you about, can you ask for discretion during the arrest? It would be a shame to ruin the wedding he's currently attending."
Her words deflate the fear for the future ballooning in my chest.
Lucy grins at me when she hangs up, and hooks her arm in mine. "Let's go, blondie. You still need to introduce me to your ex as the woman who rocks your world and watch him turn green with envy."
The high-heeled redhead drags me towards the church.
All I can think about is whether she'll burst into flames when entering the consecrated building. And how pissed my mother is going to be at me for being late. How hard my brother will laugh when I introduce the woman who has a firm grasp on my hand now.
If my heart will heal when karma hits Otis right in the face.
I can't wait to find out.
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