It was never supposed to be me.
It was never going to be me.
I can’t—
I can’t watch this.
But I do.
I decide to watch—to torture myself as I refuse to look away.
His hands tremble as he reaches for her leg, briefly shutting his eyes and hesitating for half a second before sliding the garter up her calf.
The group of men grows rowdy, whistling and shouting as he settles the garter on her thigh.
She places a hand on Owen’s shoulder before throwing her head back with an infectious laugh.
She’s perfect.
He’s perfect.
A hot tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I swipe it away quickly as my vision starts to blur.
This thing between us was always meant to be temporary, wasn't it?
How did I trick myself into thinking otherwise?
My lips tremble as the music and chatter become too much—too loud, too overwhelming, too humbling.
I take a step back.
Then another.
No one notices. No one cares.
They’re too busy watching them.
I turn on my heel before I start sobbing and make a scene.
I need to get out of here before Owen can notice I’m gone.
I weave through the crowd, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. The reception fades behind me as I push through the doors, the humid air sticking to my skin as I toss off my heels and step from the deck onto the sand.
The beach is so dark.
Eerily dark and quiet.
The sound of the ocean crashes against the shore, steady and relentless.
I walk aimlessly, trying to outrun the sick feeling twisting through me. When my knees drop to the sand, I break.
A sob comes from deep in my soul as I press my palms into the sand, the wind whirling through my hair as tears spill freely down my face.
TWENTY-FIVE
Owen
No.
