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18
MAY
LIAM
The Californian sunshinefills the world with brightness and colour that’s at odds with how I feel. Drinking orange juice and taking painkillers for my hungover head, I stare over Dylan’s infinity pool, at the illusion of the drop into the sea.
I expected to wake to a phone full of messages from Honey, but there’re none. I presume she’s still at our place in Malibu deciding on her next move, while I skulk here like the rat I am.
Leaving your bride high and dry on your wedding day is disgusting enough; leaving Honey and her carefully orchestrated media frenzy on a Blue Phoenix wedding day was the worst thing I’ve done in my life. I didn’t even hang around to explain, I just left.
Bryn brought me to Dylan’s home. LA isn’t far enough away from the disaster for me, but Bryn’s right, I can’t leave until I’ve faced Honey.
No, the worst thing I’ve ever done is letting everything get to this stage and not backing out earlier. What can I say to Honey? I can’t make this better, only worse. Once I knew I couldn’t marry her, I had two weeks to sort out the mess. And what did I do? Fuck all. I told myself it was too late and to just marry her, then see what happens next—we could always divorce when things go wrong. Which they would.
That pisses all over my underlying belief that I marry once and for love. Nobody gets married with divorce in mind. That’s fucked up.
A couple of days before the wedding, my parents arrived with my sister. They moved into the guest rooms and watched in awe as the wedding took shape. I watched with a constant edge of nausea following me through the days. I asked how Cerys was. I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. Louise was cagey, wouldn’t tell me much, but I did get out of her that Cerys and Craig split two weeks after Christmas.
Another punch to the head.
The day of the wedding, I crawled out of bed at the latest time I could. I dreamed about Cerys the night before my wedding and took that as a sign. The secret I’ve kept locked in my heart since Christmas can’t stay hidden. Cerys touched me in ways Honey never did and there has to be a reason why. If we’d really just been two hurt people looking for comfort, the need to see her wouldn’t have obsessed me for the last two weeks.
Since Christmas.
* * *
Avoidingconfrontation at all costs landed me in this fucking mess and has led to the need for the biggest confrontation of my life. I want to run back to England – or anywhere – so I don’t have to walk through the door of my house and face the woman whose heart I tore out yesterday. I would’ve done if Bryn and Dylan hadn’t talked me around. Cowardice is part of the reason I’m in this situation and I steel myself. I have to do this once, and then never see Honey again.
The house is quiet when I walk through the double doors; all the guests have moved to local hotels or returned home. I haven’t spoken to my parents yet either—fuck knows what Mum will say about me treating someone like this. I gently close the door, but the sound echoes down the high-ceilinged hallway. Where will Honey be? If I’m really lucky, she’ll be gone already.
Several leopard-print pink suitcases rest at one end of the open-plan room that spans the back of the house, but I can’t see Honey. Anxiety clutching my chest, I step into the room and wait for her to realise I’m home. I don’t notice the figure curled up on the sofa, until she speaks.
“You’re late, Liam,” says Honey, quietly.
The guilt at seeing the pale faced girl with red-rimmed eyes smacks me as hard as I deserve from her fists. Make-up free, she’s the Honey I met all those months ago before she shaped herself further into the illusion she surrounds herself with. There’s no clever shading transforming her face, or dramatically made up eyes disguising her as someone else. This is the real Honey.
My mind blanks and I grasp at all the rehearsed words but I can’t find them. I’ve received the brunt of Honey’s anger before and that’s included hysterical, physical attacks on occasion. That Honey isn’t here—she’s more broken than ever.
I fucking hate myself.
“I don’t know what to say,” is the best I manage after an eternal time staring at each other. I don’t sit but remain in the doorway, arms crossed in defence.
Honey makes a derisive sound. “Yeah.”
“I should’ve stopped all this weeks ago. I’m sorry.”
“You mean this wasn’t a last minute freak out?” she asks, voice cracking. “You decided before the day? When? How long have you lied to me?”
I cover my eyes because the tears appearing in hers tighten my chest and the guilt strangles me. I need to take advantage of the calm I wasn’t expecting. “You know things aren’t right… weren’t right for weeks.”
“We were busy, things got hectic, but I didn’t know you stopped loving me. How could I know that?”
“Honey, when was the last time we spent time together?Reallyspent time together and not just a snatched lunch.”
“You’ve been busy…tired. You always wanted to be on your own when you came home. I respected that. I was busy too.”
“Do you think it’s normal for the man you’re about to marry not to want to share a bed with you…” I don’t say the words but I last had sex with Honey weeks ago. Touching her felt wrong when all I could think about was Cerys.
