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I stand there for a moment, holding his hand and absorbing the devotion I see written in his eyes. Nothing will be the same after this. Am I ready?
A thousand times yes.
"Yes," I whisper, memorizing the moment so that it will stay with me forever.
We're both smiling when our lips finally meet.
I feel the tingling begin as I brush out my hair in the bedroom I am staying in until the wedding happens in a few days. James has gone to a meeting this morning with his advisors to prepare for our long honeymoon. He won't tell me where we're going, just that it's a surprise.
I stand up and stretch, thinking that my limbs have fallen asleep from sitting down, but the tingling continues, spreading until I feel that I may faint.
I weave my way to the door to find help. As I reach for the door handle, I hear James saying something to a guard out in the hallway. I feel a wave of relief that I won't have to go far. James will know what to do.
The tingling increases until it feels almost like my skin is burning. Right before I touch the door, I watch in shock and horror as my hand fades away in front of my face, followed by the rest of my arm, and then all the rest of me.
In a moment of desperation, I once searched for myself in the Library of Congress, intent on finding anything to confirm that my love story with James had existed. I found that I had been erased from history books, relegated to nothing but a long-forgotten rumor of a young girl that had either run away or been stolen away on the eve of her wedding to The Crown Prince. James had lived for twenty more years, eventually marrying again and taking over as King after his father passed. I wondered what his new queen had been like, if he loved her like I believed he had loved me. Had he thought of me throughout his life and mourned me like I had mourned him? The selfish part of me hoped he had, that he had carried the memory of my love with him throughout his life. I wondered if he had been able to eat apples after I had disappeared, since I couldn't eat one without gagging to this day. I wondered if he thought of me when he saw the sea. If the spray of the waves crashing on rocks filled him with melancholy. Yes, the selfish part of me hoped that he had never forgotten and had missed me for the rest of his life.
The unselfish part of me hoped he had been happy.
Now
My sleep is fitful, filled with a slideshow of all the memories I can never escape. I feel exhausted when I wake up, and I spend most of the day on my moth-eaten couch, contemplating if it would be possible to just hide away in my apartment when Liam comes to collect me for the party.
Finally, thirty minutes before he's due to pick me up, I get off the couch and hurry into my bedroom to get ready. My apartment only consists of two rooms, and certainly didn't come with a closet. I have a makeshift rack leaning against the wall to hang my clothes on, and I peruse its meager offerings unexcitedly. It's certainly inconvenient that my wardrobe from each of my lives doesn't come with me.
A wave of depression follows that thought. There are far more important things than clothes that I haven't been able to bring with me.
The only thing I have that could even be considered suitable for a party, is a simple, long-sleeved black dress. I slip it on, and notice that I seem to have lost at least ten pounds from when I first bought it. It hangs much looser than it did when I picked it up a few weeks ago. A by-product of depression and not having enough money to buy food, I suppose.
I stare into my mirror, noticing how pale I've become. I pinch my cheeks to try and bring some color into them, and then swipe on some mascara and some light pink lipstick. I decide to leave my too long black hair down since I'm cutting it close to be ready in time for Liam to pick me up. I run a brush through my hair and stare at myself critically. It's been awhile since I tried to look halfway decent at all. I shouldn't have tried. There's a haunted look in my eyes that prevents me from looking normal.
I'm just about to change back into my pair of yoga pants, and call the night a failure, when a knock sounds on the door. I wring my hands nervously and take a deep breath.
"It's just a party with a friend," I tell my reflection in the mirror.
The girl looking back at me looks like she knows I'm full of shit. Rolling my eyes at my reflection, I grab my small purse and slip on a pair of black heels before walking to the door.
I open it and see Liam's dazzling face staring back at me. He takes his time looking me up and down, and I squirm uncomfortably while also taking my time to look him up and down. Friends admire each other, right?
"You look gorgeous," he tells me, and I can't help but blush, which immediately annoys me. I can already tell that he's going to make it very difficult for me to hold him to this friendship pact.
I slug him on the shoulder awkwardly.
"You don't look half bad yourself," I tell him, and he stifles a laugh at my social ineptitude. He looks far better than "half bad" though. Wearing fitted dark jeans that I can tell cost more than what I make in a week, he has a charcoal sweater on that's tight on the sleeves, showcasing his perfect, sculpted arms. His blonde hair is slicked back with something tonight, and I ache to run my fingers through it and mess it up.
He gestures forward and holds out his arm for me to walk with him to where a sleek, black, spaceship-looking car sits at the curb waiting for us.
Intent on keeping my distance, I ignore his waiting arm and walk to the car, wobbling a bit in the heels that I haven't worn in forever. I get to the car and delicately run a finger along the hood.
Liam chuckles at my awestruck look, but again says nothing. I like that about him, that he's all right with leaving things unsaid even if they are obvious. It's like he can read inside my head when not to point something out.
We get in the car, and Liam starts it.
"No driver tonight?" I ask.
He gives me a sheepish grin. "I try to only use the limo for business meetings, but I didn't have time to pick up a car before I met you at the diner. I didn't want to miss you."
The way he says 'miss you' seems to carry more meaning than just not catching me before I left the diner. The way he says it, seems to be like he would have missed me. Ugh, I'm being stupid.
