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My eyes meet Tom’s who responds accordingly. “I agree. Let’s have them together.”
“Fine,” sighs Anne, shaking her head in irritation as Indie glares up at me. “So, Gideon and Sarah, you’re together. And Greyson and Indie. Done.” She scribbles something onto a pad clipped to her clipboard. “Follow me.”
As we settle behind the screen concealing the back of the aisle we’ll be walking down tomorrow, Anne requires us all to stand next to our partners before taking out her phone and playing the song that is the cue for the first couple to walk.
“You’re outrageous, you know that?” hisses Indie.
You have no idea, Indigo…
16
Indigo
Ifeel highly irritated by how aware I am of how unyielding his bicep is as my fingers wrap around it. He’s wearing a shirt, but still as my fingertips press into it, it feels like stone sheathed in a thin layer of flesh.
I keep my eyes fixed on the altar ahead, my hangover and associated pounding headache making every painful step feel like I’m walking around Everest base camp and sucking in half the oxygen needed to sustain human life.
The events of this morning have hardly helped my mood and the last thing I really want to be doing right now is holding onto the arm of another dominant prick, especially one who has way more control over my pleasure centers than I do.
As we walk in step to the classical music with my other hand clutching some cream-colored flowers to my waist, his words steal my breath, and my head snaps towards him despite me supposed to be playing the role of prim and proper little bridesmaid.
“So why were you really late, Indie?”
My respiration grows shallow as I glare at him in indignation for the arrogant, presumptuous question.
How dare the man think he can read me like a book?
“It's Indigo to you,” I shoot back, trying to keep my tone hushed.
“Oh, is it now?” he says, his gaze kept straight forwards on Gideon and Sarah ahead of us.
“Yes, it is.”
“Why were you late?”
I throw him a most impolite stare, inhaling a deep breath and continuing to walk, deciding to ignore his question, not in small part because I don't even want to think about the answer.
My stomach has been tied into a hundred knots in the last two hours since I woke up, and all I want to do is crawl back into bed and forget that I turned my phone on after my morning swim to see four voicemail messages, all almost a minute long with nothing but silence on the phone, and over two dozen text messages from my ex-boyfriend, no doubt sent by some lackey of his. He can certainly afford to pay them.
I don't know why I was stupid enough to think that if I didn’t file charges, didn’t get a restraining order, he’d actually feel a modicum of gratitude and move on.
How fucking naive of me.
Today’s messages have been a total shitshow of rage, threats, pleas, and some incongruous Nice GuyTMsideshow which I’m assuming I’m supposed to succumb to or something…
I know full well I'm not supposed to answer, but when he began to threaten to have someone turn up to fuck with the wedding, I finally cracked, texting whoever is sending them that if they keep going, I’ll be calling the police.
The thing is, I saw when I threatened him repeatedly at the end of last year when everything turned to shit, that he barely flinched, seeming totally unafraid of that possibility. It’s like he’s so used to his powerful family cleaning his messes up for him that he can’t fathom that one day he might actually have to face the consequences of his actions.
I thought about telling Carrie and Tom, but I’m sure he’s bluffing just to freak me out, and I really don’t want to put a horrible raincloud over their day.
They’ve already got enough to deal with, what with juggling their challenging families, and certainly don’t need my unhinged ex on their minds.
I should call the police, call a lawyer, start the process to get a temporary restraining order… if they can even match these texts to him. I mean, he’s in jail, without access to a phone. If these calls are from some foreign internet number or something, there’s no proof it’s even anyone who knows him, as the police very curtly informed me the one time I built up the courage to go to them.
Even if I do involve the authorities, I’ll live in terror of him getting out. The reality is that the system isn't designed to help victims. It's designed to give abusers never-ending chances.
Grey’s words bring me back into the room. “Not answering, Indigo.”
