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“What?”
“What happened? How’d we get here?” He looks around the bridal suite of the hotel he insisted we stay in last night to celebrate, and I think I’m going to vomit.
“I don’t… we… You don’t remember last night?” I ask, and he stares at me, slowly blinking as the pieces come together. I close my eyes and breathe deeply before asking my question. “Were you… were you drunk last night?” Suddenly, he looks nervous. Anxious, even. He tips his head, giving me a boyish smile that usually works at easing my concerns.
“Just a little,” he says.
“Just a little? You don’t forget an entire night after just a little bit of drinking. When did you start drinking, Riggins? Where was I? I would remember you drinking enough to black out.”
“Come on, Stell. Don’t be like that.”
Don’t be like that.
Don’t be like that.
He doesn’t remember last night.
He doesn’t remember getting married. Doesn’t know it happened. The ring he slid onto my finger feels heavy and hot, just like the tears burning behind my eyes.
He was drunk.
Was it my fault?I ordered the champagne. It was my idea. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s been asking him to slow it down, and there I was, asking him to do the exact opposite.
But I didn’t black out, and my tolerance is obviously lower than his.
He leans over to the bedside table and grabs his phone, completely immune to the panic I’m feeling. “Fuck, the guys texted. I’m late for sound check.” He stands, looking around and pulling on his jeans. “You good here?” I stare, feeling my heart breaking with an understanding of what happened and uncertainty about what to do next. I nod weakly, and he looks around his brow furrowing.
“Hey, hey,” he says, moving to where I’m now sitting in the bed and pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry, okay? I just had a few drinks. We had a good night, I just got carried away, yeah?” I roll my lips into my mouth and bite down, nodding. “We’ll talk tonight, okay? We’ll go straight to the room after the show and talk.” I nod again, and he pulls back. The look in his eyes is conflicted like he knows he has to go but is scared to leave me like this. I shake my head and sniff.
“It’s fine, Riggs. Go. We’ll talk later.” Another moment passes before I hear his phone buzz again. Probably Reed calling to tell him to get his shit together, and he sighs, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“Love you, little star.”
“I love you, Riggs,” I whisper, and then he’s gone, leaving me to stew in my panic.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?” my sister asks, picking up on the third ring. There’s laughter in the background, and I’m pretty sure she’s with her friends or in her dorm with her roommate. Normally, I’d let her go, let her live her life, but right now….
I don’t know who to talk to. I’m lost and I’m scared and I just need my sister.
“Evie,” I whisper, and I know with that one word, she knows. It’s that twin bond, or maybe it’s just that she knows me so well. Or maybe the word comes out as broken as I feel.
“Stella,” she says, then the sound of a door clicking and silence fills the line. “Stella, what’s wrong?”
“I did something so, so stupid,” I say, my throat closing, panic filling me with admitting that.
Why didn’t I tell him?
Why didn’t I tell him what happened last night, that we got married, and he clearly was too fucked up to remember?
I know the answer, of course—I was too embarrassed, I was too hurt. But also, I think, in a way, I was protecting him, knowing that it would kill him if he knew he’d forgotten something so important if he knew he hurt me.
Every moment between now and then is making it harder to tell him, knowing I waited.
“What’s wrong, Stella, what happened?”
Her concern is what breaks me, what pushes the painful lump in my throat to start to breakdown into tears, then uncontrollable sobs as I curl up on the bed I woke up in this morning.
The bridal suite.
