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“I’ve always loved living here. Even though I grew up here, it’s always felt like where I belong. It’s not just the beach either, it’s the people I meet, too.” She reached her hand out to me, and I took it. “So many people take for granted what they have here. Imagine the people freezing their asses off almost all year round in the Northeast. I can’t imagine shovelling snow off my car.” She laughed, a confident and womanly laugh.
I stood, still holding onto her hand “Come on, we’ve got photos to take, and I am so eager to capture your beauty with my camera.”
“Yeah, a camera some chick gave you.” She rolled her eyes but smiled and stood.
“She’s going to be my step-mother.” I said in a low voice.
“She’s not your step-mother yet.” She shrugged.
There was onlyone good thing about this day: I owned a Ducati.
I shouldn’t go to this party. I should just stay home and sleep off another hangover. But that’s not me. I was going to go fuck this party up. I would be loud, disrespectful, drunk. I did not give a fuck, and if they didn’t like it; they could have the police escort me out.
But, I also knew I wouldn’t show up drunk, because the seriousness about this day was weighing on me. I wanted to be there if she needed me. I took a shower and put on some fresh clothes, a little deodorant. I put on my black and rainbow beanie, just for good measure. I didn’t care what I looked like. All the compliments in the world didn’t matter if it wasn’t coming from a person you loved. I’ve never told anyone I loved them before, and not having them said in return…
Well, I’ve broken my arm twice and I think love hurts more. I just wanted to ask her one more time. I wanted to give her one more chance to tell me- no; she didn’t feel the same. I also really wanted to deck Kostas. For beating on me and Jeno, for driving our mother away. But mostly for putting his hands on Alyssa.
The best part? I’d get to show up on that bad ass bike she gave me. I let the fire run through my veins. I enjoyed it. I revelled in it. It was such a good distraction from not knowing where the fuck your life would end up. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, and I’m sure that wasn’t a loveable quality. I knew one thing for sure; I didn’t want to be like my father. I never wanted to be caged. If that meant I would swear off relationships altogether- I would. Alyssa and I could have it all. I just wish she could see that. We could be free together, and we would listen to the other’s needs and oblige.
If she wouldn’t have me, I would build the biggest wall around my heart. I wish I didn’t feel this pull, this need to be near her. The feeling that everything made sense now that she was here. You can’t make someone love you. And I don’t need to wait for anything.
I looked at my reflection one last time before hopping on my bike and driving to the Marina. I just wanted to hear her tell me she didn’t love me, too. Then I would leave her alone.
But if my father laid a hand on her in front of me; I would break his nose.
Kostas arrived,looking sharp as a tack.
I knew there was something in this for him. It was the only thing that comforted me into thinking I wasn’t an evil Disney witch. He looked as though he had realised this as well and turned on his dashing personality as he came to stand beside me. His hand grazed my back, and I cringed.
“So glad you could make it. Please be civil and we can talk about things later.” I gritted through my teeth, not meeting his eyes.
“What are you talking about? We’re fine. You know I didn’t mean it. You forgive me, right?” he nuzzled my neck, and I held back a gag.
“We’ll talk later.” I said and walked as fast as I could to the bar. He followed me, and I felt his large body looming behind me, praying the conversation was over. I sipped my wine and kept my back to him.
“Why? Why talk later? Why not just do it now and get it over with?” his voice was raised, and I could feel the tension rolling off him. He had been drinking, his movements were slower. I turned, and twenty feet behind Kostas by the front door, stood Judas.
Impeccable timing, as always.
Kostas turned, rolled his eyes, and then faced me again. “Let’s go talk in private.” He growled low. His hand snatched my arm and gripped it like a vice, in the same spot he bruised last time. Judas eyes narrowed on me, and he was on us in just a few strides.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” Judas ripped Kostas’ grip from my arm and the two men squared off inches in front of me. They were almost the same height, Judas good posture giving him a couple inches over his father. I wanted to run away, get the farthest from this situation as I could. But I was in the middle of it.
Literally.
“Stop! Just stop!” I yelled, absentmindedly placing my hand on Judas’ bicep. At my touch, he turned to look at me. We locked eyes briefly, and his face was angry, pained. I willed him to just walk away and leave.
“What’s on your cheek, Lyss? Is it a cut? Did he do this?!” I touched my cheek; perspiration had smudged off most of my makeup. It all played out before me like a horror film, in slow motion and with a crowd of screams and gasps.
Judas pulled his arm back and punched Kostas square in the face. The punch landed with a crunch and an explosion of blood. Kostas hand flew to his nose, and he cried out. Two security guards grabbed Judas right after the punch and threw him outside. People crowded around the scene, and the staff brought Kostas ice and towels. I didn’t stay to see if Kostas was okay. I didn’t care.
That I wasn’t kneeling next to my husband to be comforting him and helping him; should have been hint enough that this wedding would not happen. I hoped Kostas would give up now, and I chased Judas out the door.
I caught upto him on the beach. He had walked the entire parking lot, a beer in his hand. He slumped down and sat at the far edge of the beach, near the water. I jogged the distance between us, my heart tightening as I approached his folded body.
“Judas, what the fuck were you thinking?” My hair whipped around my face and the waves violently crashed against the shore. He remained silent, but I knew he heard me. He looked over his shoulder but didn’t say anything. He held the cold beer on his knuckle.
“Are the cops coming to arrest me?” He asked, sounding defeated.
