The Heart's Ashes
Page 3
“I—” I turned around, looked at all the faces, feeling small and on display, seeing the smiles they wore as I entered the church fizzle away, replaced by wide eyes and round mouths. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
Everyone watched as it set in, my own mind coming to realisation only after I yanked away from Mike, lifted the front of my dress and closed my eyes, running.
“Ara?” Mike called.
The aisle became a long corridor of people, their hands rising to their mouths in waves as I passed, afraid one might grab me, stop me. But I ran, ignoring the pain scorching my soul, and pushed hard on the heavy doors, desperate to reach freedom before Mike started running too.
Bright sun greeted me and rain kissed my cheeks with dots of cold, the heavens opening up as my feet touched the steps. I covered my head with the bouquet, but as my feet scuffled apart in a skid, it dropped to the wet ground, hitting as the doors slammed shut behind me—the echo loud and empty. I dared to look back for a split second before starting off again, leaving the bouquet falling to the last step behind me.
My white ballet-flats once again touched the grass, making time stop. I stood clutching my skirt in one hand, holding my saturated veil with the other, looking to the sky—letting the heavens rain down on me as I cried out inside for some way to escape.
Lightning flashed then and lit the bridal car up like a beacon across the yard; “Thank you,” I whispered to no one, heading in that direction.
But, like one of those dreams where you’re flying and can’t get off the ground, hands reaching up to grab you, I merely trudged through the grass, dragging the sand-bag weight of my wet, muddy dress, unable to go faster. I had to make it. I just had to. There was too much at stake if I didn’t.
The car, my body of salvation, waited for me, only steps away, when the church doors burst open and Mike’s voice spilled into the air. I pushed harder, reaching for it as if to drag myself there faster.
“Ara!”
No. I closed my eyes, praying, because I knew Mike was faster than me.
“Ara?” he called desperately.
I looked over my shoulder; he stood at the base of the steps, his eyes holding the question on his lips. It passed over me then, a breath, a beat of my heart that showed our future, and the grey day closed in around me, showing each year to pass as an image, like a pathway of chess pieces, linking us together. But the thunder rumbled again, breaking that single moment which might have changed everything, forcing me onward, making me turn away and, with ragged sobs, push on.
I’m so sorry, Mike.
“Ara—wait!”
No! I can’t wait, I have to get away. I have to go—I can’t explain it all to him right now. He’ll make me change my mind. I love him too much. I’ll marry him, and then I’ll regret it.
I ran faster and faster, yanking the door open when I finally reached the car. “Go—go!” I yelled at the driver, tapping his headrest as I slammed the door on my dress. He tilted his rear-view to look at me; I slapped the headrest again. “I said go!”
The engine tuned over, and I sat back, feeling a strange kind of relief as the tyres snaked slightly over the muddy ground—taking us faster than Mike could run. And even though I knew it would eat away at me later, I couldn’t fight the urge to turn and look back.
The pouring rain came down, distorting everything beyond the glass, but the blurred frame of the man standing alone, a group of family and friends behind him on the steps, could only have been one person. He bent down to pick up the yellow and white bouquet I dropped. Each and every white rose in that bouquet was for him, because David was the red. One left out, the other left behind.
As Mike stood up, holding the discarded flowers, a mask of heartache consumed his entire frame, and I knew what would be behind those eyes as he watched me drive away.
“I’m so sorry, Mike,” I whispered with my hand against the glass.
Driving down the long, winding road, the driver looked at me from time to time in his rear-view mirror. I knew what he was thinking—that I’d lost it—not just because I ran away from my own wedding—Oh my God, I ran away from my wedding—but also because I asked him to drop me in the middle of nowhere, in my wedding dress, in the pouring rain.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here for you, miss?” he asked for the twelfth time as he pulled over.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” I shut the door behind me and lifted my dress off my feet. “I come here all the time. Just...please don’t tell anyone where you dropped me. I need to be alone.”
“Sure thing.” He nodded, with a grin. “You take care, now.”
“I will.”
He made a three-point turn on the narrow road, gravel popping under his tyres, and waved as he drove away.
In the silence, alone for the first time since before the masquerade, I suddenly didn’t feel so clever.
What am I doing out here? It’s not like David will be here. I just told him to move on—gave him back the locket. God, I’m so stupid.
I slapped my palm to my head.
I should’ve begged him to stay. He never would have stayed, but I should’ve begged anyway.
With a heavy sigh and a small, hysterical laugh, I started walking into the trees. I knew the path well—so well I could’ve navigated it in pitch black, which would soon be necessary, with the sun dropping behind the clouds quite quickly. But it seemed to take longer, than when I took this walk with David, before the cool, mossy smell of the lake filled my lungs, and the trail opened out to the clearing. I’d never seen the lake in the spring. It was all so different. Only a few of the trees were in full foliage, but everything was so lush and green—and clean. There were no brown and yellow leaves littering the floor, and the smell of clay and moisture was gone—replaced by a warm, crisp, syrupy smell.
I stopped by a tree, unable to enter what seemed like consecrated grounds.
This was David’s place, never mine. It only became a part of me through loving him. I never thought I’d see it again. Never wanted to see it again. But for some reason, when it all fell apart with Mike—my glue—this was the only place I felt I could run to.
The sunlight shone down through the clouds then and made my dress, white, bleeding into brown around the base, glow with the soft light of dawning sunset. It no longer resembled a wedding dress, now carrying the stains of a life-changing decision; one that would see my best friend hate me, maybe for the rest of my life.
Everyone watched as it set in, my own mind coming to realisation only after I yanked away from Mike, lifted the front of my dress and closed my eyes, running.
“Ara?” Mike called.
The aisle became a long corridor of people, their hands rising to their mouths in waves as I passed, afraid one might grab me, stop me. But I ran, ignoring the pain scorching my soul, and pushed hard on the heavy doors, desperate to reach freedom before Mike started running too.
Bright sun greeted me and rain kissed my cheeks with dots of cold, the heavens opening up as my feet touched the steps. I covered my head with the bouquet, but as my feet scuffled apart in a skid, it dropped to the wet ground, hitting as the doors slammed shut behind me—the echo loud and empty. I dared to look back for a split second before starting off again, leaving the bouquet falling to the last step behind me.
My white ballet-flats once again touched the grass, making time stop. I stood clutching my skirt in one hand, holding my saturated veil with the other, looking to the sky—letting the heavens rain down on me as I cried out inside for some way to escape.
Lightning flashed then and lit the bridal car up like a beacon across the yard; “Thank you,” I whispered to no one, heading in that direction.
But, like one of those dreams where you’re flying and can’t get off the ground, hands reaching up to grab you, I merely trudged through the grass, dragging the sand-bag weight of my wet, muddy dress, unable to go faster. I had to make it. I just had to. There was too much at stake if I didn’t.
The car, my body of salvation, waited for me, only steps away, when the church doors burst open and Mike’s voice spilled into the air. I pushed harder, reaching for it as if to drag myself there faster.
“Ara!”
No. I closed my eyes, praying, because I knew Mike was faster than me.
“Ara?” he called desperately.
I looked over my shoulder; he stood at the base of the steps, his eyes holding the question on his lips. It passed over me then, a breath, a beat of my heart that showed our future, and the grey day closed in around me, showing each year to pass as an image, like a pathway of chess pieces, linking us together. But the thunder rumbled again, breaking that single moment which might have changed everything, forcing me onward, making me turn away and, with ragged sobs, push on.
I’m so sorry, Mike.
“Ara—wait!”
No! I can’t wait, I have to get away. I have to go—I can’t explain it all to him right now. He’ll make me change my mind. I love him too much. I’ll marry him, and then I’ll regret it.
I ran faster and faster, yanking the door open when I finally reached the car. “Go—go!” I yelled at the driver, tapping his headrest as I slammed the door on my dress. He tilted his rear-view to look at me; I slapped the headrest again. “I said go!”
The engine tuned over, and I sat back, feeling a strange kind of relief as the tyres snaked slightly over the muddy ground—taking us faster than Mike could run. And even though I knew it would eat away at me later, I couldn’t fight the urge to turn and look back.
The pouring rain came down, distorting everything beyond the glass, but the blurred frame of the man standing alone, a group of family and friends behind him on the steps, could only have been one person. He bent down to pick up the yellow and white bouquet I dropped. Each and every white rose in that bouquet was for him, because David was the red. One left out, the other left behind.
As Mike stood up, holding the discarded flowers, a mask of heartache consumed his entire frame, and I knew what would be behind those eyes as he watched me drive away.
“I’m so sorry, Mike,” I whispered with my hand against the glass.
Driving down the long, winding road, the driver looked at me from time to time in his rear-view mirror. I knew what he was thinking—that I’d lost it—not just because I ran away from my own wedding—Oh my God, I ran away from my wedding—but also because I asked him to drop me in the middle of nowhere, in my wedding dress, in the pouring rain.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here for you, miss?” he asked for the twelfth time as he pulled over.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” I shut the door behind me and lifted my dress off my feet. “I come here all the time. Just...please don’t tell anyone where you dropped me. I need to be alone.”
“Sure thing.” He nodded, with a grin. “You take care, now.”
“I will.”
He made a three-point turn on the narrow road, gravel popping under his tyres, and waved as he drove away.
In the silence, alone for the first time since before the masquerade, I suddenly didn’t feel so clever.
What am I doing out here? It’s not like David will be here. I just told him to move on—gave him back the locket. God, I’m so stupid.
I slapped my palm to my head.
I should’ve begged him to stay. He never would have stayed, but I should’ve begged anyway.
With a heavy sigh and a small, hysterical laugh, I started walking into the trees. I knew the path well—so well I could’ve navigated it in pitch black, which would soon be necessary, with the sun dropping behind the clouds quite quickly. But it seemed to take longer, than when I took this walk with David, before the cool, mossy smell of the lake filled my lungs, and the trail opened out to the clearing. I’d never seen the lake in the spring. It was all so different. Only a few of the trees were in full foliage, but everything was so lush and green—and clean. There were no brown and yellow leaves littering the floor, and the smell of clay and moisture was gone—replaced by a warm, crisp, syrupy smell.
I stopped by a tree, unable to enter what seemed like consecrated grounds.
This was David’s place, never mine. It only became a part of me through loving him. I never thought I’d see it again. Never wanted to see it again. But for some reason, when it all fell apart with Mike—my glue—this was the only place I felt I could run to.
The sunlight shone down through the clouds then and made my dress, white, bleeding into brown around the base, glow with the soft light of dawning sunset. It no longer resembled a wedding dress, now carrying the stains of a life-changing decision; one that would see my best friend hate me, maybe for the rest of my life.
