Not to me.
That was over, though, wasn’t it?
The door opened, and Father stood staring at me coldly. “It’s time, Evangeline.” He held out his arm to me. “Are you ready?”
I only barely resisted the opportunity to spit on the floor at his feet, or in his face. Instead, I swept past him, ignoring him completely, and stomped—as best I could in a four hundred thousand dollar custom-made gown, complete with matching custom-made shoes, lingerie, and jewelry—down the hallway to the exit, which would take me outside to where the wedding was being held.
Yes, Father and Thomas had conspired so far as to have my entire outfit custom-made for me, right down to the underwear. It had all fit perfectly, too, irritatingly—but only because I’d stopped eating, basically, as my only form of protest.
Also irritatingly, it was a clear, gorgeous, cloudless day, perfect for an outdoor wedding. Which was, of course, absolutely incredible. Beyond gorgeous. I literally could not have planned it more perfectly.
I hated it.
Every single thing, right down to the lilies and white roses, I hated it all.
I wanted to cry, but I refused to give them the satisfaction. I’d only cried once, the day my father dropped the hammer on me. Since then, I’d been stone-cold on the outside, and had spoken very literally not a single word to anyone. Even my old girlfriends from Yale, who had of course all been invited and swarmed me for information, got the silent treatment until they too went away.
Yes, I was being a petulant child about everything: thanks for the idea, Father.
I stood at the doorway, staring out at the rows of white chairs filled with the most wealthy and influential people, not just from the East Coast, but from the country. At the end of the aisle was an archway tastefully wreathed with white lace and several hundred perfect white roses, with a single red rose at the very top and center for punctuation.
The idea of white, of purity, made me laugh inside. If only they knew how dirty I’d gotten with Bax, only weeks ago. All the delightfully sinful things I’d done with him, and so desperately wanted to do again—and not with my imagination, my vibrator and porn on my iPad.
I wondered if he’d ever found the little surprise I left him. I let myself briefly think of how I’d watched my favorite video last night, masturbating while thinking of Bax, and wondering if he was doing the same.
Father appeared beside me, extending his arm to me. “You have to hold my arm as we walk down the aisle, at the very least.”
I stared at him balefully, and kept both hands firmly clutched around my bouquet of flowers, more white roses with a single red one in the middle.
At the start of the wedding march, I pushed open the door and stepped through, not even remotely caring how it looked that I preceded my father, walking alone, or that he had to trot to catch up to me, gamely trying to make it look like he was intentionally striding beside me, hands loose at his sides.
Tears pricked at my eyes when I saw Thomas standing there waiting for me, and I supposed everyone would guess it was out of happiness as opposed to the truth, but I really just didn’t care.
Honestly, I’d have been happy if the earth would open up and swallow me whole, right then and there.
Baxter
Iwas campedout on the side of the highway somewhere in the countryside between Scranton and Middletown—I’d used my GPS app to detour along two-lane country roads so I could pull off to the side, pitch a tent, and hope for the best. I’d made crazy time down this way, at the cost of two speeding tickets and a third I’d talked my way out of. I had been driving for fifty hours straight, stopping only to top off the fuel tank, gulp down some coffee, and take a leak, and now I was only a handful of hours away from the wedding location, and the wedding was tomorrow afternoon at one in the afternoon.
And I had a plan.
I’d kept the tux I’d worn to Bast’s wedding—it had been ruined because of the glass to my thigh, so I’d bought a new pair of trousers and now had a nice new tux. It was rolled up in my backpack, so all I’d have to do tomorrow would be change into it. Yeah, it’d be wrinkled to fuck, but I wasn’t actually attending the wedding, just crashing it. And yeah, I planned to literallycrashthe wedding. It was gonna be epic. I’d installed a GoPro on my helmet, just so I could catch the fun on camera for the guys to laugh at later, regardless of how this turned out.
I was fucking lonely, now, though. It was four a.m., and everyone back home was sleeping, and I couldn’t exactly call Evangeline, obviously, but I was just feeling…antsy and afraid and alone, I guess. Weird to feel fear, when I’d never felt it about anything in my life, even when I ran out onto the field for my first televised NCAA game at Penn State—nerves, anticipation, anxiety and excitement, yeah, but never fear.
This was legit fear. Real, actual fear.
What if she shot me down? What if she said yes and it turned out there wasn’t anything between us except a couple good fucks? What if, what if, what if…
Laying in my little pup tent with my head on the grass outside the opening, staring up the stars, I decided to try my phone as a means of distraction. God knew I needed it, or all the bullshit jangling through my head would fry me to a crisp and I’d be useless tomorrow.
Shit, maybe I’d even rub one out.
Which was when I realized, with an actual shout of shocked laughter, that I hadn’t so much as looked at a single picture since I’d met Eva, and hadn’t jerked off since before I met her, either. Which was crazy.
Two and a half weeks, almost three, and I hadn’t masturbated once; that was the longest I’d gone in my entire life, to the tune of…nineteen days, since today would be twenty, as I’d yanked it the morning I met Eva.
Crazy.
