CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6

Running away in a wedding dress is significantly harder than movies make it look.

First of all, nobody tells you the damn thing weighs as much as a small vehicle.

Second, heels are clearly instruments of torture invented by people who hate women.

Third, and most importantly…

If you're going to flee your own wedding after a sex tape of you and your ex plays in front of two hundred guests, make sure you know where you're running to.

I did not.

Which was why I found myself hiding behind a decorative fountain fifteen minutes later, hyperventilating in a dress that was tighter than my pussy could ever be.

Don't look at me like that. 

My hands were trembling, my legs shaking. I had fucked up. I knew that. There was no one else to blame but me.

Doubling over, I struggled with the pointed heels on my feet. A tear slipped out of my eye as I pulled the damn shoe off. Throwing it to the side, I wiped my face roughly.

That shoe was worth hundreds of dollars. And the makeup on my face was definitely ruined. I bet I looked hideous. 

Yet… I couldn't get myself to be worried about those things. They were minimal compared to what was actually happening.

My phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Daniel. Sarah. My mother. Unknown numbers.

More unknown numbers.

I switched it off.

Cowardly? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

I wasn't ready to hear the disappointment in their tone. I wasn't ready to hear the anger I knew they already felt. I definitely wasn't ready to hear Daniel's voice.

Not when all I could think about was Anthony.

The realization hit me so suddenly that I almost laughed.

My wedding had exploded. My reputation was probably somewhere on the internet. My life was falling apart. And somehow, the only thing I cared about was him.

God, I was pathetic.

I stood from behind the fountain and wiped my face.

I needed to see him.

I needed something to make all of this worth it. Just this once…

The drive back to my apartment was a blur. I ignored the voice in my head repeatedly informing me that I had officially lost my damn mind.

What was there to lose?

When I finally reached my door, my hands were shaking so badly that I dropped my keys twice.

"Come on," I muttered.

The lock clicked. I pushed the door open. "Anthony?"

The silence made my stomach drop. The apartment was empty. The only sign he had ever been there was the broken glass still scattered around the floor.

I stared at it, a broken sound escaping my lungs. That was supposed to be a laugh, the type people made right before they completely lost it.

Of course.

Of course he was gone.

He did it before. How was I so stupid to think he wouldn't do it again?

Slowly, I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.

My wedding dress pooled around me, the memory of everything that happened flashing before my eyes like a terrible movie.

And somehow, against all logic, all reason, all common sense… against every lesson therapy had tried to beat into me…

I still missed him.

**********

Hours passed, or maybe minutes. I genuinely couldn't tell.

When I finally got my ass out of the cold tile, the sun was setting outside. I tried getting myself out of the dress but the corset was winning.

After twenty minutes of struggling and nearly dislocating a shoulder, I gave up.

"Fantastic." I muttered under my breath, my eyes darting towards my reflection in the mirror.

Mascara stains, messy hair, emotionally damaged… a runaway bride. Of all the things I thought I could be, this had never crossed my mind.

Yet, I got the full package.

The sight should have made me cry. Instead, it made me thirsty, very, very thirsty. Which was how I ended up outside Murphy's Bar just after dark.

Still wearing my wedding dress.

The bouncer stared at me incredulously. I stared back, daring him to ask questions. He was wise enough not to.

I walked in, my feet heavy. I felt the silence settle over my presence, felt the curious stares and isn't that great? More judging eyes was exactly what I needed.

A frustrated huff sounded from my lips. I marched to my favorite stool and dropped onto it.

The bartender looked me up and down. "Daisy."

"Tom." I gruffed.

"Bad day?"

I pointed at the dress.

He nodded. "Fair."

A bottle appeared in front of me and my mission to self-ruin continued. I wasn't sure how much time passed before someone sat beside me.

I didn't look but I knew who it was.

“You know,” he said quietly. “I spent hours looking for you.”

Slowly, I turned.

Daniel looked terrible. His suit jacket was gone. His tie hung loose around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot.

My throat tightened. “You weren't supposed to find me.”

Oh shut up, Daisy!

He laughed. It wasn't a happy sound.

“I wonder why I even tried,” he scoffed, “because now I have no idea what I'm supposed to say.”

Guilt punched me square in the chest. “Daniel…”

“No,” his voice cracked. “If you're going to tell me you're sorry, then please don't.”

That was easy. Because I felt everything else, everything but sorry. 

The pain on Daniel's face made it hard for me to breathe. I wanted him to yell at me, break something, grab me even. That would have been easier than seeing myself reflected in his eyes.

“I just need to know one thing.” He said. “Did you ever love me?”

My heart squeezed in my chest. I hesitated. “Daniel…”

“Yeah,” he rose to his feet. “I think that's my answer.”

My hand tightened around the glass in my hand. “I didn't plan to wake up one morning and ruin your life. It just happened. I couldn't…”

“You know what's funny?” He cut me short, chuckling bitterly. “I would've forgiven anything else.”

“Anything… but this.” His finger pointing at me felt like a knife sticking into my chest. “You fucked up, Daisy.”

Yeah, I knew that.

The tears finally slipped down my face. I opened my mouth to speak but before the words could even form, the atmosphere in the room changed.

My breath hitched. 

I knew that cologne like I knew my name and bloody hell, what was he doing here?

“Blame me,” his hoarse voice echoed in the room. “Not her.”

Anthony.

God, no!