Chapter Twenty-Six

Ch apter Twenty-Six

Cecelia age 26

Nine hours ago . . .

"

T o the Bride and Groom." Champagne glasses rise around the small restaurant as I clink flutes with Collin. A serene smile graces his handsome face as he squeezes my hand while covered plates are ceremoniously set before us.

When the cloche is lifted, I glance down to see lamb chops with mint sauce and rosemary potatoes. Just as I start to voice my protest, a familiar, masculine scent invades my nose. My breath catches as I inhale deeply while my eyes drift to the sun-drenched forearm in front of me. Beneath the rolled-up sleeve of a crisp white button-down, an unmistakable dark ink pattern lay etched into his golden skin. My gaze lifts to meet recognizable hazel eyes, but the face, it's all wrong.

"Congratulations," the waiter drawls, his voice covering me in warmth. My eyes gaze back to the tattoo just as he pulls away. I call out to him, and he hesitates at the kitchen door and turns to me, his muted features becoming more recognizable as the seconds tick past. I know this man, intimately.

"Wait," I croak out, chest tightening unbearably when the chatter around me drowns out my pleas as he disappears through the service door.

And that's when I feel him.

Slowly, I stand and take inventory of our guests who all seem to be oblivious to the shadow that's entered the room, casting a dark hue over the rich, warm light from the dripping chandeliers. I'm thankful they're all ignorant to it, because if they notice the shift, they'll be afraid, but I'm not. And I want nothing more than to see the source.

Collin rattles on to my left in conversation, and I know he can't sense my reaction. I'm safe. My secrets are safe in this cool cocoon. My eyes scan the party. Everyone is here; our coworkers and friends, Mom and Timothy, Christy and her husband, Josh, and their two boys, one of whom my mother holds tightly to her while keeping Christy busy in conversation. My attention shifts to the double doors on the other side of the room. Tiny sparks of light flash behind the sheer curtains in a dizzying pattern. I know I should be afraid, but I feel nothing but safe alongside the cool shadow who beckons me, covering me in goosebumps while urging me toward the door, toward him. Anxiously, I scan the room once more for any reaction and am relieved when I find none. These people don't know. They can never know.

Slowly, so as not to alert anyone, I walk through the division of round tables and the back doors just as a breeze sweeps up the leaves at my feet, creating a wind tunnel that envelops me. I can see the veins running along the center of the foliage as they dance and sway at arm's-length, and a giggle bursts from my lips. Mingled scents grow thicker in the air, engulfing me in sheer happiness.

They're here. They came for me.

The doors close behind me with the next gust of wind, and I step into the clearing as a swarm of lightning bugs comes into view. They glow around me, lighting my skin in a green-yellow hue. I reach out for them and capture one in my hand. Its wings buzz against my palm before it sets off again, leaving neon residue on my skin. I swipe it with my thumb, but it remains. For these few seconds, I feel a peace I haven't in years—the sensation a lot like coming home.

I search through the flurry of light, smiling wide until I feel the lingering shadow begin to move toward the clearing and into the trees.

"Don't go! I'm here!"

Just beyond where the cloud drifts, a dark figure steps out from the shadows, his expression blank, his amber eyes lifeless, as he gazes back at me. I open my mouth to speak, but the increased buzzing drowns out my words. I scream into the void between us, and his expression doesn't change. My chest burns with emotions as tears start to escape me, my voice going hoarse as I furiously plead my case. He has to hear me this time.

The waiter appears beside him, with an empty tray in hand, tucking it into his side. He glances back, and I strain to see his expression, but I can't make it out as the swarm of fireflies dance around the two of them. Just behind them appears a silhouette, dark jeans, black boots, a black shirt, and a faint but distinct twist of lips. Heart lifting, I take a step forward and both men move to block him, protecting him, from me.

"I'm not afraid anymore!" I assure them, searching each of their faces for an acknowledgment.

The lightning bugs begin to slow to the point I can count the beat of their wings, see the tip of their glowing bodies, make out every detail. The waiter turns his back, moving to retreat into the shadows as I cry into the thick wall of light between us.

"I love you! I love you! I'm sorry I wasn't ready before, please, please don't go!" My voice cracks and bleeds as a string of frantic words pour from me. "I'll do better. I'll be better. Don't leave me!"

Desperate to erase the space, to get a closer look, I swat at the fireflies, my eyes devouring what I can as I reach out, but the weight of the lace of my dress holds me in place, rapidly pooling at my feet, and anchoring me where I stand.

"I'll do better. I'll be whoever you need me to be! Please. Don't leave me. Please don't go!"

Tears and flashes of light blind my vision until I'm able to focus on a pair of flaming eyes in the center of the chaos. His strong jaw sets as he scans my dress before his eyes lift to mine. He slowly nods, and I know it's in acceptance. I scream out at the loss as he turns his back on me.

"Don't go. Please don't go! Don't leave me! I love you!"

One by one, they begin to retreat into the thick brush as I will my body forward, fighting against my restraints, but it's the dress rendering me immobile, making it impossible to get to them. Gripping the train, I furiously begin to rip at the lace, but the material refuses to give. "No! Don't go! Don't leave me!" The party roars at my back, and the heavy buzzing resumes just as the fireflies begin to disappear.

"Wait!" I scream as fiery eyes meet mine one last time before they begin to fade into the darkness. "Don't leave me!"

The leaves kick up again, robbing me of all vision just as the doors behind me shatter.

Jackknifing in bed, I sob into my hands, unable to handle the unbearable pressure in my chest. Gut-wrenching cries leave me as tears flood my cheeks while my heart screams for relief.

Relief that's not coming.

It's never-ending, the feeling of loss, the unimaginable pain. It hasn't faded, and I know it never will. I cry uncontrollably, unbelieving that at, one time, I thought the ability to remember my dreams so vividly was a gift, a superpower.

It's anything but.

I was just there, with them; they were in reach, so close.

Heaving and choking, I grip my sheets and scream out in frustration as I try to clear the haze. It's then I see it, hanging on the back of my door, taunting me, damning me. Tossing away my comforter, I launch from the bed, unzipping the bag and ripping the dress free. Agony fuels me as I grip the lace with my fingers, only feeling satisfied when I hear the tear of the fabric when it gives in my hands. Sinking to the floor, I ravage the dress with my fingers. Every rip brings a sort of liberation as the helplessness leaves me. Here I can rid myself of what weighs me down. It's here that I can free myself to get to them.

It's here that I know I never will.

Seconds after I destroy my wedding dress, reality sets in.

I'll never be free.

As long as I dream, and as long as these dreams can destroy me, I'll never be free.

Studying the ruined dress in my hands, I bury my face in it to muffle my defeated cries.

I could try to rationalize this act in a thousand ways but can only draw one conclusion.

I'm mourning a future I can no longer allow myself to have.

As long as I keep our shared secrets, as long as my questions go unanswered, as long as the heart I have keeps beating, the more I'll lose myself inside my web of lies. Full of despair, I stare into space, my heart refusing to give me an inch of release. I don't know how long I sit in the wake of my own destruction, but I get lost in between my dream and reality, intent on feeling every part of the aftermath.

It's the sound of the front door and the familiar call of my name that has me scrambling to get my ruined dress back in the plastic garment bag before tossing it into my closet. For years I've been rationalizing these dreams. For years I've denied my emotions, compartmentalized them, tucked them away while telling myself that perspective and release will eventually come. For years I've promised myself that rationalization and reasoning will one day allow me to make peace with my past and lead to some semblance of salvation.

But it's simply not the truth, and time has proven as much.

And so, when my fiancé pushes open our bedroom door to see the wreckage of those empty and unfulfilled promises, I do the only thing I'm capable of—I stop lying to us both.