So, once I came to terms with that, I decided to focus on the other thing I loved, music.
My band, Blue Clover, was put together by the label. They wanted undiscovered talent and they found it using open call auditions. I thought it was like trying to shoot fish in a barrel, but the talent they put together couldn’t have been a better fit.
I’m the main song writer, lead singer and pianist. Dane is our drummer. Heath is our guitarist and Lucas is on bass.
In the process of writing this album, we laughed, we cried, and went a little crazy, but the end result was some of the most beautiful and heartbreaking music we’d ever heard. I laid my burden down and left everything on the pages of composition sheets I filled with my love story.
Best of all, the label loved it.
Things were starting to feel normal. I had entire days where Beth only came to me in my dreams.
Until last month when Phil changed his tactics. Instead of calling, he sent a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a picture of her wedding invitation with three words, “FYI”
Whoever or whatever is in charge of this mysterious world is a fucking sadist. Because that’s all it took to send me back into the hell I’d finally started to escape.
The one where everyone and everything reminded me of her.
The one where I make myself come in the shower to the memories of fucking her and eating her and then spend the day choking on my self-loathing.
The one where I still remember how she tastes and what an addict I am for it.
Then one where I would find myself wishing I’d never met her and then snatching the thought back, feverishly. Just the thought of a world where she doesn’t exist makes it hard to breathe.
I miss the way she winked every time our eyes met across the room.
I miss the way she pressed her nose to my throat and inhaled every time we hugged. I miss the way she licked my lip at the start of our kisses.
I miss our arguments, her laugh, her stubbornness, her magic.
Our magic that we used to spin ourselves a cocoon of inspiration, lust, and love.
I’m consumed by thoughts of her and it’s ruining my life.
I haven’t been able to write, or play.
I need to end this.
So, here I am.
It’ll hurt. But it won’t kill me. When this is over, I’ll be stronger.
So, I’m going to sit here and watch Elisabeth Mortimer Wolfe becomes someone else’s wife.
The sick part of me that doesn’t give a fuck what DNA or the law says will be permanently deprived of its main source of sustenance — hope.
And then I will, finally, move on.
After avoiding it since I walked in, I force myself to face forward and look at Duke Tremaine.
At the sight of him, my throat tightens, and my eyes start to burn.
He’s surveying the crowd of people gathered to watch his triumph.
He looks so fucking smug. When his eyes sweep the corner where I’m sitting, his smile tightens and something like fear flashes in his eyes. But, when I blink in surprise, his gaze has moved on and his smile is restored
I must have imagined it. Even if he could see me, why would be afraid?
He won. I wonder if he made good on his promise to make her crawl.
No, Beth wouldn’t. If this is happening, it’s her choice. I know from my own experience, that when your heart is broken, sometimes you end with the very last person you’d ever chose.
Except, he’s actually the very first person she chose. For good reason. She’ll get her inheritance and her way out.
I should be happy for her.
But, I’m not. I’m fucking angry and bitterness is digging it’s claws into my chest.
The pipe organ’s soft background noise stops abruptly and then, in the next beat, it launches into the familiar opening strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.
I turn with the rest of congregation and see a groomsman standing there with Dina on his arm.
As she passes me, her gaze sweeps the section where I’m sitting. The flash of alarm in her eyes before she moves on, surprises me, but it’s also clear that I’m visible from this vantage point. I don’t want to think about what might happen if Beth and I make eye contact.
The music stops and the doors to the church close. Everyone surges to their feet when the next song starts.
Except me.
The song that’s playing is the one I have tattooed on my arm, Sonata 17 in D Minor. It’s not a popular wedding song, but it’s one of Beethoven’s most popular pieces. It’s possible that this is just a coincidence.
Then I hear the modification I made to the sixth and tenth stanzas. And I know it’s not.
Oh my God.
Beth is going to walk down the aisle to my song. Did she hope I’d hear it and take it as a sign? Does she want me to stand up and object?
No, she doesn’t even know I’m here. She’s made her choice. It’s going to be fine. I just have to get through this. I’ve got my while life ahead of me.
I start to sweat and glance around, noting the exits on the outside of the pew. My throat is raw — as if I’ve been screaming. My heart races like it’s hitched to a thousand unbroken horses, and the whooshing of my blood pumping to keep up with it all is so loud I want to cover my ears with my palms.
The program I picked up on my way in is completely unrecognizable as the ivory cardstock bifold it once was. This attack of anxiety has turned it into something that resembles what I imagine my twisted soul looks like.
A noose of dread tightens around my neck and I can’t breathe.
My chest burns, as if I’ve been running.
My throat is raw, as if I’ve been screaming.
Too late, I realize the monumental proportion of my error.
This pain isn’t the kind that will make me stronger.
It’s the kind I will wish I hadn’t survived.
I have to get out here.
Like the devil himself is chasing me, I surge to my feet and ignore the shocked gasps of my pew mates when trip backwards and trample their toes and knees in my uncoordinated attempt to stand up straight.
I stumble the into the outer aisle and push open a swinging door that leads to hallway. There’s a door with a huge exit sign above and I stride out of the church.
I don’t stop until I get to my rental car. I never look back. I focus on putting distance between me and the hellhole of a town.
The hollowed out place inside that used to be filled with all of the promises I made the woman I love is raw and aching. But in the months to come, it will be the source of all my inspiration.
Because as I drive away, a song starts to come together in my head and I know I’ll never put it to paper. This is a song about the new chapter, the one I’m facing without her. One I’ll never finish writing because it’s an endless stretch of time.
This is the beginning of a new us.
This is the start of a new world.
One where we learn to live without each other
One where all we do is miss each other.
Tied together, but pulled apart,
And somehow this feels like just the start.
It’s definitely not the end.
‘Cause we’re us….
And us, is forever.
I Do
LIZ
I had just walked out of the library when my father appeared in the hallway. It was time to leave for the church. I was too dumbstruck to do anything but comply.