Chapter 4

And me? I'm just the outsider left without a ticket to their story.

I raised my hand and scrubbed my face hard. My fingertips were soaked with tears, so salty they tasted bitter.

I can't go on like this. I can't keep crying and making excuses for them at the same time. I can't keep aching and still hoping for that wedding.

I needed to be there to face them myself.

I wanted to see with my own eyes just how over-the-top this wedding they've cooked up really is. How picture-perfect it all looks, and just how sickening it was.

I picked up my phone and opened Violette's chat.

Her last message was still sitting there from yesterday.

It read, [Jeanne, meet me at the bridesmaid dress shop downtown at 10 AM tomorrow! I've already got a few options picked out, you have to help me choose!]

My finger hovered over the screen. I started to type "Okay," but erased it before I could hit send.

I typed it out again, then erased it.

I don't know how long I sat there, but in the end, I just sent a single word, [Sure.]

She shot back a bunch of cute stickers, like nothing was off at all.

I stared at those stickers, and suddenly, they felt like something from a stranger.

I used to smile at these stickers, replying that I would bring her a cupcake, or to remind her to bring extra socks.

Now, my heart just felt like it was stuffed with a lump of wet cotton. It was thick and stifling.

I set my phone down, stood up, and walked over to the window.

Down below, the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow over the long road, cars flowing by like a river.

Violette and I started out together, side by side, making our way through life like two swimmers fighting the current.

During an outdoor activity in our freshman year, she stood right next to me. Her face was bright red from the sun, but she pressed her sunscreen into my hand. "Your skin's so soft, don't let it get burned."

Back then, I really believed this was what forever looked like.

In junior year, when my grandma was in the hospital, and my family was out of money, Violette quietly transferred her scholarship to me and said, "Don't worry, I'm here for you."

That was when I promised myself that when she got married, I'd be the bridesmaid she could always count on.

In senior year, we were job hunting together. We were squeezed into a tiny rental flat, and would order takeout late at night as we cried and wished for a real home.

Back then, I told her, "Once you have your own place, I'm definitely coming over for free meals all the time."

But now, she's got her home and her wedding. Her future was all set with every detail planned out.

And I was the last one to be told.

I lifted my hand and gently pressed it over my heart.

It felt empty and cold, like someone had scooped out a chunk of me.

*****

I got up early the next day.

I didn't even wash my face or put on makeup. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself for ages.

There were dark circles under my eyes, my skin was ghostly pale, and I was so thin I barely recognized myself.

A few days ago, a coworker had joked that I was getting so skinny that I might disappear. I had stubbornly laughed it off, blaming it on all the late nights spent drawing.

But really, my heart was just tired.

I twisted the faucet open, and icy water hit my face, the freezing sting snapping me awake in an instant.

I picked up the face wash, slowly worked it into a foamy lather, and gently cleaned my face, bit by bit.

The girl in the mirror had clear, delicate features. She was not unattractive, just too quiet. Like a sheet of paper, worn out and frayed from too many disappointments.

I opened my closet and grabbed a plain white shirt and a pair of light-colored jeans.

This is the outfit I've been wearing the most these days.

It was comfortable, clean, and allowed me to fade into the background.

I decided to wear this tomorrow when I go for the bridesmaid dress fitting.

My phone rang again. It was Dennis.

I stared at the contact name for a full five seconds.

He hardly ever reached out to me these past six months. I could count the number of times we had met on one hand.

I kept reassuring myself that Dennis was just busy.

But now...

My finger paused for a second, then I hit answer.

"Hello?" I answered.

Dennis's voice was as deep as always, but he sounded like he was trying to keep it light. "Good morning. What were you up to last night? Why didn't you reply to my messages?"

I heard myself, my voice soft and steady. "I was drawing."

He hummed, then added, "Don't overwork yourself. Take care of yourself."

He'd said that to me so many times before.

It used to warm my heart. But now, it just felt like candy pulled from the fridge. It was sweet on the outside, but cold to the core.

I was quiet for a couple of seconds before I spoke up, "Dennis, you and Violette are getting married."

Dennis paused, obviously caught off guard.

The silence was suffocating, hanging in the air for a few seconds.

Then his voice came back, rushed and with a hint of panic. "Jeanne, let me explain. It's not what you think, we..."