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Blakely
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My hands shake as I try to smooth the front of my dress. Tears well behind my eyes and I feel seconds away from losing the contents of my stomach.
If this is what it feels like to get married, I don’t know why anyone does it.
It’s because you’re marrying the wrong man.
I’ve spent days trying to convince myself that this is the right thing. That marrying Tyler is my future. But now that it’s here, now that my time has run out, I feel like maybe I’m losing my future instead of gaining it.
I hate that I feel that way. I hate everything about it. Truthfully, I hate myself. I hate that I can’t be happy. That I can’t be excited to marry someone as incredible as the man currently waiting for me at the end of the aisle. But I can’t be excited when all I can think about is Asher.
As I laid in bed last night, all I could think about was our first time together. I don’t know why that night specifically stands out among so many other memories. Maybe because it was the first time I realized just how deeply I loved him. Or maybe it’s because it’s the last time that I truly felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. Either way, I haven’t been able to shake the thought since the moment it creeped in.
When I close my eyes I see him. When I breathe in deep through my nose I smell him. When I lick my lips I taste him. It’s like he’s everywhere and I can’t shake him.
He hasn’t called, hasn’t tried to contact me in any way since the night I left his hotel room. I think in my effort to convince myself that I didn’t love him, maybe I was able to convince him. Maybe I’ve ruined my chances to be happy with either man.
I’ve never felt so torn. So sick with guilt and uncertainty. It’s like either way I turn, I’ll lose and now I don’t know which way to go. I can’t marry Tyler or not marry Tyler based on Asher. It has to be because I want to marry him or I don’t. The only problem is I don’t know what I want.
“You ready, honey?” I look up to see my dad looking down at me, his own eyes glazed over in unshed tears.
I nod, fearing that if I open my mouth to speak the wrong word will come out.
The girls have already made their way down the aisle with the groomsmen while my father and I wait on the other side of the doors for the wedding march to begin. The moment it does, the moment that familiar tune carries through the doors, I find my feet moving backward instead of forward.
“Blakely?” My dad gives me a puzzled look, releasing my arm as I continue to move backward.
“I can’t do this, Dad.” I shake my head, my body trembling violently. “I can’t marry him.”
“Honey.” He moves toward me but I step further away.
“Please tell him I’m sorry,” I choke out, my tears finally breaking free. “Tell him I’m so, so sorry,” I say seconds before I turn, my feet seeming to act on their own accord as they carry me from the church.
