*Sarsilia - Present Day*
There's something beautiful about silence.
In a way where words are left unsaid.
In the way where eyes communicate without lips moving.
In the way where feelings are shared with the beating of our hearts.
There's something mystical about that, a kind of conversation unheard to the ears around us.
My grandmother always told me that actions speak louder than words. They communicate feelings that no words could ever do. And yet, despite the many years she's reminded me, here I am, alone in my large apartment, wine staining the white curtains of my windows and glasses split into millions of minuscule shards.
If only I remembered what she said, then I wouldn't have ended up here, sprawled on the floor, chest heaving, and mascara dripping down my cheeks like rain on a car door. If only I remembered, I would have picked up on the warnings a long time ago.
If only I remembered… then maybe he wouldn't have left me at the altar.
My head winces as the drowned memories try to resurface like the dead from their eternal rest.
Ah, dammit.
I wish I could disappear into tiny, beautiful sparkles. Maybe then I can shine as brightly as I once did.
. . .
It's been four years since our engagement.
My hands should be trembling right now. These short yet slender fingers of mine should be trembling in excitement as they wrap themselves around this bouquet of white and pink orchids.
At this moment, in a black and shiny car, my body dressed in a gown of white and boasting a veil that pins my brown locks together, I should be trembling.
Trembling with an excitement any wife-to-be on her wedding they should feel.
And yet, I don't tremble.
A sudden surge of guilt overwhelms me. I should be happy. Today is a celebratory day for me and for my family. For years, they have been waiting to have a son they can finally call their own; for years they've been wanting him to become part of our lives forever. And yet, even with this long awaited day, our long anticipated victory, I can't even manage a genuine smile.
How pathetic of me.
Time begins to move faster than my mind can process. Before I knew it, I'm shoved out of the limousine and find myself standing before two, grand Cathedral doors. My fingers grip the pretentious bouquet a little tighter as my flower girls and bridesmaids begin to situate themselves in response to the doors opening.
Breathe.
The only word that my mind entertains.
Breathe, Mielle. Just breathe.
Despite coercing myself to, I just can't seem to do it.
Time spins once again. The music begins to play, the flower girls begin to skip, my bridesmaids begin to walk, and my father locks his arm with mine. Everything begins to move so fast that I don't even realize I'm already walking down the aisle with Papa, hundreds of eyes, some from my family, some from his, while others are unfamiliar all on me.
Anxiety courses through me like a vicious venom.
But to my curiosity, as we approach the altar more and more, the priest now visible in his white, holy robe, I now realize the expressions of those seated closer to the stage become uncomfortable and tense. Even my bridesmaids, who now separate on either side, furrow their brows and widen their eyes. My maid of honor, Capinelli, also wears an expression of shock and confusion.
As the last bridesmaid and groomsman separate, my heart sinks as I find that altar empty. My fiancé is nowhere to be found. Nothing but a bouquet of yellow roses and an envelope stand in his absence on the spot in which should have been the place where we said our proclamations of eternal love and faithfulness.
Nothing but a stupid bouquet of roses, which he knew all too well I was allergic to, replace my groom-to-be.
In a moment like this, I am expected to cry. In a sad and shocking moment of betrayal such as this, being the person I am known to be, those around me expect me to cry and throw a terrifying fit. But for some reason, I am not myself today. I feel lost and more empty than a corpse in her own coffin. So, the sight of these yellow roses, bearing the meaning of a breakup, do nothing to me.
They don't faze me as they should.
. . .
I somehow find a way out of this rabbit whole of pain and misery, and I pull myself up from the floor. Careful to avoid the broken glass shards of my own doing, I find another wine glass to be my wrath's victim and fill myself another drink. I swirl the bottle of merlot wine, the one I was supposed to share with my lover this very night, as I chug my glass down. In the corner of my eye, a small, disgusting envelop captures my attention.
Yet again, unwanted memories welcome themselves into my pity party.
. . .
I can feel my father's anger boil beside me, and I remove myself from him to walk towards the bouquet. Inside the string that wraps around the flowers lays a small envelope, and I crouch down to open it, the whole church as dead as a graveyard.
I rip the envelope open and pull out a parchment card written in his familiar script.
.
I wish I had the courage to tell you in person, my love.
But I can't go through with it.
I'm sorry for leaving you at the altar.
Think of me as you wish, a coward, a loser, a traitor, I'll take them all.
But I know I'll only hurt you more if I stayed.
This is for our own good. I hope you enjoy the flowers.
Pawn the ring off if you want.
Sincerely—
.
I stare at the card, unwilling to see his disgusting name as he signs off this mockery of an apology. My heart pounds with anger, sadness, grief, and frustration, my blood boils with the same feelings, but my face refuses to express it. It's as if time for me has stopped while the world around me continues to spin. For some reason, it's taking me a lot longer to process.
In the end, I rip up the card and let it fall to the floor.
But I keep the envelope with me. I don't know what possessed me to, but I just did. I guess I can't accept that he left me just yet.
My head slowly shifts to his family, their countenances all painted with shock, anger, apology, and pity.
They look at me with pity.
"Did you know?" I whisper, so quiet that it could have been mistaken for silence.
His mother's eyes cry a waterfall, trembling hands reaching for me. "No, Mielle, if we did, we would have—"
I exhale an exasperated sigh, knowing my question for them wouldn't bear anything useful. It's not like asking why he left me would magically make him appear again.
I stare at the huge doors that stream bright sunshine into the Cathedral, the very doors my fiancé and I should have exited out from with smiles and glances of love. Now, I exit alone, fingers pulling my gown up as I stride out with my head held high.
Many call my name, but I ignore them all. Feelings try to express, but my body ignores them all.
My eyes stay fixated on the world beyond this place.
. . .
For four years, I've waited for a coward to say one word to me before the altar.
For countless years, I've waited for a loser to take a step towards courage.
For all the eleven years I've known him, I've waited for a traitor to say three simple words only to be betrayed when those simple words became a commitment.
My hand shakes as my uncontrollable wrath ignites an inferno inside me. The glass in my hand soon finds itself flying across the room and shattering against a wall, its shards joining its fallen brothers below it.
My jaw clenches as tightly as my hand.
For years, I've waited and waited and waited.
But I'm done waiting. I'm sick of waiting and anticipating for nothing.
No more waiting.
No more anticipating.
No more falling.
No more love.
This will be my life from now on.
I'll die a husband-less hag for all I care.
If it means I won't be abandoned, if it means that I won't be fooled, if it means that I will finally have a life of my own, then a loveless life I shall lead.
I will no longer wait for a man to proclaim his hollow words of love.
Never, ever again.