The silence enveloped us, a comforting blanket with threads of contrasting thoughts woven through it. I was lost in a sea of reflection, the past two days replaying in my mind like a film on loop.
It had only been three days—just three days—and yet, I could sense the trajectory of my life shifting beneath me. The suddenness of this change left me adrift between excitement and trepidation, unsure which shore to swim towards.
My introspection was abruptly shattered by the sharp sound of Lizzy's tongue clicking, a staccato interruption to the quiet. Glancing over, I saw her fingers dancing across her phone's screen with an intensity that bordered on aggression, as if each tap was a message in itself.
On the other side, a heavy sigh drew my attention to Carrie. She was the picture of contemplation, her brow furrowed in concentration. The subtle shifts in her expression and the nervous nibbling at her nails painted a portrait of inner turmoil. I couldn't help but wonder if her thoughts were ensnared by the 'predator' she had mentioned before, whose story she had since kept to herself.
"Girls!" Carrie suddenly exclaimed, perhaps louder than she intended, causing my heart to nearly leap out of my ribcage from the shock. Lizzy, too, was startled, nearly dropping her phone. It's worth noting that Carrie always manages to capture our attention.
"What the heck is wrong with you?" Lizzy snapped, her eyebrows furrowed in irritation. Unfazed by Lizzy's annoyance, Carrie posed a question we were utterly unprepared for.
"What do you guys think of pastor's sons?" A hush fell over us as we processed her words, unsure if we had heard correctly. I exchanged a confused glance with Lizzy.
"What?" we both exclaimed in unison.
"What are you talking about?" Lizzy, having set her phone aside, now fixed Carrie with a frown. She detested Carrie's tendency to raise her voice unexpectedly. Yet, that's just part of who Carrie is, and it's something that can't be changed.
"What I'm trying to say is, what are your views on pastor's sons? I mean, their behavior, how they carry themselves, especially how you're supposed to act around them," Carrie explained, fidgeting in her seat. It was new for Lizzy and me to see our usually overconfident friend acting nervous for the first time.
"Have you never associated with any?" I asked, puzzled by the direction of the conversation.
"I'm too much of a sinner to have been acquitted by one," she replied, her statement sounding more like a question. I raised an eyebrow at her words, while Lizzy snorted.
"And what makes you think you need to be holy to know one?" Lizzy asked.
"Because their fathers are messengers of God? They should lead by example since they are... Anyway, just tell me, what are they like?" Carrie pressed, her exasperation evident.
"They're just like anyone else—" I began, but Lizzy interrupted with a snort.
"What do you mean, 'like anyone else'? They're the epitome of snobbishness, egotistical fools who think they're above everyone else because their father preaches to a congregation," she retorted.
"Damn, girl. Is this personal?" I couldn't help but ask, grimacing. Her statement wasn't entirely accurate.
and concern. Her generalization wasn't entirely fair.
"It's personal, alright! I've encountered my fair share in high school—four of them, from different churches. Believe me, they were the epitome of spoiled, parading around as if they were disciples in Jerusalem and we were the sinners in Sodom," Lizzy ranted, her words laced with venomous wit.
I couldn't contain my laughter at her vivid descriptions, despite the bitterness that underpinned them. From my own encounters, I knew that some did carry an air of superiority, but it wasn't fair to paint them all with the same brush.
"Is it really that bad?" Carrie asked, still biting her nails.
"Not all of them are like that," I reassured her, my gaze narrowing as I sensed there was more to her line of questioning. "Why this sudden curiosity? You're holding back on us, Carrie—out with it," I gestured with an open palm, half-expecting her to literally place her secrets in my hand. Lizzy leaned in, her attention sharpened, awaiting Carrie's revelation.
"The thing is..." Carrie let out a weary sigh. "Remember the guy who's been pursuing me?"
"You mean the one you've been chasing," I corrected, earning a dismissive roll of her eyes.
"The predator, yes, go on," Lizzy urged, her patience wearing thin.
"Well, it turns out he's a pastor's son," Carrie divulged, a hint of trepidation in her voice.
Lizzy responded with a dramatic clap of her hands. "Oh boy."
"And what's the issue with him being a pastor's son? It doesn't make him less of a man, does it?" I questioned, one eyebrow arched inquisitively.
"It doesn't make him any less of a man," Lizzy conceded, "but it does cast a different light on things for Carrie, complicating matters in ways we might not expect."
I was intrigued. "In what ways?"
Lizzy leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think about it. The way they're raised, always in the spotlight of virtue. It's all about pride and appearances. And Carrie? She's not one to play the waiting game or settle for a romance devoid of passion, where mere proximity is the closest they come to intimacy," she said, her words tinged with a mix of disdain and concern.
I shook my head, not quite convinced. "I'm not sure it's quite so black and white—"
"It's precisely that," Lizzy interjected with fervor. "They're expected to adhere to this archaic notion of courtship. No physical affection until marriage vows are exchanged. Not even a kiss on the lips—"
"You're overdoing it," I interrupted, hoping to spare Carrie from Lizzy's dramatics. Her cynicism, though perhaps rooted in some truth, was painting an unfairly grim picture.
"I'm not exaggerating," Lizzy protested, her hand slicing through the air for emphasis. "I once dated a pastor's son, and after a stolen kiss one month in, I was promptly shown the door."
Carrie and I gasped in unison, taken aback by Lizzy's revelation. Perhaps I had been too quick to judge her stance. The conversation had taken an unexpectedly personal turn.
"Mandy, I know you think I'm trying to sabotage Carrie's chances, but that's not it. I'm speaking from experience," Lizzy insisted. "He called me Delilah, a temptress sent to lead him astray."
Hold on. Did Lizzy just say that?
Her words were so outlandish they bordered on comedic. This morning, I hadn't anticipated the rollercoaster of laughter that awaited me.
"Please, don't mock me," Lizzy implored, her face half-hidden behind her hands, a blush creeping up her cheeks. But the image of Lizzy as a modern-day Delilah was too absurdly amusing to ignore.
"Oh, Lizzy, when did all this happen?" I asked, biting the inside of my cheek to stifle my chuckles.
"Back in high school," she sighed, her voice laced with nostalgia. "He was the quiet, studious type, and there I was—outspoken and untamed. I thought we were the perfect case of opposites attracting." She paused, a wistful look crossing her face.
"You can't imagine, Carrie, the restraint I had to practice. To fit his mold, I gave up my rebellious streak, stopped dressing up, and even distanced myself from friends who were deemed a bad influence. Our conversations revolved around scripture and faith-based films—nothing about it felt like a real romance."
With another heavy sigh, Lizzy's gaze drifted off, lost in the memories as she braced herself to continue her tale.
"I figured, when life hands you lemons, why not make lemonade?" She said with a shrug. "So, I coaxed him into reading a verse from the Song of Solomon. It was one of those hopelessly romantic lines, and he recited it with such innocence that my heart did somersaults, leading me to impulsively plant a kiss on his lips."
"Whoa, that's quite the scheme," Carrie chuckled, her eyebrows dancing in amusement.
"And then what happened?" I probed, eager to hear the rest, though Lizzy's earlier demeanor hinted at a less than joyful conclusion.
"Our relationship went up in smoke," Lizzy deadpanned, eliciting another round of laughter from us. It was an unexpected and comical end to a love story. Who ends things over a kiss?
Lizzy turned to Carrie with a pleading look. "Please, before you get too entangled, reconsider."
Carrie let out a long sigh, her eyes drifting off. "I wish I could just let go, but...he's so tall and handsome as hell"
Lizzy mockingly crooned, "Well, I can see the end as it begins," her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Have you turned into Taylor Swift now?" I teased, a smile playing on my lips.
"But really, it might not be such a bad thing," I mused thoughtfully. "You've always gone for the carefree types, the ones who shy away from commitment. Perhaps it's time for a change—a challenge. Isn't there something exciting about not getting everything handed to you on a silver platter? Maybe it's fate."
Lizzy looked at me incredulously. "You're not serious, are you? Encouraging her?"
"I am," I affirmed with confidence.
"It's unfair to push Carrie away from someone just because he's spiritual. He's different, yes—handsome, devout—it's the full package. And it's not as if Carrie's hunting for a husband. If it doesn't work out, at least she'll have given it a shot, right?" I turned to Carrie, who nodded in agreement.
"You're right. And hey, I've got to keep my diary interesting. If we don't end up together, I'll make sure I'm unforgettable," Carrie declared, her confidence rekindled.
"Like standing in a nice dress, watching the sunset, right?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow playfully.
"... red lips and rosy cheeks," Carrie added with a wink. We all burst into laughter, the melody of Taylor Swift's 'Wildest Dreams' echoing in our heads. Even Lizzy, initially peeved, couldn't resist joining in the laughter that followed our playful banter.
...
The world around me seemed to dissolve into a watercolor blur as I navigated through the sea of faces. Each step felt like wading through honey, my mind afloat in a haze of disorientation. The ambient noise of the crowd crescendoed into a cacophony, yet I felt ensconced in a bubble of isolation.
Lizzy's voice, tinged with a thread of hope, drifted to me from the recesses of my memory. "Are you finally warming up to Valentine's Day?" Her words had danced in the air, mingling with the expectant gleam in Carrie's eyes—a look that sent a ripple of discomfort through me.
"Nope, still detest it," had been my resolute response, a declaration as unwavering. Their collective sighs of disappointment had swirled around me, a gale urging me to flee to some distant shore. Away from everything
"You can't keep this forever. To despise a holiday simply because of—" Lizzy's voice had begun to rise, impatient and probing, but I cut her off, a defensive reflex.
"Why do you insist on connecting my disdain for Valentine's with—" The sentence withered on my lips, strangled by the ghostly fingers of a memory I wished to banish. Their gazes, heavy with unspoken censure, pressed upon me like the weight of the ocean depths.
"I've moved on. Must my distaste always be justified?" I had retorted, my voice brittle, before retreating from the scrutiny of the living room.
'moved on, indeed.' I mocked myself silently, coming back to the present struggling to steady my erratic breathing. I kept repeating to myself that I was alright. Nothing could shake me again because I had grown and become stronger.
I simply don't like this holiday, and nothing is going to change that. It has nothing to do with what happened before. I am okay. Or am I?
Have I truly moved on from what happened? Then why did I almost break down when the demons of the past began to emerge? Why am I in so much pain now, unable to even see where I'm going?
One moment, I was with Tanya and Samantha, assisting in filming an interview about the fiasco sweeping through the school regarding this annoying holiday; the next moment, I found myself walking on the road.
How had I ended up here? Visions of the past flickered before me—taunts, derisive laughter—all clawing at the edges of my sanity.
I had convinced myself I was healed, that the scars no longer held power. Yet here I was, teetering on the brink, the old wounds gaping open once more. I didn't want my friends to witness this unraveling. I had vowed to them, and to myself, that I was whole again.
I longed to confess that the nightmares still haunted me, but some chapters are too dark to revisit, better left sealed within the pages of a forgotten tome. Desperation gripped me as I stumbled through the fog of my own turmoil, the world around me fading to black. My breath grew shallow, the encroaching panic stripping away my composure.
February 3rd seemed destined to be a day of my utter humiliation, with no Carrie to intervene against the cameras or Nick, my knight in shining armor, to rescue me. Desperately, I scanned the crowd, clinging to a sliver of hope for someone to shield me from this ignominy, but my vision was a foggy haze. The world around me reduced to indistinct shapes and shadows, until I collided with a figure emerging from the mist.
"Hey, I am so sorry. Are you alright, miss... Mandy?" The voice cut through the fog of my disarray, and with it, February 3rd transformed from a curse to a blessing in disguise.
Though his features were obscured, recognition dawned instantly. It was him. In that moment of vulnerability, I found a sanctuary. He became the balm to the ache within me, the calm in my storm.
Blindly, I reached out and embraced him, and he reciprocated with an enveloping warmth that asked for no explanations. His scent—a familiar blend of sandalwood, subtly woody and irresistibly comforting—was a solace to my frayed senses.
"Shh, you are okay," he murmured, his embrace a fortress against my turmoil. And in that embrace, cocooned in the soothing cadence of his voice and the lingering embrace of his scent, I found my peace.