There was something unsettling with the atmosphere. How can everyone be so casual and carefree? This was open space with a huge pool in between, but these harmonal teenagers could only care about the free alcohol and kill themselves.
Maybe that was only me. Only I had a deep connection with water and alcohol, so bad that my stomach churns in fear.
But tonight was different. It was a face. Unavoidable, annoying, shameless manwho-
"Are you trying to kill someone?" My boss reached from behind. He handed me a glass of wine and I rolled my eyes.
"I wish." Swirling the wine in the glass, I had no intention of drinking a sip.
"Who is it?"
"He isn't here." I turned away from the crowd who were still dancing carelessly on that loud noise.
"Then who were you glaring at? Who is he?" He raised his brows.
"Will you pay me extra for sharing my private life?" I spat.
"Depends on how good the gossip is." He sipped his drink and winked.
"Shameless."
My phone rang for the fifth time within an hour and I annoyingly fished out.
"Mr. Fidger, so you got sugar daddy?" My boss peeked at my phone.
I ignored him and picked the call.
"It's your wedding night." His voice ringed but calmly.
"And?"
"It hasn't even hours since you got married. You better have a good reason for leaving your husband all alone."
"I'm making money." I clicked my tongue.
"One day won't get you bankrupt." He spoke calmly, but his tone held a tint of anger.
"What makes you say that? I don't live in a mansion reeking of money and luxury. We are not the same." I spat and looked at the wine glass.
"Home. Within an hour, I want you here." He sighed.
"Home? You call that home? That's nothing but a prison, a hell, a graveyard where I've-"
"Cassie!" He clicked his tongue, "No more excuses. Our home, right now." And he cut the call.
Anger would be understatement to describe how I felt. I glared at the wine glass and gulped the liquid in rage.
"More." I demanded to my boss who just scoffed.
"Who's the alcoholic now?" He taunted and filled my glass and I sat down gulping another fill before slamming the glass on the table.
"I'm leaving."
"This job?" He spoke, excited.
"Oh you'd love that, won't you?" I scoffed.
"At least my customers won't feel depressed looking at you."
"Thanks." I stumbled and made my way out the party without any further words.
We had been called to arrange this party for a wealthy family's spoiled brat or child whatever they liked to call and I couldn't wait to leave this noisy zoo, so thanks to my new husband.
I held on the sidewalls, rubbing my eyes to focus and sat on my bike.
Should I be driving though?
"You should listen to your husband." I muttered, wore my helmet and fished out my keys as my eyes laid on my shining wedding ring.
"But fuck him! I didn't ask him to marry me." Still, I caressed the rose gold band and my vision turned more blurry before I felt hot tears rolling down my eyes.
"Fuck!"
Why did it had to happen?
How did I get married to him?
I should hate him but why can't I stop seeing him everywhere?
"Why am I so pathetic?" I sobbed. My head was spinning too much as the soreness started seeping in. I was tired.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
Nobody knew what happened to me in these 2 years and I was sure that nobody cared. Not my father, not even my so-called husband who just wants a wife puppet.
"I'll never be your puppet. Never."
Then I felt a hand holding my head as it bent to the side and leaned.
I looked up and there he was, annoyingly looking down at me.
"You're not my puppet, you're my wife." His frown remained as he pulled me away from my bike.
"I hate you." I spat. He picked me in his arms, ignoring my words and I punched his chest. "You're mean, you're rude, you're a monkey!" I screamed as more tears rolled down.
"Stop squirming." He spoke calmly.
I closed my eyes before I felt him placing me gently on a seat and wrapping the seatbelt around me.
Then he picked me up again and laid me on the soft warm bed and pulled a duvet on me.
I held his neck before he could pull away and caressed it slowly, loving the warmth of his breath.
"Why'd you leave without telling me anything — especially on our wedding day?" He asked. I opened my eyes and saw his brown sad eyes glistening under the dim lights.
"Because I'd rather never see you look at me with hate." I confessed.
"Why?" He said. It wasn't a tone of a question but desperation.
I wasn't that drunk enough to blame alcohol for my words. But I didn't know if I'd ever say this to him ever again so I whispered, "Because I'm sorry."
Tears rolled down to my side and I gulped the tightness in my throat.
There was a long pause as the only sound engulfing the room was of thunder and soft taps of rain.
He finally spoke and it'd be lie to say that it didn't break my heart a little, "It's too late."
"And I can't fix it. Ever."
"There's nothing for you-" He sighed, "You should sleep." He pulled my hand away from him and placed it gently on the bed before turning off all the lights and leaving the room.
I wanted to cry, scream and tell him everything that I had been hiding for the past two years. So, alcohol does make one speak honestly, but it's also alochol that makes you extremely tired that you can't move a muscle.
I was dead tired.
But before I completely drift off, I felt his hand wrapped around mine.
"So feisty." He kissed my knuckle on the same place where he kissed this morning.
Why so gentle? I wanted to ask but the muscle soreness was heavier than my mind. I felt his hand wrapping around my waist and him breathing calmly.
Annoying.