I sit down on the edge of the tub, listening to him yell at me through the door. All the while, remembering our first bath together.
Fingers running along the porcelain, I can still see the water, soaked red. I see the razor, slicing into our flesh, feel the sting and the trickle of blood. The way he held me, and kissed me,fucked me and licked my blood while Depeche Mode played in the background.
We became one that day, body, heart, and soul. Our bloody baptism, reborn in the forever spinning chaos and love that make us up.
I want that for our marriage. Wiping everything before each other clean and starting over anew in devotion.
I just hope my doctorlovecan learn to turn off his big, beautiful brain and follow his heart.
I fell asleep on the bathroom floor.
I know…The night before mywedding.
I’m gonna be all hunched over in my sexy tux Ren picked out.
I’m actually not aching too bad. Not on the outside, anyway. But inside, I’m all knotted up and tense.
Opening the door slowly, I peek out into the bedroom. But it’s empty, and I frown. My malaise only lasts for a split second, though, before someone bursts into the room. Much to my disappointment, it’s not Lem.
“Rise and shine, my little butcher bride!” Ren hollers. “It’s your wedding day!”
“It’s too early for you to be so loud,” Byron grumbles, rubbing his temples.
“It’s not my fault you drank too much last night.” Ren strides into my bedroom like he owns the place.
“I’m not complaining,” Trevel chuckles. “Drunk Byron is a total slag.”
He smirks, and Byron bites his lip. It’s making mejealouson my own damn wedding day.
Rushing up to Trevel, I grasp his arm. “Have you see Lem?”
“Mhm,” he hums, grinning wickedly. “He’s already up and getting ready.”
I frown. “Oh…”
“Why what happened??” Ren gasps. “No frown lines today.”
“Nothing, it’s just… we had a fight last night,” I mumble. “And we didn’t really get to—”
“Joy!” Ren barks into a walkie talkie he pulled seemingly out of nowhere. “We might have a codeRunaway Groomsituation. Can you please get eyes on Lemuel?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not runningaway…”
“Bitch, I’m busy,” Joy croaks over the walkie. “I told you to stop calling me on this thing.”
“Rawr,” he replies into it. “Someone had a venti iced bitch latte with oat milk and cunty cold foam this morning.”
Trevel bursts out laughing, and I can’t help cracking a smile.
“Fuck off, 48,” Velle growls, which I’m assuming means they’re getting busy.
“Ugh, those horny sluts,” Ren sighs.
“Like I said, I just saw him fifteen minutes ago,” Trevel adds.
“Fifteen minutes is more than enough time to run away from commitment, trust me.” Ren’s brow cocks.
“Are you trying to make the situation worse?” Byron huffs. “Because it’s working.”
