7
CIARA
When I get to the pub the party is already underway. Erin is the picture of happiness: she’s laughing, drinking and dancing around the pub with a tiara, a veil and a pink T-shirt that saysBrideon it.
“Ciara! Where the hell have you been?”
“Sorry,” I say, hugging her, and she slips a drink in my hand which is the same shade of pink as her T-shirt. “I was late at school and I needed to take a shower and get changed.”
I’m wearing jeans because I didn’t want anyone to see what shape my knees are in. They’re swelling and hurt like heck. I have two bruises that look very much like eggplants in size and color. Topping off my outfit is a black tank top and one of my plaid shirts, but this time in rose hues, just to keep in theme with the party, as requested by Erin.
I made myself up as I always do, perhaps even more: lots of dark eyeliner and even more mascara. I couldn’t leave out one of my bright red lipsticks to pull it all together. Maybe I’ve exaggerated a bit, but I don’t know, I needed a mask tonight to hide away all of my disappointment.
Aaron didn’t want me. He kissed me, and I felt the explosion within him to have me, but then he reconsidered, taking back every gesture and regretting it bitterly.
All I really feel like doing now is getting under the covers and snuggling down with a tub of ice cream and watching a tearjerker film that would only make me feel even worse. And here I am instead at Erin’s hen party. Erin, who in three days is going to marry my brother.
“I thought we were going to go out,” I say, looking at the others having fun dancing around the pub.
“Oh, but this is just the beginning, and anyway the drinks are free here,” Erin says with a wink. “Come dance?” She tries to pull me to the center of the floor.
“In a bit,” I say, indicating the drink I’ve still got in my hand. I’ll need to have two or three before I forget Aaron’s lips on mine.
I sit at the girls’ table trying to push away the idea of his hands on me with the help of a little alcohol, but Patrick is right there to chastise me.
“Hey, what the heck happened to you and Aaron? I was starting to get worried.”
I feel a drop of sweat run down my back.
“I, uh, I was running late at school.”
“Take it easy with that stuff,” he continues, making reference to the glass of booze I just downed in half a gulp, burning my throat and confusing my thoughts, but not doing enough yet to stop me feeling his eyes on my body, undressing me. Seeing through my mask and imagining me without my clothes.
“Is this a party or isn’t it?” I say. “Nobody’s driving tonight. Don’t we have a car with a driver just for us?”
“Yes, you do, as asked for by my old lady,” Patrick says with a smile.
“When did it happen, Patrick?”
“When did what happen?”
“When did you become so perfect?”
He breaks out laughing heartily.
“Hey, I’m far from it.”
“And yet it seems like you’ve become a dream guy. A real Prince Charming.”
“What, me? Nah… it’s just… look at her, Ciara,” he says, indicating Erin.
Seeing the way Patrick looks at Erin I can’t help but smile, aware of how huge their feelings for each other are.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I see Aaron watching the same scene but I don’t see a trace of tenderness or happiness in his eyes. All I find there is detachment, disquietude even, as if he is unable to let himself really feel the emotions, as if the scene playing out before him isn’t real.
As if he doesn’t believe in love.
And I ask myself why, where all this cynicism is coming from? This constant striving to avoid getting involved emotionally. I wish I could understand and help him somehow, but he doesn’t want me around.
