In my old room, I watch out the window as the guards patrol the perimeter—trapped.
Tristan can’t get to me, even though I wish he could stop this ordeal from happening.
I pluck my phone from my clutch and call him, needing to hear his voice one more time. I need to hold on to him until I must let him go for good.
My soul will forever latch onto the memories—onto him as if he’s the drop of water after I’ve been wandering through an unforgiving desert.
“Mo run,” he says, the candor in his voice tugging at my heartstrings, and instantly my eyes well up, tears cascading down my face. “You captivated the entire audience. Your speech left me in awe. You did a terrific job. I’m so proud of you. The kids you’ll teach can call themselves lucky to have someone as passionate and driven as you.”
He says all the right things. He is all the right things.
“Thank you. It means so much to me. Your being there,” I say, pushing through the emotions lodged in my throat.
“It took every bit of restraint not to rush onto that stage and claim you right there.”
I smile, fully believing him. “I miss you.”
He calls me smart, but I am unsalvageable when it comes to him.
“You won’t have to miss me for long,” he says assuredly, breaking my heart some more.
This is the perfect moment to confess. Tell him the truth. If someone could end my misery, it would be him.
“Go rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
For a moment, the blood freezes in my veins, an ominous feeling chilling me as if he knows exactly what will happen tomorrow.
“Dream of me,” he says and hangs up while I can’t shake this strange feeling that he is up to something.
I shake my head. The nerves of my impending marriage are making me paranoid. I am losing it.
Getting ready for bed, I slide under the blanket, staring at the ceiling, imagining my perfect life. Where I am his wife. A teacher. A mother.
I slip into sweet oblivion only to shoot up in bed, my palm flying to my chest to calm the erratic beating. Just a bad dream, or was it a good one?
Dawn creeps through the sky, the sunrays prying it open to announce the coming day.
Knowing I won’t be able to fall back asleep, I roll out of bed.
In the shower, the lukewarm water wakes me up some more while the dream plays before my eyes.
I was walking down the aisle toward my future husband, my heart clamoring in my throat to shout out its despair.
He had his back to me, so I couldn’t make out his features, which made the scenario foreboding. The moment he was about to turn, Tristan materialized by my side, pointed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
My ears rang, the shot deafening me, followed by an eerie silence. Blood exploded. So much red soaking my white dress in splashes of death. It was everywhere. On my face, on my hands, and I couldn’t get it off.
“You’re mine,” he said and made the officiant marry us next to the corpse of my fiancé.
Shuddering, I scrub my body as if erasing the imaginary blood, not knowing if that was some sign or my subconscious coping with my impending engagement.
After I get out of the bathroom, I dress in a daze, knowing that later today, I will wear someone’s ring and won’t be able to change it, just smile politely. Nod. Agree.
I should have inquired more about my fiancé and been better prepared to face him. I don’t even know his name or what he looks like, but it’s too late now. I’ll find out soon enough.
We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. Long or short, it’s irrelevant. In the Mafia, the risk is heightened—a permanent presence. At least I won’t have to worry about being wretched over that loss.
I’ve given everything I had to another man.
