The elderly man looks between us one more time and clears his throat before picks up where he left off.
The ceremony begins.
I hear my own voice saying the words from somewhere slightly outside my body, which has decided that a full dissociative response is the most reasonable thing it can do right now and honestly, I agree with it completely. My YouTube therapist did an entire video on this. Dissociation as a trauma response. She said to try to stay grounded when it happens, find something physical to focus on, breathe into the present moment.
She did not account for this specific situation. I will be leaving a strongly worded comment on her channel at my earliest convenience.
Vows are spoken. I hear them leaving my mouth. Rafael's responses are even and unhurried, like he has decided to treat the whole thing as a formality to get through.
The ring comes.
I watch it happen from a slight distance, this gold band sliding onto my finger, cold at first and then warming against my skin. Heavy and uncomfortable.
Then the priest says the words. The ones about kissing the bride.
Rafael turns to look at me again and every dissociated, floating part of me slams back into my body all at once.
Oh! Shit! I forgot this part existed! Shit! Shit! Shit!
His hand doesn't go to my face. It goes to my jaw first, thumb beneath my chin tilting it up, and then his fingers slide to my throat.
A little gasp leaves my lips at that.
Strong, rough hands wrap around my throat, and squeeze. The pressure is light enough to breathe through but firm enough that I can't think about a single other thing in the world.
Oh lord.
His eyes drop to my mouth. Then back up. Then his lips meet mine.
I think my spirit leaves my body at some point.
His mouth moves against mine like he has all the time in the world and the rest of the room can wait, the hand at my throat squeezes once, just slightly, and I feel it light up every nerve from my jaw to my collarbone, straight down my spine. It flows down my core, into my panties, hot, wet, throbbing.
Aching.What in the world is going on?
This is a performance, I am enduring it and I will stand here completely locked down until it is over.
The sound that comes out of my mouth is small, completely involuntary and it goes directly into his mouth.
Shit.
He freezes for a second at that, growls and deepens the kiss.
I am dimly aware that I am kissing him back, aware that my hands have found the lapel of his jacket, aware that this is happening in front of three hundred people and I cannot make myself stop, and then finally, slowly, he pulls back.
He looks at me.
I gape at him, breathing hard.
My face is burning. My throat is still wrapped in the warmth of his grip. There is something in my chest that is not fear and not relief and I am absolutely not going to name it or look at it or acknowledge it in any way whatsoever.
I need a real therapist.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest announces, voice slightly unsteady, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Mr. and Mrs. Caruso."
Applause fills the church.
I stand there with gold on my finger and the warmth of his hand still sitting on my throat and the absolute certain knowledge that I have no idea what I just agreed to.
