Chapter 1
God, I was getting nauseous… I could barely see straight, holding my fingers pinched together at the bridge of my nose, trying desperately to focus and to dull the pain. Of course, I couldn’t remain this way for too long at a time at the risk of getting snapped at, and so I only did it in snatches, when the bride wasn’t looking. She would turn her head in my direction every now and then, trying to find something else to bitch about, whatever she could find, really, and I would hold my eyes open to the point that they began to water. At last she would turn away again, and I would crunch my eyes shut again, so that tears trickled down along my face, making my mascara run in places here and there.
Good Lord, when would this all be over?
I wished one of the other girls, perceiving my discomfort, would have leaned over and offered me a damn ibuprofen or something, or better yet, just a shot of whiskey. After all, they’d all surely numbed themselves accordingly in preparation for today, knowing as they must have that Clarissa would prove to be a bridezilla, given her general demeanor, even under normal circumstances, whining and complaining until the cows came home.
But then again, I didn’t really know any of Clarissa’s other friends that well, and so I wasn’t on a good footing to ask any favors of them to begin with. I’d known Clarissa since high school, and our relationship, for what it was, spanned back to that period. These other girls she’d all met through college, or work, or through mutual friendship via her fiancé – I didn’t really know, honestly, nor did I care especially much as far as that was concerned. But whatever the case, I felt I could be confident that these other women she’d befriended or ensnared, whichever you preferred to call it, over the years, likely shared many of her less than appealing personality traits.
Her whining, her bitching, her tendency to raise hell until anything and everything was precisely how she wanted it to be…
Judging by their looks, their facial expressions, these were the precise same sorts of girls, the kind who could pout, or cry, stick out their lower lip, and get what they wanted out of life at the drop of a hat. The shrieks of annoyance from Clarissa, presently giving me one hell of a migraine, were in all likelihood the normal means of communication for the rest of her bridesmaids. Indeed, their expressions seemed not to change as Clarissa snarled and snapped at whatever she could find worth criticizing, so apparently, none of them had as much problem with her attitude as I had.
“What the hell is that doing there? It’s supposed to go over there!” chided the bride, pointing to something I couldn’t see in my haze. I put a hand on my abdomen, like I was going to be sick, but no one seemed to pay me any attention.
I was sick, in a way, though not on the point of losing my lunch or anything. Just like I’d been hollowed out, mostly, gutted, left with such a vacuum inside me that I felt like I could collapse at any minute.
I tried to distract myself, looking at the other bridesmaids, admiring their outfits. Of course, this didn’t help me all that much either… As I gazed at them, trying to focus on their elegant dresses, it was inevitable that I should instead be drawn to examine their figures. Their luscious, ripe young bodies, so thin and so carefully managed that they seemed almost artificial. Their plump asses and their supple breasts, their fake tan skin, their platinum blonde, carefully kept hair, their bleached white teeth… God, they were all gorgeous…
And I, by comparison – well, suffice it to say, it was easy to tell what kind of women Clarissa liked to associate with as a rule, and I most definitely did not fit the bill in that regard. On top of my raging headache, I was now beginning to feel vastly insecure about my own body, like my curvaceous figure was hanging awkwardly out in the open, and risked bursting through the seams of my dress at any damn moment.
I took in a deep breath, as though trying to bring in my stomach and prevent this from happening. However, it only succeeded in pushing my breasts together, my cleavage deepening, and the top of my gown straining to compensate for the forward thrust of my boobs.
Plus, I looked damn ridiculous in the process, I quickly realized…
“Maggie… What the hell are you doing? Don’t stand like that,” Clarissa snapped the instant upon seeing me, and I exhaled quickly, certain as I did so that the aforementioned phobia of dress splitting was about to come true.
“Sorry,” I said hurriedly, offering no explanation, and thankfully Clarissa’s hawkish gaze was redirected quickly enough.
I’d always been a curvier girl, ever since I was growing up. And as a rule, I tended to be a very body positive person. During school, I’d been picked on every now and then, and maybe I wasn’t always as popular as I could have been, but I managed to regain my self-esteem by the time senior year rolled around. And that, in turn, led to acceptance from my peers.
College had been even better, allowing me to explore my sexuality in depth, and convincing me that there were, in fact, men out there interested in me – a lot of them, actually…
When I stopped trying to directly comparing myself with others, I could even be considered hot…
My curves fell in all the right places, emphasizing the grace of my femininity, sloping elegantly out into my cushioned, delicate breasts, my wide, delectable thighs, my ample, juicy buttocks. I had a seductive, beautiful face, with flaring nostrils, tight, red lips, sleek brunette hair flowing down along the sides, and a set of piercing green eyes that could lure a man into my trap like a siren drawing a damn fisherman into the ocean.
I was, I repeat, hot… And I routinely told myself as much.
But around the sorts of women who comprised my present company, I felt so out of place and insecure, my body more on display than usual as it was in this tiny little bridesmaid’s dress, and my figure easily the thickest and most substantial in this twiggy little succession of model-like women.
I felt like a damn pumpkin in a line of neatly arranged corn stalks…
God, this line of thinking wasn’t helping me at all… My head was pounding harder, I was feeling worse and worse about myself, and the revelation I’d had earlier that morning was only beginning to eat away further at me, more and more…
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and I wished to God I had something to drink just then…
I continued to crane my head around, looking for anything, anything at all, to distract me. Right now we were in the middle of the rehearsal for Clarissa’s wedding next Saturday, and if her present, volatile reactions were any indicator, the genuine occasion would prove to be nothing short of a disaster… And so, any time my eyes landed on something, I began to think of ways she could start tearing into something about them, some way that something must surely be long, and I saw my afternoon spanning onward and onward in this manner, this discomfort, with no end in sight.
Against my own better interests, then, I let my eyes flit over to Jeff, the groom, needing to see at least something that I didn’t consider completely abhorrent in that moment. But naturally, that continued to make things worse… A heat was welling up inside me as I glanced at him from the edge of my periphery, and I could almost feel him heating up as well, his stomach knotting up uncontrollably. He wouldn’t even look at me, though… He’d flashed a quick, nanosecond-long look in my direction, not acknowledging me in the least, but I think just looking to see whether I was looking.
And God that burned me up inside… I squeezed my hands tightly into fists, not as a sign of anger, but as a sort of nervous tick.
I turned away from Jeff, quivering just the least bit now, and I tried to hum a little tune in my head, something that would distract me, making me focus on getting the words right so as to avoid putting up with all the bullshit around me.
And then, Lord help me, the moment came, the practice for the kiss that would forever seal their fate together as husband and wife. I didn’t want to look, but everyone else was, and I felt as though it would be improper of me to avoid doing so. Not wanting to call undue attention to myself, I watched as Jeff and Clarissa leaned into one another, and melted slowly, sensually into one another’s lips, tongues probably twisting together inside them, the passion of the moment seeming real, palpable, and making me sick to my stomach.
I cast my eyes down to avoid looking at the two of them any further, and at last they pulled apart, staring into one another’s eyes. As real as the kiss had seemed for both of them, however, as desperate and perfect the moment might have been to an outsider, moments after it was over Clarissa was back into dispassionate, wedding planner mode, barking out orders in her same shrill, fascist tones.
“Okay, that was a decent start… Let’s try it again though, and make sure it all goes fucking right this time!”
She really could be on one of those reality shows about women like herself, and I imagined her profanity being bleeped out by the censors just at that moment.
God, how I couldn’t stand her… How the hell had the girl I’d once considered a best friend progressed this far into full-on bitch mode?
But then again, who the hell was I to say one word of criticism against anything at all she chose to do, about how she chose to act? After the huge, unforgivable, indefensible betrayal I’d committed against her… What kind of a person did that make me?
The rehearsal spanned on for a great deal longer, hours, in fact, leaving me gritting my teeth the entire time. Sweat continued to drip down along my spine and seep into my panties uncomfortably as I tried to remain calm and collected, and Jeff, all the while, persisted in avoiding any sort of eye contact with me whatsoever, pretending, in essence, as though I didn’t even exist…
And at last, at long, long last, the moment of departure had arrived.
I’d watched the two of them, the lucky bride and groom to be, kiss on the mouth a good five or six times by this point, and my ears were ringing from all of the arguing that had ensued in my presence, driving me up the wall. But finally, the practice was over, and I was free, and you can bet your ass I was the first person to go running through the door like a bat out of hell.
Of course, it would only be another week before I was forced to bear witness to the real thing in person, and that would be way, way worse. For now, though, all I could do was try to stop myself from thinking about it, remaining intent on putting one foot ahead of the other and continuing, hoping that one way or another, I could at least make it home without my misery overtaking me in the middle of the highway.
Finally, I was home, and I collapsed, sobbing on the bed. Crying my eyes out, getting my dress all crumpled up – a fact which Clarissa would surely begrudge me, but at this point I didn’t really give a damn anymore.
I wept until I was dried out, and I remained like that for some time afterward, my face in the pillow, like I was trying to go about suffocating myself.
I slid my hand beneath me then, feeling my stomach, as though any progression had taken place since I’d had my earlier revelation and now. But of course, I still felt the same, and I knew that any changes that might have taken place would have been insubstantial to say the least, and highly unnoticeable.
I breathed in deep, thinking what little good it was doing me to wallow like this, yet it felt like just about all I could do.
I dragged myself, at last, out of bed, and sauntered miserably into the bathroom. Shakily, I forced myself to look into the mirror. I was a real mess now, makeup running, hair mussed from plowing my head into the mattress. But I tried to get a hold of myself. To breathe in deep, to bite my lower lip, and avoid letting myself get lost in the swarm of thoughts now threatening to collapse me inward.
But then something caught my eye. It was the pregnancy test I’d left sitting on the edge of the sink… I raised it slowly up, and peered down at the plus sign raging fierce and blue up at me. I stared for a long, long time at it, as though inwardly I believed I might still be imagining it, and if I remained staring long enough, perhaps it would go away.
And then, finally, I collapsed onto the vanity, my head halfway in the sink, as I began to cry and to sob my lights out yet again.
Good God, what had I done?