Are You Alright, Leila

I can hear them. They think I'm excitedly getting ready, but I'm just sitting in my vast dress. The white satin billows around me like clouds. I should be celebrating - drinking from delicate champagne flutes with my friends. Instead, they're outside the door talking and I feel as delicate as the glasses. I sigh, glancing around the room. The mahogany bureau is covered in cards from well-wishers. I knock one over as I grab the bottle of champagne and bring it to my pink, painted lips. Repositioning myself on the short stool, I take a long drink - my eyes watering as the bubbles pop. I can hear them again. They must know I can. Out of all the places in the church, why do they have to stand outside my room? I sigh again, suddenly realising how strained my breathing has become. This corset is too tight. I told my sister when she was pulling and tugging on the strings, squeezing all the air from my body. She just told me I'd look better if it was tighter. I was away this memory with another swig from the bottle.

This should be a happy day. Should be. I'm not that sure how I feel really. I've found a man that I love and who loves me. Walker loves me? Why can't I think that without it sounding like a question?

I grunt at the pain growing in my mind and drink again. Hanging my head down, I catch sight of my brilliant white gown. The bust isn't as pristine as it had been. Little black dots are sprinkled over it. I swear as I rush to the mirror and slam the bottle onto the table.

"Who are you?" I whisper, my voice cracking.

My deep brown eyes are now fading into autumn shades. I feel myself fading too as I stare at my ghostly reflection. The make-up could not brighten my somber expression, nor could it conceal the red swelling around my eyes. I rub at my cheeks, trying to clean away the black streaks left by my mascara. I drop my hand, defeated. My face is as red as my puffy eyes, rubbing did more harm than good.

They've stopped talking. I think they moved somewhere else - they must have heard me rustling. I don't know whether or not I want them to come into the room. They should be here though. The Bride is supposed to be surrounded by friends and family. I should be bathed in compliments - not tears. I can't help how I feel and I really can't forget what I saw. I sink back down onto the stool and wrap my arms around my waist.

"Walker" I breathe his name.

About an hour ago I went for a walk to calm my nerves. That's when I saw him. I heard him talking to his friend, Isobel. It was then that I decided to spy. I braved a peek or two around the corner, but spent most of their conversation hidden behind the wall, my heart thumping in my chest.

"Why'd you even propose in the first place? You told me you were going to end it months ago! You haven't changed your mind about Leila, have you?" Isobel's voice was so angry. I needed no clarification about what was going on. I had my suspicions before, but I hadn't guessed how long it was going on for. I'm a fool.
I rushed back to the room, unable to stomach the truth. I've been sitting here since then. Nobody's come to see me yet. Sure, the bridesmaids were in earlier to help me get dressed, but I hadn't seen them again. I had heard them though.
When they were outside they were discussing the 'Walker-Isobel issue'. Apparently, they found out a few weeks ago and have been wondering how to break it to me. With the day that's in it, it would be more of a shatter than a break.
My head is aching. I go to the mirror again to try relieve the pain without ruining
my hair. I don't know why, but I'm still taking precaution. So much work went into styling it, it would be a shame to create another casualty of the day. Slides and clips hold my ebony curls in place. I gently prod an shift them but can't alleviate the throbbing. Everything I'm wearing is constricting. I can't breathe. I clutch at the string of pearls wrapped around my pulsating neck. I can feel the hot blood pump through my body. My breath grows heavier the more I panic. I can't breathe. I pull harshly on the necklace and it bursts into tiny iridescent beads. They make a hollow sound as they bounce of the surfaces. I collapse to the floor, gasping.
I sit there panting, refusing to cry. I look back up at the cards. The lies scrawled inside provoke an anger in me I can't recall feeling before. I grasp two legs of the stool and swing for the mirror. I watch it obliterate, raining down in sparkling shards. The shards cut deep as thousands of disappointed eyes stare up at me from the floor.

I squeeze my eyes shut and murmur, "Stop looking at me." My breath becomes uneven as I stumble away from the empty frame. "Please, stop".

My denied tears begin to flow freely. Wiping at these streams of shame, I hold my breath - listening at the door. I can't hear anything. I slam the handle down and run, leaving everything behind. The exit isn't far from my room. Within seconds I'm free. I just couldn't be there any more. Everyone knows. So, I run. I keep going until I see the top of a massive, colourful tent - the Circus. I take one last look back, before heading towards the distant sound of cheering. Maybe I'll fall madly in love with a lion tamer, or just sweep up after the animals. I don't care, I just want to be free. I lift up the front of my gown as I run barefoot to my future.