Vengeance Is Mine

Contains rape reference

Ten fucking attendants. Who needs that many attendants for their wedding? But there they stand to the left of the bride-to-be, all dressed to the nines for the rehearsal, complete with fake eyelashes and sequins. It’s clear now why Josh’s presence was needed; if the bride has ten, so must the groom.

A month earlier, Josh had come in from work, mail in hand. “You’ll be my plus one, won’t you babe?” He blithely passed me an opened envelope as he dumped his keys into the catch-all bowl by the refrigerator and headed to the bedroom to change.

I pulled an ornately designed wedding invitation from the envelope that was addressed to “Josh Medrow, Plus One”. As I read, I shakily sank to the closest stool. The invitation fluttered to the kitchen counter as I placed both hands over my mouth, my heart racing. Then I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and composed myself.

“Dylan Collins?” I called down the hallway.

“I told you,” Josh responded. “I’m a groomsman in the wedding. We were roommates freshman year at USC. He just phoned me out of the blue. Do you know him?”

“Oh... I don’t think you said his last name when you told me about it, that’s all,” I said, trying to keep the warble from my voice. I pasted on a smile as I turned to face Josh as he came back into the room. I couldn’t let on that I did, in fact, know Dylan. “Know him” in the Biblical sense, from the night of our junior prom when he raped me in the back of his family’s beat up Plymouth Gran Fury. I’ve never told anyone.

That night after Josh was asleep, I crept quietly from our bed and down to the basement storage room. I rooted through dusty totes until I found what I was looking for. “FLYERS 1998” was emblazoned on the blue and gold leather cover. I flipped quickly through the pages until I found the individual photos of the junior class. And yes, there he was, Dylan Collins. “Most likely to never be single,” read the caption. His features, though, were difficult to see through the scribbled black ink and jagged slashes on the page.

I sat on the cold basement floor looking at the remnants of that picture and crying until I could cry no more. Then I carried the book upstairs and carefully slid it under the mattress on my side of the bed before once again nestling close to Josh.

Our flight to Fort Lauderdale was difficult and exhausting, with an unexpected two-hour delay in Dallas that had left us with barely enough time to check into our room before Josh had to leave for the wedding rehearsal. Thankfully, all events were to be onsite at the same lavish hotel.

“You are so late,” I said as I pushed Josh out the door. “Just go and I’ll come down later for the dinner.”

Secretly relieved for the fortuitous respite before having to face Dylan, I perused the offerings in the mini-bar, selecting a hard seltzer. I pulled the yearbook from the bottom of my suitcase and sat looking at Dylan’s torn image as I drank. My tears were gone now, replaced by a cold anger. Seltzer drained, I slipped the book back into my suitcase and prepared myself for the inevitable.

The reception hall glitters, silverware and crystal gleaming against white tablecloths. It’s clear that the rehearsal is just wrapping up as I enter, the wedding party turning to watch as Dylan and his bride-to-be exit the stage. There are more people here than I expected, fellow observers, other plus-ones I suppose. Hotel staff bustle around setting up a buffet line on one side of the room and a bar in the corner.

I wait for Josh as he dutifully escorts his assigned attendant down the aisle, the last of the ten. He sees me waiting, makes his way over and pulls me into a hug.

“You look beautiful,” he says. “Let’s go find Dylan. I can’t wait to introduce you.”

Hand in hand, we wend our way through the crowd, approaching a group of boisterous young men with Dylan at its center.

“Dylan,” Josh says after getting Dylan’s attention. “I want you to meet my fiancé Maddie.”

Dylan grabs Josh in a headlock, ruffling his hair like a grade-schooler. “Congratulations, dude! We’re all going down together, eh?”

I fight nausea and stifle the impulse to flee as Dylan’s gaze turns to me. I’m seeing the face of my nightmares but there is no hint of recognition in his eyes. He doesn’t even remember me, much less the event that shattered my life.

“Welcome to the madhouse, Maddie,” Dylan says with a cocksure grin. “Chels,” he turns to call to the girl at the center of a cadre of young women approaching the bar. “Someone for you to meet,” he says as he waves her over.

I study Chelsea as she approaches. She is beautiful, graceful, young. She deserves to know what Dylan is capable of, but I’ve no idea how to tell her.

“Chelsea, this is Maddie, my man Josh’s fiancé.”

We exchange greetings and briefly make uncomfortable small talk before Dylan takes Chelsea’s hand.

“Needs must,” says Dylan, rolling his eyes and tipping his head to the side, indicating the remaining guests. He and Chelsea move off to join another group, one of whom I vaguely recognize as his mother. We had never met, but she was one of those mothers who had her fingers in every school activity, so I knew who she was.

Josh and I order drinks from the bar and wander through the tables until we find our seats, assigned by neat gold-trimmed place cards. Conversation with the other attendees at our table is awkward. Josh knows no one here except for Dylan. As I eat the lackluster buffet dinner, my eyes are on the head table, watching Dylan and Chelsea. Chelsea leans to whisper in Dylan’s ear, then rises from the table and begins to make her way across the room to the restroom.

I turn to Josh. “I need the ladies’ room,” I tell him. “Back in a jiff.”

Chelsea turns from the mirror as I enter. “Maddie, right?” she says.

“That’s right,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Chelsea, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The door suddenly bursts open and a giggling cluster of her companions fills the small space.

Chelsea looks at them briefly, then turns her eyes back to me. “What is it you wanted to say?”

 “Oh… just that… I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Thank you so much,” I hear her say as I turn to escape, flushed with self-recrimination.

The wedding day dawns bright and sunny. Josh has already showered and is stepping into his rented tuxedo pants when I wake. He leans over the bed to give me a kiss.

“Pictures in ten,” he says. “Gotta jet.”

“Great,” I respond, my voice husky from a nearly sleepless night. “I’ll see you later.”

After a leisurely room service breakfast, I shower and dress. Before leaving the room, I take one last look at Dylan’s mutilated picture before dropping the yearbook into the bathroom trashcan and tying off the bag.

The reception hall has been transformed. The tables from the night before having been replaced by rows and rows of padded folding chairs split by a red carpeted aisle.

“Bride or groom?” asks the eager usher at the door.

“Groom,” I say, pushing the word out through gritted teeth. “But toward the back please.”

I watch as the couple’s parents are escorted to their seats. A quizzical look crosses the face of Dylan’s mother as she notices me on her way by. As the line of attendants filters in, Josh finds me and winks; I smile weakly back. The bride enters to fanfare, on the arm of an elegant gray-haired man, presumably her father. The crowd settles and the pastor begins.

“Welcome dearly beloved and honored guests. We are gathered here today to join Chelsea Addams and Dylan Collins in the union of marriage. Before we begin, if anyone has just cause why Chelsea and Dylan should not be lawfully wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I grip the chair in front of me for support as I stand. “He’s a rapist,” I say clearly.