Crimson Lace

The champagne pops as the stream cascades down into the glass. The waitress turns the bottle and moves on to my friend. I feel trapped in my skin as the days events come to mind. Married. Tomorrow I will be married. A bride. Another fallen victim to the patriarchy, for tomorrow my husband will own me. At least he thinks he will. A hand waves across my face, trying to attract my attention, “Lucy! Hey,” My eyes dart over to hers. I look at her with wide eyes, as if I’ve just been awoken from a coma. She continues, “Lucy, I was just asking what kind of flowers you plan on carrying in your bouquet,” 

“Oh yeah, the bouquet is myrtle. Like the ones the royal family used to carry,” I respond eying her necklace. It’s terribly ugly. A heart engraved with ‘C + K’. Stands for Colette and Klaus. Her overbearing husband bought it for her as a wedding gift. Unfortunately, he has very bad taste. Colette nods along then goes on rambling about dresses and color palettes and schedules. I love the woman but sometimes I wish someone would just sew her mouth shut. Her words jumble into vague noises as I drift off once more. 

The little mimosa glasses on the tables, the perfectly white table cloth laying flat on the table, the morning sun staring down at us, everything. All of it makes me sick. In the middle of it all, my mother. She’s the definition of controlling. For the past six months she’s made my wedding about her. Everything has to be exactly the way she wants. After the proposal Colette and her banded together to become my worst nightmare. While my fiancé was out getting drunk with his friends, I was being stabbed with needles as my mother attempted to hem my dress.

My mother brings the attention back to me when she says, “Sweetheart, one of your bra straps is showing,” I shrug and adjust the sleeves of my dress. Soon the waitress returns and leaves the check on the table. My sister reaches for it before my mother snatches it out of her reach, “Emma don’t you dare. I’m the mother of the bride it’s the least I can do,” I roll my eyes as Emma returns,

“Yes, but I’m the sister of the bride and you’ve already paid for so much,” She absolutely would not have it. My mother is too stubborn to let anyone give her any semblance of help. So she paid and we left the restaurant to head back to the hotel. We grab a cab from the inner harbor and ride back to the high rises. On the way we drive on an overpass above the farmers market Colette won’t stop boasting about. 

When we arrive at the hotel we take the elevator up to the room. There, a crowd of people sit waiting for me and my bridesmaids. A hairstylist whisks me away to a vanity on the left side of the suite. Waitresses circle the room with more mimosas. Thank god because there’s no way I’m getting through today sober. My friends walk into the room carrying flowers and their bridesmaid dresses. I’m left in a robe as the lace of my dress is currently being steamed. I stand up and walk towards the drinks, but the hairstylist redirects me back to her station. I sigh and follow her. She tugs my hair and curls it, careful not to knick me with the heat. Then she brushes out the curls and pulls them back into a half up half down style. After a while she finishes and sends me off to makeup. 

My mother walks by praising me with backhanded compliments, “You’re so brave, doing something so simple with your hair. I could never,” I scoff and roll my eyes to which she responds with, “Lucy, don’t think In didn’t see that. Show your mother some respect,” 

I ignore her words and listen as the artist begins to pull colors they think would match with the wedding’s theme. We decide on a pale periwinkle to match the myrtle. They said the color would make my eyes pop. Whatever that means. Brushes and powders cover my face, beating my skin into submission. 

The wedding is at six and somehow it’s already four thirty. Who would have thought that getting ready could take so long. We race down the stairs and a woman holding my dress trails behind me. Heading out the door, still clad in a silk robe, we all climb into the car we had called. The ceremony is at the waterfront, but the reception is back at the hotel in the ballroom. 

Throughout the whole ride everyone helps me into my dress. I put on my earrings and my necklace as Emma grabs my heels. By the time we arrive, the robe is laying empty on a car seat. Colette grabs hold of my train and therefore makes getting out of the car ten times easier. After about fifteen minutes of my mother sorting out seating arrangements and adjusting my fiancé’s tie, music begins to play.

My bridesmaids walk down the aisle one at a time with their respective groomsmen. When I round the corner with Emma on my arm I see him. Sam Mason, soon to be a husband. I take a deep breath and look out into the crowd, spotting his mother. She is about the sweetest woman I know. When I first met her she taught me how to cook properly. Sometimes she felt more like a mother than my own. Then my eyes wander back up the aisle, meeting those of Sam’s best man, Thomas Andrews. He is actually the one who introduced me to Sam. Flakes of gold in his brown eyes shimmer as the sunset rests on his dark skin. He flashes a wicked smile and gestures me forward, giving me the push I need.

Emma pulls me on and we head forward. The music is like knives in my ears, digging deeper with every note. In this moment the aisle makes me feel as though I’m walking The Green Mile. My hands begin to shake as he grows closer. Then, Emma grabs the flowers from my hands and takes her place next to the maid of honor. Sam holds out his hand and I put on a giddy smirk, trying to convey joy in my countenance. 

As the priest begins his monologue I think of my love for Sam. How he thought getting married would fix all our problems. How I spent so many nights out with Thomas in order to avoid his sermons shaming me for going out with friends. How our broken love keeps us permanently tethered. He is a perfectly decent man, but something just won’t click. 

He traces the curves of my body with his eyes, stopping a minute to take a look at the elegant lace dress that clings to my figure. Then he looks out to the spectators, he wants everyone to see this moment. The day he finally becomes a man. At least a man by his standards. 

When the priest finishes we exchange rings, further binding us together. The fateful words roll off the officiant’s tongue and Sam bends down to meet my lips. Our fates are sealed. 

The reception is packed with friends, family, and even some mere acquaintances. Music plays as Sam and I approach the floor. We glissade across the marble tile as he holds me at the waist to keep me in balance, for wearing heels is not for the weak of heart. The song ends all too soon and then the guests are welcome to join in. Sam wastes the night away with drink after drink. All while I watch from the sidelines, engaging in tedious conversation with distant relatives that have never before taken interest in me.

When it’s time to cut the cake Thomas has to pull Sam away from the dance floor. He comes up behind me and I can feel his breath on my neck as he says, “How are you Mrs. Mason?” 

I return with endearment, “Lovely, Mr. Mason,” I smile on those words. And just for a second I forget. The world falls flat and suddenly it’s just Sam and I. I turn around in his arms kissing him and grabbing his hand to lead him over to the cake. We hold the knife together, Ghost style. Then we tear into the cake and dig in. 

Around midnight Sam approaches me again, saving me from another piece of outdated marriage advice via my great aunt Lynne. He steals me away to a remote corner of the hall. I try to apologize to Lynne; she just waves me off. Then as Sam speaks I peer over his shoulder catching glimpse of Thomas eying me with a singular eyebrow raised., “Lucy, do you wanna maybe get out of here,” His lips curl to display a devilish smirk. I look up to him through my eyebrows, subtly bite my bottom lip, and weakly nod in response.

We sneak out the back door and wait for the elevator to bring us up to the honeymoon suite. As we board I see someone heading to the stairwell out of the corner of my mind. The doors close behind us and suddenly I slammed against a wall. I undo Sam’s tie as his lips latch to my neck. All too soon the doors open once more and we run down the hall. He rams the door open and heads into the room. As he saunters across the wooden floor I make sure to leave the door unlocked. 

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off the edge. I stand before him and he begins to spread my legs with his knees. In return I hoist my skirt up and climb onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and listen to his moans as I buck my hips, gliding over his silken trousers. I close my eyes awaiting our destiny.

I hear a slight click by the doorway, and before Sam has a chance to even turn his head, thunder strikes. I’m covered in scarlet rain as it strikes a few times more. The lace of my dress stained with him as the body falls limp on the bed. As I wipe the blood from my eyes, my makeup smudges and I look over to Thomas. Letting out a long sigh I vocalize, “Jesus fuck, what? Did you unload your entire fucking clip. You got it all over me Thomas!” 

He laughs and I continue, not letting him get a word in, “And what took you so long? You should have been here before I had to straddle that asshole. Not to mention that now I look straight out of a Stephen King novel,”  My gore stained brows furrow as a twisted smile forms from ear to ear. He trains his eyes on me as he advances like a wolf on the prowl. I point to Sam and joke, “Hey we should do it next to his corpse,”

He stares me down until his look softens with a grin, “Lucy, you are sick in the head. One of my favorite things about you actually,” He reloads his pistol and continues, “I’d hate to protest the kinky shit you’re into, but we have to get out of here. I know there are only a few people on this floor, but typically gunshots attract a bit of attention,”

“Fine,” I roll my eyes and slide the wedding ring off my finger. I grab Sams too and lay them crossed over each other next to his mangled cadaver. I concentrate on his injuries and admire Thomas’s aim. A perfect headshot, grey matter scattered across the formerly white sheets. I hold his cheek in my hand and take a moment to grieve. I reminisce before the bad memories roll back in like waves.

The nights where he couldn’t hold his alcohol and began to slur his speech. Just like his father, booze made him an angry drunk. For a while I thought I could help him. My savior complex convinced me of it. When things fell apart I would steal away to Tom’s house and hide from his punishments. The bruises that I so desperately tried to cover because no matter what, he would always apologize when he sobered up. 

A few months before our engagement, Thomas called me saying he needed to confess something. In college Tom had assaulted a girl and bragged about it. That was the final straw, over the last year Thomas and I have grown closer. I fell for him. The feelings were reciprocated. Hatred sprouted in both of us, so we planned for my wedding night. Maximum damage, minimum effort.

Tom hands me my gun and I strap it to my leg before grabbing a knife and slicing a slit in the side for easy access. I slide the back window open and Thomas helps me onto the fire escape. His car is parked below our suite. After countless ladders we get into his car and drive off. 

Soon we pull into a gas station in the middle of nowhere and Thomas starts to fill the tank. I carry myself inside and wander around for a bit before approaching the counter. The cashier’s face screams innocence. When she goes to greet me I pull the pistol on her, “Empty the register now,” She raises her hands and trembles, her whole body racked with fear. I continue, louder this time, “I said get the fucking money before I shoot you bitch!” Her hands shake as she reaches for the cash, I hear the register slide open and fire two shots. Into her head. I’m impressed with my good work as I pull her hoodie and sweatpants off. One of the bullets shot right into her left eye, while the other hit her dead center in the forehead. 

The bells rings as he enters the store. We ransack the shelves and grab all the cash. I abandon my dress as Thomas carries in a drum of gasoline. I dress myself in the blood splattered clothes of the dead woman laying lifeless on the ground. He pours the fuel to hide the evidence. He drops the drum and runs over to me hoisting me up into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist as he kisses me, expressing his excitement that he has me all to himself. We spin around and laugh as I drop back to my feet. As I gaze into his eyes I hear a click. He smiles as I glance down at the silver lighter in his hand. The flame dances between his fingers. We push open the doors and Thomas throws the lighter into the trail of gasoline. 

We break into a run, only looking back when we reach his car. Laughs escape from our mouths as we strap in. I turn my head and stare at the destruction we’d caused. Then I remember my dress. The crimson lace turning to ash as my old life burns away.