The Summer Wedding | A Belly and Jeremiah fanfic

Chapter Twelve

"Belly?— you're here."

"George." The single word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Come in, please," he steps to the side to let me past, to let me inside our house. Soon to be only his house.

I try not to overthink everything. What is he feeling? Does he think I'm coming back to him for good? Does he think I still love him despite everything that happened yesterday? Will it crush him if I tell him otherwise?

I can't worry too much about these things because I have better questions– important questions– that need answering.

I make my way through the house easily, because I've lived here with George long enough now. I know his favourite places as well as mine. I know he likes to sleep close to the door and has to sit furthest from the TV when we're on the couch. I know pretty much everything about this man and he knows a shit ton about me as well. We've both spent years comfortable enough with each other to let down our guards. I let him in and he trusted me to do the same.

Now I've broken that trust.

I take our usual spots on the couch so that I can be sure the conversation we have will be calm and comfortable, just like our relationship is– was.

He opens his mouth to speak– probably to ask if I want a drink or something to eat– but I speak first, "I'm sorry."

His mouth snaps shut at my words. I guess he wasn't expecting me to jump straight into it, but I'm aware that Jeremiah is still outside and I know he'll stay there all night until I come outside. That's not the only reason, though. I need the answers to all of these haunting questions so that they can finally leave me alone. So that my mind will finally be quiet again.

"I didn't know whether to wait a few more days to face you, but I'm suffering, so I can't imagine what you're feeling." The words spill out of me faster than I can control them. I can't believe I actually worried about what I would say to him.

He doesn't say anything for a few moments. I don't expect him to sympathise with me, but I guess some reassurance would be nice. "Just– why?"

It's my turn to sit in silence now. I know why. I guess I've always known why. I don't love him– but how do I tell someone that? How do I tell someone I care about so much, and who clearly cares about me just as much, that I no longer love them? That it took me walking down that aisle for me to realise that that wasn't what I want?

"You came all this way, you may as well answer my questions." He urges me.

"This isn't what I want," I finally say.

"If this isn't what you want then why are you here–"

"No. Marriage isn't what I want." I clarify.

My words hit him slowly. Like each words was in slow motion and he has to replay it over and over in order to understand what I've said.

I give him time to collect his thoughts, because clearly he needs it. Clearly, his mind is as scattered as mine is.

"You mean marriage to me isn't what you want?" His words aren't malicious. He's genuine and calm– just like I wanted– and yet they still hurt. They hurt because it's true, but I don't want them to be.

I don't say anything, because he doesn't need me to. We both know the answer, in our bones, that we aren't meant to be anymore. Maybe we were at some point, but something changed.

"Answer the damn question."

My attention is snapped in the direction of the forceful tone behind me. Toward the voice. Toward where Aaron stands.

"Aaron–" George speaks first. I don't even get to hear whatever it is he was going to say, because Aaron is no longer standing in the doorway. He's charging in my direction hell-bent on getting an answer from me, by any means necessary.

Aaron doesn't even acknowledge the warning in George's tone, he's too focused on me. "Isabel." His voice is ominous and deeper than I've ever known it. Aaron is a lot taller than his younger brother, but I think he's far less attractive. I guess that's why I almost married the other brother.

He towers over me with that excessive height and never breaks eye-contact because he knows what he wants. His dark hair partially hides those intimidating eyes. I always thought his ice-blue eyes were too much of a contrast to his dark brown hair. George has more of a grey tint to his eyes, and his hair is a less obvious brown.

"I can't–" My voice chokes before I can finish the sentence. A good thing, really, considering I don't think I know what I want to say yet.

"Answer!" His hand slams against the armrest of the couch. I try my best not to flinch, but I think the twitch in my eyes fails me.

"Fuck– Aaron. Stop it!" George is stood now, and what he lacks in height, he makes up for it with the disgust— the pure anger— that rolls off of him like whips of smoke. He stares at his brother– disappointed in him. "Get out."

Aaron still doesn't turn to face his brother. His eyes are trained on me and they burn into my own. I wish I could give him what he wants. I understand what I did was horrible, disgraceful, and I hurt George in a way he doesn't deserve. Despite knowing all of this, I can't give either of them an answer, and Aaron pressuring me won't make one miraculously appear.

George has to shove him out the room until Aaron is no longer fixated on me. I hear the two of them argue in the hallway. I don't hear a lot of what's said, but I know Aaron will never forgive me. George might, eventually.

God– I just want to get this over with already.

"Shit, Isabel, I'm so sorry." George returns to the room (sans crazy, older brother) and sits back on the couch.

"No. I'm sorry. Aaron has every right to be angry– so do you."

He reaches out and places a hand on my thigh. Not too high up. George would never.

Holding back the tears, I do what I primarily came here to do, "I need to give you this."

I hand him the ring and watch a show of emotions flit across his face. Shock– maybe– disappointment and definitely sadness. A whole busload of emotions that make me want to punish myself in agonising ways, because I know that I've caused this.

"Thank you," he says when he finally accepts it.

"Thank you, for giving it to me in the first place," I say, placing my own hand– sans wedding ring– atop his. Our fingers interlock and I just sit and stare at them for a while.

I've grown to know him so well. Not just his fingers but his whole body. I know every mark, scar and imperfection and I learned to love them. Not learned, got the privilege to love them. Now I have to let him go. It feels wrong, but I know I have to. I know that tomorrow I will be distraught, then maybe I'll question whether I made a mistake, but ultimately I will know that I did right by myself.

"Thank you for saying yes," George whispers.

I look up at him and I know that this is it. I need to leave now because if I don't, I may never.

I stand, but he pulls me into a hug. I embrace it all. His smell, the feel of every inch of his body against mine. Everything.

And I don't stop him when he pulls me closer, into a kiss goodbye.

~~~

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