+
[as seen in eloise's eyes]
She lies in bed awake the morning after he proposes. They are a tangled mess of naked limbs beneath the sheets but she doesn't feel completely sated. She looks at the clock on the bedside table, watching the digitalised numbers glowing against the dark face of the clock.
5:17
There is still plenty of time left and she doesn't think that either of them would be going to work today. He probably has a lazy schedule planned for the rest of the day, most of which involves warm baths and pillow talk and sex. A lot of sex, probably.
She smiles to herself when she thinks of that. But her smile fades as she catches sight of the dazzling ring on her finger. She doesn't know what cut it is or how many carat it is because these things have never really tickled her fancy before. It's beautiful, nonetheless, and she shifts her hand a little, waiting for the diamond to catch a gleam of light.
When it does, it twinkles, and she has to catch her breath.
Because, suddenly, she's feeling rather breathless. And it's not the good sort of breathless she gets when he kisses down the length of the neck. It's a different sort of breathless altogether. Her head is reeling and she is stricken with the magnitude of what she had agreed to the night before.
"Yes", she had said, "I would love to marry you, Declan Harte."
His eyes had sparkled and his lips had curled in his signature boyish grin. And he had pulled her firmly against him and kissed her like nothing had mattered more, nothing but them, nothing but her lips, nothing but her.
But now the air is no longer charged with anticipation or excitement. And the gravity of her words is earth shattering. She has forgotten, you see. She has forgotten that with marriage comes a new chapter and there is so much more, exciting but daunting things. Like children.
Children.
She feels the earth shift beneath her feet until she is no longer on it, but hurtling out into space. Where there are voids and blackholes and she slips into one of them. Her mind is an absolute blur, her heart is racing not with anticipation but with fear, and her lungs are empty.
Where is the oxygen when you need it?
She leans across to pluck her phone off the dresser and his arms tighten around her waist almost instinctively. He mumbles incoherently against her hair as he pulls her against him and she realises that he's almost hard again in his sleep. Disentangling his arms from around her, she pushes herself up and presses a brief kiss to his forehead.
"I'll have to use the bathroom. I won't be long, baby." He lets out a distant snore in response and her heart constricts as she stares at him. "I love you."
She does.
At least, she thinks she does.
She's not too sure anymore, because there are still the shadows of old monsters in her head. They are looming in the horizon and she is afraid. This is the funny thing about fear, it leaves you stranded until you're grasping at nothing but air, for a lifeline that may or may not be the one you expect.
And oddly, frighteningly enough, his isn't the first face she thinks of as her lifeline, but –
His.
Her fingers are trembling as she locks herself in the bathroom. She turns on the tap to let the sounds of water drown out everything else. She doesn't know what she is doing, doesn't quite rationalise anything as she taps the screen of the phone and scrolls through the contacts. And then she's pressing the phone to her ear. It's ringing, ringing, ringing; a strange sort of lullaby – the kind you never fall asleep too, the kind you instead fall deep into, like an abyss, with eyes wide open. And –
"Hello?"
The voice is familiar – warm and husky and deep, like red velvet and sugar, and she feels a flood of memories invade her mind in that very moment. He sounds sleepy, like he has just woken up and answered the call without even checking the caller ID.
"Hello?"
She opens her mouth to reply but finds that she is speechless. It often happens with him. There is Declan, whom she can always talk to, about anything and everything under the sky. Then there is him, and she is always speechless when she thinks about him, when she is face to face with him. The silence between them is always filled with static of the most beautiful, painful kind. It's addictive. It's terrifying. It's unforgettable.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
His voice breaks the static once more and she suddenly realises what she's doing. She ends the call quickly, dropping her phone onto the counter. She braces her arms on the edge of the sink and stares blankly at her own reflection.
"What are you doing, Ellie?" She whispers to herself. "What are you – " then she trails off as her eyes widen in horror.
Ellie.
She just said Ellie. Not Eloise, not El.
Ellie.
And she is suddenly sixteen and wonderfully frightened again, wonderfully naïve. Her face crumples and she sinks to the ground, her eyes tearlessly dry but her shoulders heaving with soft, silent sobs, shaken by the magnitude of what she had just said.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
She sits at the table silently the afternoon the last of the wedding invitations are to be sent out. It's a lovely afternoon and outside, it's drizzling, just the kind of soft, slow rain she loves. The raindrops patter against the window and this, this is the kind of lullaby she can live with, the kind she can slowly fall in love with.
There are two last invitations sitting in front of her on the table. One is for Joey. He's supposed to be the best-man – only he doesn't know it yet and she and Declan are planning to surprise him. He wouldn't be surprised, she thinks. He already knows it's coming. Joey never lets them forget that they're forever indebted to him and sends them a box of cherries on their anniversary every year.
She smiles at the thought of that and slots his invitation into a fresh, pristine envelope. Then she seals it up, her fingers smoothing the wrinkles on the flap of the envelope gently. She sets it aside and knows that this is another thing she can check off on her imaginary to-do list.
There is just one more invitation. And it's blank.
The rain outside seems to fade into a low hum and suddenly she doesn't hear it anymore. And all she hears is static. She can almost picture herself picking up the pen and scrawling words on the paper:
P – A – R –
It's one thing to think about it, another to pick up the pen altogether. If the band around her finger is heavy, then the pen is a something she simply cannot pick up at all. She's not Hercules – frankly, she doesn't think that even Hercules would be able to lift it.
She shuts her eyes briefly and exhales. Carbon dioxide rushes out; oxygen cannot come back in because, for a moment, she's breathless. Finally, she opens her eyes, and looks at the invitation again.
I'm sorry, she thinks, but I just can't do it. I hope you understand.
Subconsciously, she knows that he will. He always has.
And with a soft, sad sigh, she pushes it aside and buries her head in her arms.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
She sees Declan looking absolutely contented the day after they've bought their honeymoon tickets to Santorini. There's a folder on his lap, a yellow one that she recognises as one of the most pressing, important deals his company has yet to get. She curls up next to him on the settee and he automatically wraps his arm around her, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"What's gotten you so happy?"
He smiles then, eyes crinkling in the corners, and flips open the folder. Her heart stills when she sees the deal signed in a neat familiar scribble, a multi-million dollar contract that will pay for the rest of their honeymoon and perhaps for the next quarter of their life together.
"Can't believe he actually signed it," Declan says and he sounds somewhat wistful. She knows why – the two of them knew each other longer than she knew either of them. And so maybe neither of them is the third party – she is. "And look." He shifts his hand a little and points at the classy signature. And below the signature there is a tiny post-it note tagged to it.
This is what the message says:
Wishing the both of you a very happy life ahead.
- P
And just like that: there is oxygen again.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
The clock is not ticking. But time still goes on.
At least, that's what she knows for a fact. The clock on the wall is broken and she can't stop staring at it. The sight of the second hand and minute hand lying unmoving completely throws her off because it feels like she's trapped in time. She stands in front of the full-length mirror and sees the white lace bodice and veil cascading down her back. She is a vision of beauty and she knows it, because the dress leaves no room for second-guessing.
But she is second-guessing many things. That's just who she is – she can't help but overthink everything, that's just in her nature. There is static in her ears as she begins to fear again, and she looks in the mirror and see faint shadows of past monsters reflected in her irises.
She shuts her eyes briefly to chase the monsters away because she knows they're all just in her head. And when she opens her eyes again, they're all gone.
"You'll be alright," she whispers to herself, pressing her palm flat against the mirror. "You'll be fine. You'll be happy."
Will she?
Sometimes, she isn't quite sure. She feels it wearing out sometimes and doesn't know whether they can truly weather all the storms to come. She knows there will be thunderstorms, she knows there will be monsoons. Maybe she will tire of getting wet and maybe he will tire of having to hold the umbrella up for her all the time. Maybe – there are too many other possibilities to think about.
There is a fleeting look of fear in her eyes and she blinks that away, staring at her own reflection again. "You'll be fine, Ellie."
The nickname slips out again by accident but she doesn't lose her cool this time. She has come to terms with the fact that Ellie is a version of herself that is here to stay. It will never quite vanish and perhaps this is for the best. Because Ellie is fearful and naïve but ready to take on the world. And El is simply older and wiser and sometimes far too careful. Put them both together – and it's just her, that's just who she is. She can't be one without the other.
After all, you need two halves to be a whole.
Taking a deep breath, she steps out of the dressing room and hovers just by the door. Declan is standing in the middle of the room, watching the man fix the clock and checking his own watch to see if the time is right. She smiles because he has the same sort of idiosyncrasies as her, and knows that the broken clock has bothered him just as much as it has bothered her.
He turns abruptly when he hears the sounds of ruffling behind him. And she watches as his smile fades and his eyes widen and his breath visibly hitches. He stares at her with something akin to wonder and awe, like she is the most beautiful landscape he has ever had the pleasure of glimpsing at, and she feels entirely, wonderfully precious.
"Hey," he breathes at last, taking a hesitant step to her.
And then she blinks – the spell is broken, and he rushes up to her, taking her gently in his arms and presses his palms against her cheeks.
"Am I – " she begins but he leaves no room for her to second-guess herself or anything else.
"Perfect. Absolutely, yes."
The clock is ticking now. And as he presses his lips to hers and her eyelids flutter shut, she feels time come to a complete standstill.
And she thinks that maybe, maybe they'll be okay.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ F I N ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬