"You stole a dog?" Kate tapped her foot impatiently, her face planted in her hands. I could see the frustration in the taut lines of her body - she was probably envisioning the disarray and noise a young pup brought with it. And she already had one overgrown baby to clean up after.
"No! No! You're not listening!" I cried. "I rescued the dog!" I was petting the injured retriever huddled in my arms, stroking it from head to tail. It had two bandaged up legs and a shaved midsection where it bad been stitched up and sealed with a gauze. The dog even had a black eye to match mine; what a roguish pair we must've looked.
She poured herself another mug of coffee and sipped at the bitter brew. "Explain to me again how you rescued a dog?" The cup cradled in her hands, she blew the steaming broth, wisps of steam hitting my face.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "So outside the pizza shop-"
"I got that bit! Skip to the part where you actually have the dog..." She saved me the introduction, slurping at her drink, her undivided attention on me.
"The Russian dude hits the pup, the pup bites the Russian dude for acting like a dick and he drop kicks it into the road. The pup gets hit by the car, I rescue it and take it to the nearest vet-" I omitted a great deal; but she didn't seem to notice. "And then I gave it a better home!" I rubbed the injured dog on the head affectionately, careful not to put pressure on any of the bruises of cuts it had picked up. It didn't deserve what it got; poor pooch.
Kate winced. "Still sounds like stealing a dog to me. Clint, in different cultures, certain things are more acceptable - and if this guy was foreign, as you say - he may have thought it was normal to treat dogs like that..." Kate reasoned.
"And being part of a different culture makes abusing an innocent creature alright, does it?" I ground my jaw at her, vitriol flowing through my veins. "Let me tell you, Katherine-" She knew she was in my bad books, she paled and her mouth snapped shut. "-I don't care where you come from, what's happened to you or who you are, abusing anyone is never okay." I pressed a kiss to the puppy's head and cuddled it a little tighter. I was grateful the animal had no idea what she was saying. I understood the pup, what it had been through; I'd had my fair share of near fatal hospital visits, courtesy of the thug my ma' married.
Kate's resolve faltered. She shook her head and gulped her hot drink. "You know this comes at a really inconvenient time, don't you?" She gave a weak smile at the tired dog sprawled out in my lap. "It's my sister's wedding tomorrow, and you can't just leave a puppy cooped up in a flat. It would tear the place to pieces with its freneticism." Her smile saddened. "Who's going to look after it whilst we're upstate?"
Freudian slip. "I was thinking me," I blurted in a hurry, but then went back on my words. "What do you mean we? I'm not invited." I had a feeling I knew what was coming.
Kate seethed and picked up the posh invitation off the side, slipping it to me. The cornflour coloured parchment with the silver embossing and floral etching stated in bold letters that Kate was entitled to a plus one. I had a nasty feeling I was said plus one.
"I've gotta find someone to make the occasion a little more cheerful..." Kate looked crestfallen and her fingers flexed uncomfortably on the hot porcelain mug. "It's going to be horrendous. My sister's gonna be pissed because I refused to be her bridesmaid-"
"What? Why?" I interjected, not willing to let such a poignant point slide by.
"The guy she's marrying is a total dick. He's after my dad's money, I'm sure of it, the sick son of a bitch." She contemptuously slurped at her coffee. "Not to mention my dad's going to leave the apartment for the first time in months and my sister decided to have the wedding at the church where my mom's buried..." She shook her head solemnly, her eyes glazed with tears.
She broke my heart when she cried. Growing up, Kate was the pinnacle of confidence that I aspired to live up to: all of the 'I don't give a shit' attitude, all of the reckless stunts, and all of the outspoken wit. I wasn't used to seeing her look so broken, and the cracks in her self-assured acts were beginning to show. It was as tragic as looking on a shattered Ming Dynasty vase.
"Why?" I breathed, amazed she'd managed to keep a poker face and omit those details for so long. I couldn't imagine anyone would want to revisit a place to closely linked with death and loss so soon after the incident.
Kate shrugged, her lips pursed and looking up in an attempt to force the tears to recede. "Something about wanting to feel close to mom on her wedding day..." She sniffled, fingers curling tighter around the mug.
Seeing how distraught she looked, I tried to shatter the solitude by cracking a joke. "So do I come along and pretend to be your boyfriend or something?" I asked, a ghost of a titter in my tearful voice.
She nearly choked on her drink, lurching forwards with a drip leaking from her mouth and dribbling down her chin. She struggled to swallow, but eventually spluttered. "Please don't! Jeez, I was drinking, can you not?" She stubbornly replied, looking torn between bursting into laughter and concern.
Having nearly choked her or not, I felt pleased I'd lightened the mood slightly.
"It would be fun!" I announced and the small dog in my lap yapped. "See, the pup agrees!" Me and the pup were kindred spirits.
Kate shook her head with a small smile. "What are you gonna call that thing anyway?" She reached out her hand to the dog, which sniffed her hand, prospecting her smell before giving her a soppy sodden lap as a sign of friendship.
"I dunno..." I checked the green collar, the bronze disk engraved with its name and the contact details of its owner. "It says he's called arrow." I frowned. "That's a dumb name." I tore the collar off as an act of disdain.
"Why don't you call him Lucky?" Kate suggested. "You know, because he was so lucky to be rescued by you."
Erudite, she always had been.
I couldn't help but grin at that and combed my fingers through the dog's shaggy mane. "Lucky it is!"
"You're a sap, Barton," she teased, prodding me in the shin with her toe, a subtle smile on her lips. "Back to the original point; I'm not having anyone thinking you're my boyfriend. It's nothing personal, Clint," she informed me - though, how could it not be personal? "It's that you stormed my dad's office looking and smelling like trash, armed with a stick and string from the Palaeolithic Era. You're my plus one. Just my plus one."
"Fine," I conceded, still looking rather petulant; which I was.
"Thank you," she breathed, looking a little less bereaved. "And quit looking like a moping bitch, there's free cake and champagne at the reception."
I sighed, pressing my cheek against the squirming puppy that Kate had pretty much permitted me to keep. "I'll take you up on the cake. But that doesn't make weddings any less boring."
~
"This... Suit... Is... So... Itchy!" I hissed, trying my best not to scratch myself like a dog with fleas. I wanted to claw my skin off; the fabric was chaffing everywhere and was far too tight to my skin; not to mention having the top button done up was stuffy and smothering. It was maddening, and taking it off was the thought at the forefront of my mind.
"Stop squirming, you look like a mental patient!" Kate hissed back, leading me to our place on one of the pews. I tried my best not to trip on the violet train of her floor-length purple dress; but I was still breaking in the squeaky leather shoes.
I knocked the bibles off the pews with the bag I had brought with me, loud clattering echoing through the high-roofed church with its carved columns, ornate painted ceiling and intricate stained glass windows. It punctured the harmonious organ playing with enough dissonance to set my teeth on edge.
We were drawing gazes, heads were rotating as we passed and I could feel the heat of fiery glare boring into me.
The groom, stood nervously twiddling his thumbs at the top of the aisle, shot me and Kate a glare for our disruption.
"What's in that bag anyway?" Kate gritted to me, sitting down next to one of her grandmothers, exchanging kisses and quiet hellos.
I couldn't help but notice the groom's side of the church was shockingly empty.
"Nothing!" I grumbled back, tucking it neatly beneath the bench with a kick of my polished patent brogues. She couldn't know. She wouldn't understand.
Hell, I don't think I even understood the psychological conditioning that lead to the choice to bring the contents of the bag.
Kate was quick to grab it and unzip it, much to my dismay and grappling. "Really, Clint?! To a wedding?!" She whisper-shouted, zipping my bow and arrow back in tight - it was less than kosher to bring weaponry into a church, true; but it made me feel a little less insecure.
Not that I was going to tell Kate that. I didn't want to seem pathetic.
"What was I supposed to do after I got bored mingling with your family members at the reception?!" I grumbled; a half-truth to disguise my vulnerability.
Kate was twiddling with her elbow-length gloves with agitation. "Is this a paranoia thing or something? Because we need to talk about the fact you brought a bow and arrows to a fucking wedding!" Her grandma was smiling sweetly at me from over Kate's shoulder and I waved happily; keeping up appearances.
Leaning in close, trying to keep such hostile conversation quiet in a place of tranquillity, I whispered to her. "I grew up a victim of abuse and then lived at a circus with a bunch of criminals, what do you think?!" And I crossed my arms defensively over my chest at the admission.
The music on the organ came to an abrupt crescendo and then cut to silence. The quiet burbling of intermingling voices that had been reverberating through the church became deafeningly silent. There was a thunderous crack as the door opened and the opening bars of 'Here Comes the Bride' was blared from the pipes of the instrument, amplified by the height and shape of the rafters. Susan, who I'd only seen the once, was arm in arm with her dad, drowned in a flowing white ballgown.
Everyone shot to their feet and stunned by the sudden display, I was hauled to my feet by Kate.
Susan looked divine; enrobed in a puffy white waterfall of material, studded with Swarovski diamonds on the bodice. She walked demurely up the aisle, regal as a princess - looking like a princess, I might add - a blinding grin torn from ear to ear.
Her father, Derek, looked a little worse for wear. He was already crying having just stepped through the door; but that wasn't the only thing about him that was wrong. He had bulging purple bags beneath his eyes from sleeplessness; he was pasty, waxen as the dead; and bony as I had when I first burst into his offices - the weight loss showing on his hollow face. I didn't hold him in contempt for his appearance. I looked the same after my ma' and father passed away; albeit I was more bereft that my ma' was gone than Harold.
Did that make me a bad person?
I didn't have time to dwell on my morality as the bridesmaids, the maid of honour, groomsmen and best man were all descending the aisle in tow; in their handpicked couture outfits: red dresses, and black suits with matching bowties.
"Please be seated," the vicar announced as Derek delivered her to the end of the aisle, and the other participants tapered off to the wings.
The congregation sat back down in unison. "We are gathered here today dearly beloveds to join these two people together in the eyes of God. With the power invested in me by the church, these two people may undertake the ritual of holy matrimony, to bind them in everlasting marriage..." He faced the church. "Before we begin, I must ask if anyone can show just cause or know of any impediment why these two people cannot be lawfully joined together in holy matrimony. Speak now, or forever hold your peace."
I felt the whole church collectively hold their breath. There was a scintillating silence, and then the groom reached into his breast pocket. But it wasn't a ring box that he withdrew.
The light streaming through the stained glass window above the alter glinted off the barrel of the silver revolver and he turned and pointed it towards the Bishops. And he wasn't the only one; the groomsmen and best man all withdrew matching guns, pointing them at the rest of the church to hold us hostage.
"I do," he spoke; an eerie echo of the words he would've vowed did he not admit to an impediment.
The priest shrunk away, putting his hands on the back of his head and collapsing to his knees.
Gasps and shrieks erupted the cavernous space. Kate's jaw had dropped. "I knew he was a sick bastard," she hissed, anger glowing in her eyes more than fear; true to form.
"Silence, all of you!" The leader of the rat-pack called, cocking his gun and firing a shot at the ceiling. There were a few more hiccups of fear and plaster and mortar showered him. Everything was silent apart from a few muffled whimpers and sobs.
"Susan, darling, move out the way," her husband-to-be encouraged, waving the muzzle of the gun at her.
"Jacob, why?!" She gasped. "What are you doing?!" She ruined her bridal makeup with the tears that were gushing from her eyes, but she still stood tall, facing the scoundrel head on.
Props to her.
"Because of him!" He jabbed the barrel at the man behind Susan. Behind Susan in her flowing white dress, her bridesmaids cowered and whimpered, her dad looking particularly guilty. Susan remained strong, standing tall and proud, but by contradiction, plain grief was written across her face.
"Him and his corrupt business! Making people redundant like they're ten a penny! Do you have any idea how much my mother and father suffered after your dad laid them off?! Huh?! No! Of course you don't! And you!" He turned to Susan. "With your posh voice, and your private Hawthorne education, and your chauffeurs! Well, I say enough! It ends today! It's time to put another Bishop in the ground!" He cocked his gun, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Clint! Do something!" Kate hissed to me, kicking my bow towards me.
"Are you insane?!" I gasped, eyeing the armed men at the altar - not a single one currently looking in our direction.
"Please?!" She looked to me with tear-filled eyes; barely keeping quiet so not to draw attention.
I never missed. And I never missed an opportunity. Hopeless as it seemed, I hooked my foot under the bag and managed to lift it to my hands. I began to unzip it, quietly as I could in the silence, but the action was sickeningly loud. I unsheathed the bow and slipped a pointed arrow from the quiver - Kate's grandmother was gawping at me.
"Bet you're glad I brought it now," I whispered to Kate, but she didn't say resolve.
"Jacob, no!" Susan protested, standing in front of her father.
"Move out of the way you stupid bitch!" Jacob - as he appeared to be called - yelled, waving the gun dangerously at her; cocked and loaded.
I loaded the bow, lining the groove in the end of the arrow up with the bowstring. I began to quietly draw the string back, the ebony wood making a hissing sound as it slithered past the wooden arc of the bow.
"Stop it, Jacob! Stop it! No!" She threw herself at him, landing atop of him
A gunshot rang out.
A/N - I am hungover and ill; well done me for being a bloody idiot. Honestly, if you're not well, don't party, kids! On. More positive note, I have a new phone (iPhone 5S) and it runs beautifully! I finally restored all the apps I could store before: if you want you can follow my Marvel fan account on Instagram '@pansexualcharles' (the same as my tumblr) and it should say 'professional_dreamer' as the name!
I wanted to insert a small note here about how humbled I was to get so many birthday messages; I never thought I'd get one, let alone close to a hundred! Thank you all so much!
Dedication when my head has stopped pounding.