Love wasn't supposed to hurt. Maybe hurt was a byproduct of love, but actual love wasn't supposed to hurt. So why exactly was she standing here, looking at him, knowing wholeheartedly that she loved this man yet feeling like her whole life was a glassy, hazy, shade of grey?

"Do you Oliver Queen take Dinah Laurel Lance to be your lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

Felicity took a deep sharp breath as the edges of her vision started to dull. Of course. What other was he supposed to say? That he loved her? To call off the wedding? Felicity mentally reprimanded herself. Not one of the those two thoughts of hers were even true, much less having both of them true, but more importantly— happening.

Sticks and stones they said, but she knew damn well early on in her life that sometimes those cliché quotes are all that they are— cliché. She knew too damn well that mantras and quotes and distractions and rebounds were nothing but bandaids, they don't heal the wound they just cover it up until it heals itself.

But the question is, can she heal herself?

The thunderous applause of the people around her broke her thoughts and as if strings were connected to her hands, she started clapping despite herself.

The truth is, she is happy for Oliver. He was happy and despite the dropping sensation and hallowing of her heart, she's glad that he had someone to take care of him. The truth is, she didn't hate Laurel. She didn't even dislike her, not one bit, which is why them getting married hurt more than if she did.

They were happy. They loved each other. Who was she to stand in the way of their happiness? Who was she to be so self-centered and selfish to take that away from them both? She has always been a fighter. And if that means a bloodied, cut-up, messy, heartrending battle she has to endure to accept that her best friend, the man that she loved, now belonged to someone else then so be it.

She watched as the lady in white and man in black walked down the aisle, flower petals thrown at them, towards the two heavy set doors and out into the blinding sun.

Just then a quote slithered into her head, "This is what it means to be in the middle of love. Being in the middle of love feels like being in the middle of a war zone."