What Once Was...
When they hear her admitting she likes him, they are not surprised at all. He is, after all, everything any girl could want. Tall, handsome, rich, and broody. She admits she adores his smile, though it is rarely seen by anyone. It is when she prepares to ask him out they ridicule her.
When they hear he accepted, they are stunned. Flabbergasted. Amazed as she relays how much fun she had on their date, how much of a gentleman he was, and how much he smiled just for her. They still can't get past their surprise when she tells them of next weekend's plans.
When it is all over the office that a lowly secretary is dating the CEO's son, rumors are instantly born. Gossip spreads between jealous lips. She is targeted every day by those who wish they were her. Their shock and anger when he holds her and dries her tears never dissipated, but some of it turned to regret.
When she tells them all about him, they are envious, but listen intently nonetheless. How he loves to play with fire, a pyromaniac since age twelve, and carries a lighter everywhere though he doesn't smoke. How he seems to put ketchup on everything he eats, claiming he needs the vitamins, though she found a mini-fridge full of tomatoes stashed in the sizeable pantry. It is when she describes in detail how he kisses her, some of them feel those recurring pangs of wishing they had been born in her place.
When she comes in to work with baggy eyes and icy-cold bottled water, they question her. She says she had a bit too much to drink last night, and needed to shock herself out of it. As she leaves, one of them catches a glimpse of a picture on her cell's tiny screen. A photo of the two of them grinning stupidly, his pale face covered in lipstick kisses matching the shade on her mouth. They know last night was her one-year anniversary with him.
When she tells them she is moving in with him, they simply nod and smile. They know she is not bragging, but trying to act like they are just a normal couple steadily progressing with their relationship. When she turns around to answer a phone call, they notice a new string of black pearls hanging around her throat.
When one of them listens in on his phone calls, they know he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. His ex-girlfriend calls no less than five times a day, always begging him to come back to her, saying she's changed and gone to rehab and gotten plastic surgery. He yells angrily, slams the phone down, and often disconnects it for several hours. His cell phone is almost never on. They find out he has multiple email addresses, online profiles, and usernames. They feel safety for their friend when he shuts down anything his ex contacts him on.
When invitations to the wedding arrive in the mail, they smile and readily accept. There's no way they'd let the bride do her dress shopping all by herself.
When she stands surrounded by mirrors and clothed in pearly white, they congratulate her. She smiles nervously, her grass-green eyes sparkling with overjoyed tears as she turns this way and that to admire the soon-to-be-bride reflected back at her. They fuss endlessly, both to make her feel special and to perfect the design they created together. She personally thanks each of them for helping out, she couldn't have done it herself. They smile and say that's what friends are for.
When she walks down the church aisle, organ music playing full-blast echoing all around her, they can't help but grin from ear to ear. Their efforts were not wasted at all, she looks radiant. As one of them steals a glance at the groom, it is obvious he thinks so too. He takes her white-gloved hand as the priest recites the lines of love and commitment. They see she is again trying not to cry as it is asked if anyone objects to this bonding. The one sitting closest to the window glances out of it and smirks. The security guards have already apprehended his would-be wedding crasher of an ex. "I do" is spoken twice, and he takes his cue to kiss the bride. Cheering erupts from the audience as flower petals and balloons cascade down around the happy couple. Paparazzi cameras flash, knowing this is tomorrow's headline. And thus they are wed.
When she stops coming to work, they begin to wonder until he explains bluntly that his wife is on maternity leave. Overjoyed, they throw her the most lavish baby shower any of them had ever seen. She smiles throughout, squeezing her husband's hand as her other pats the growing bump on her belly. When it is announced to be a boy, they are the first outside the family to know. Pictures are taken, both willingly and unwillingly. Even many years after that day, anyone looking at those pictures would see a young future mother, surrounded by friends and her loving husband in preparation for a first baby. A special moment, captured forever.
When her pregnancy nears its end, they still come to visit, even as the months wear on and she can no longer leave the house. They bring ice cream and romantic comedy rentals, the latest office gossip and more cameras than they know what to do with. She smiles and laughs, rubbing her swollen tummy and joking about how the baby must be getting sick of living in there by now. They all promise to help with cooking and babysitting, to which she responds with a well-received thanks. Several hours later, they leave as he comes home, promising to always be only a phone call away. He sits with her, thinking out loud how it won't be long now. As they look at each other, they see identical excitement and nervousness. He holds her, whispering how wonderful she is and how proud he is of her. She only smiles, knowing he senses her contentment.
When his desk phone rings for the tenth time in so many minutes, he answers it with his usual unassuming greeting. His eyes open wide as the nurse on the other end explains his wife is with her at the hospital, and well into labor. He leaves as quickly as humanly possible, firing his excuse at the multitude of assistants outside his office. He can't drive to the hospital fast enough, practically exploding inside at the gridlock traffic of his route. All he can think of is his wife, his beautiful flower, all alone in a maternity ward room, crying and wondering where he is and why he doesn't come to see his son being born. At the first opening in the line of cars, he floors the accelerator.
When, three speeding tickets later, he is finally led to the room where she is, he can barely contain himself. The door opens, and instead of the characteristic cries of pain he assumed went along with giving birth, only an eerie silence comes from within. He brushes it aside as their having used drug shots to dull the pain. Besides, he wouldn't want his jewel to be suffering, not one bit. It is when one of the doctors from inside emerges, closing the door behind her and refusing to look at him, he grows uneasy. As she motions for him to follow her away from the room, he can hear his heart pounding as he turns to follow.
The weather on the day of the funeral couldn't have been more perfect. Rain pouring down like the sky itself was weeping. The black-clothed crowd around the coffin weeps continuously, but not him. He stands over her, gazing down at what was once his beautiful cherry blossom. In her arms is a little bundle of navy-blue cloth, with a tiny head poking out of it and resting against her chest. Even now he can see himself in that young face, his nose and, according to the doctors, behind those closed eyelids were his coal-black eyes. He sees her as well, a wisp of her coral-colored hair and her high cheekbones, visible even on the newborn's chubby features. A thought flashed into his blank mind, an image of her smiling as she cuddled their giggling baby son. Her cheeks flushed with rosy laughter, she seemed to turn toward him and look him in the eye. He blinks, and she is again lying in front of him, that vibrant hue gone from her ashen skin. He stands where he is as the lid of the elaborately decorated casket is closed, wheeled over to the awaiting hole in the earth and lowered down. He still stands, even as the lumps of dirt and grass are shoveled over it, the headstone given a last polish before the undertakers step back. As they, her closest friends, turn to leave and get out of the pouring rain, they glance over their shoulders one last time.
He is still standing.
...And What Never Again Will Be.
Yeah, written while depressed. Sorry for the absence all, but i has Anime USA and Nekocon to attend.