She was jilted at the altar and looking to cause a scene. He was the perfect co-star for a broken hearted teenage breakdown.
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This is what I was raised for. Trained for. Cotillion, manners, etiquette, a hope chest. All this prepared me for a wedding. A perfect marriage to a perfect Southern gentleman. I was to be his perfect Southern belle bride. My blonde hair done up big beauty queen style with my Momma's veil and my Great Grandmother's dress. Heirloom China patterns, personalized silver services. The true overdone, overstated, old money Southern Wedding. Where everybody knows everybody and everybody's talking about everybody.
Right now they were talking about me.
Mainly my rigid posture as I stood at the end of that aisle, a white knuckle grip on my bouquet of over the top peonies. And, of course, the obvious empty space to my right. The one where a groom should have stood. The only thing there now was everybody's eyes.
It had been thirty minutes and my Momma still wouldn't let Reverend Newlin shut it down. My Daddy's face was as red as ever, mine was too under the veil. Thank heavens for that veil. Though right now I wasn't in a very praising mood. I was staring so hard at that spot in the lace of my veil that I was going cross eyed. The whispers were getting louder, or maybe I was just focusing on them too hard. Either way I could hear them behind me.
...wonder what she did...
...knew she was too young...
...he came to his senses...
...too good for her...
...just a girl...
...known better. Social jumper...
Now, I know its low class of me but...
With in two seconds flat I was out of my heels with my skirt in hand, racing down the aisle a groom was supposed to have came down before me. My veiled eyes hadn't seen when the music started. I hadn't seen anything but lace. I still didn't see anything but white lace as I raced barefooted through the doors and halls of the church. I didn't even hear anyone chasing me, probably all too shocked to move. They'd really gotten a show tonight.
The door I hit almost had me tumbling down a set of stairs, spinning quick as turned to grab the railing. I heard a stitch split as my back bent against the tight bodice, the boning holding up but the ages old fabric weak against the movement
My face turned even redder, if possible. Jilted at the altar and ruining an heirloom dress. Good Lord I was a prize. Flipping my veil back I subconsciously touched my lips with pink painted nails, checking my nude lip stick. The tips came back with a light coat and I shook my head. Checking my makeup in the basement of a church. I was classy. Behind me the door had shut and without a second thought I slid the bolt shut. Even with a key they couldn't get to me.
Well, my mother couldn't. Not like she would lower herself to going down to a basement. Church or not. Daughter or not.
My barefeet carried me down the stairs, lifting my skirt above them so I didn't fall and break my neck. The steps turned into blackness and I searched blindly for the switch, hitting just as my feet touched bottom.
The basement was...a basement. A dark hall to the right, dust floors, a caged off storage in front of me. It was just a basement, a place to hid amongst the bugs that I felt as low as.
My mind went blank.
There, under that swinging light in the caged storage, it was. My eyes hit and my heart dropped, biting my lip as all thoughts of lipstick flew away. I knew it was trouble. Cold, hard, dangerous trouble.
It was the liquor for my wedding.
Now, I am not a drinker. I have a glass of wine at dinner on occasion, champagne to toast. Maybe a mint julep on a hot Summer day. At nineteen with a baby face there's no way I'm able to drink underage. But, and I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but I figured since we couldn't return the stuff...no body would miss a bottle.
How that turned into me sitting on the dusty floor of the storage, my wedding dress folded up to my knees, and a bottle of my Mother's drink of choice in my lap, I'll never know. But the Drambuie was smooth and warm in my stomach. Some board game about sending vampires to hell was at my left and I was playing against my self, half drunk and half bored.
I sensed him before I saw him. His presence cold in the room, different from anything I'd ever felt. It was like he was there...but not. I'd been hunting with some girl friends before, a we-can-do-what-boys-do trip. The girl I'd been paired with had snapped her ankle in the roots and we'd had to hobble back in the almost night. Half way to the cabin, we picked up a friend. A cougar or some kind of predator. I can't be sure. But it followed us. I remember not blaming it. It was doing what nature intended. It found weak prey and it wanted it. To feed itself and survive.
But I also remember keeping my riffle in hand and knowing I'd shoot it between the eyes if it ever came out of the tree cover.
I had that same feeling now, but I know it wasn't a cougar in the basement with me. Somehow, for some reason, there was a vampire in the Church of The Sun.
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