Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Someone else does.
Summary: "Sitting in an empty room never felt more right." An introspective look of Emma and Ken's wedding. Will/Emma.
A/N: Encouraged by a friend, I write yet another oneshot over these two, going against my better judgment of not waiting another month. As always, please read, review, and enjoy!
The waistband was tighter than I remembered. It hugged closer to my flesh, gripping into my spine as I turned around in the mirror. The flowers alongside the back still looked as stiff and crisp like it did in that small dressing room a million lives ago. But right now, in this stark fluorescent lit room, yellow tiles covering the walls, making everything stark and pale, I couldn't help but feel the air thicken, suffocating me with the ever-present knowledge in under an hour, it would all change. As many times as I tried to adjust it, knowing I hadn't gained a pound since I last wore it, I knew it had to be the difference of audience. Ken hadn't seen me in it yet, but he had.
It was that simple to calm my breathing, find the rhythm that he so easily found. I let it guide me through the door, carry me to the room and watch as the caterers assembled the show, one that didn't involve singing and well-coordinated moves, but equally a production. It was all rushed, the entire process, never getting the chance to think and converse, never the right to argue or negotiate. But than again, who was I to take a stand? Just as obvious it was with my earlier stunt, this was a last resort, never quite living up to the ideals I had concocted in my mind. It was too late for denial, watching the people frequent behind the small vale, hoping no one would ask me where Ken was.
Four o'clock came and went like every other day, nothing more or less significant than the rest. It was easier than I thought to come and tell everyone that it wasn't happening, to thank them and give my apologies. It was simpler than I thought it would be, more fitting than standing at the alter in a crowded room, volunteering a life of servitude to a man I couldn't truly give myself to. So as the people filed out, leaving behind presents and condolences, the weights slowly lifted, if only for a little while.
The embarrassment didn't hit me until a little after five, when the food began to smell stale and the coffee stench filled the room. I couldn't stop it from penetrating my membranes, the rotting that lurked under the surface, the decaying of a man's pride that I robbed from him and the debauchery of my fantasies, letting them carry myself into the belief that I could possibly be with a man that still needed to heal. I felt responsible for their pain, their need to be mended and knowing they couldn't be easily. Like everything else, it took time. Something I knew I had too much of.
I couldn't face them than. I knew he would show up, sickeningly enjoying that assurance, but I needed an escape clause, something to slither my way out of the mess I found myself in. I always did this, let my expectations get away from me, creating scenarios when things actually ended in my favor, when I could be happy, not compromised. Idealist or delusional, however you colored it, I wouldn't be able to bypass the humiliation that was reserved for people like me. It was than that I scrolled through my saved files on my Blackberry, seeing my resignation letter tucked away. I had uploaded it a few months ago, when a night filled of tears and loneliness intoxicated my thoughts and brought me to the conclusion of changing scenery. I had dreamed of the Pacific Ocean, crisp salty air and the sun beaming on my back. How it all could be a start over, a clean slate, one that didn't need to be scrubbed of filth and corruption, only the opportunity to find myself again. I sent it to Principle Figgins with my eyes closed, figuring I've been going this way for as long as I have, I couldn't help but think that sitting in an empty room never felt more right.
But like always, I found myself in his arms again, just as he made his way down the stairs. Even in a simple white shirt and tie, I felt my legs tremble, his smile just as blinding as the wedding band that still choked his ring finger. I couldn't face him. I couldn't even feel ashamed about my behavior with him any longer, with his looks of longing just as intense as mine. The temptation was too overwhelming, too engulfing to be real. It smothered my consciousness and every nerve I had. He took my arm and breathing became an option, as if I had a choice with him so close yet so far. My heart was breaking and I couldn't hear anything outside of the silent breaths of his against my skin. We were experts at the art of illusion, convincing even ourselves that this was a mistake, but the end result led him here, to me.
But I needed to breathe. I needed to get away from the pain. He left his wife and he wasn't ready. I hurt Ken and I couldn't care less because Will wanted me. But I needed to breathe, needed to leave, needed to be alone again. I needed to clean my life, to scrub everything raw and find a way to look myself in the mirror. To have a dress that didn't cut into my skin and make me feel smaller than I could ever feel now. It didn't matter, and that's what hurt the most. Even when my hopes and dreams stood before me, I couldn't except them. They didn't belong to me. Maybe when I wasn't in a white dress, without tears threatening to fall for a man that wasn't rightfully mine and playing the bride to a groom that left me in an empty room.
Thanks for reading!