Never had a room so incredibly full seemed so insignificantly empty. Having been filled to the brim with one hundred and fifty of so called 'friends and family', what should be the happiest day of a women's life turned increasingly into that of a business agreement, with Chloe as the agenda. The clinical white walls of the Barden suites were smothered with an array of gold and cobalt arrangements. These were almost as fake as the performance occurring at the end of the altar, which had progressively become spotlighted by the ornate, palladium windows overlooking a home Chloe had once sought comfort from. The sides of the congregation were uneven. Having reluctantly diverted her gaze from the scuffed ballroom floor, which had been shaped into somewhat of an aisle, Chloe eventually made eye contact with countless strangers, whom she would forget instantly in the street, let alone at her own wedding. The few she was familiar with, the handful of Barden Bella's who she had reluctantly sent invitations to at last minute, refused to hold the contact. They instead focused their attention on her $500 wedding dress which clung uncomfortably to the brides fear stricken body, in fear their fictitious smiles would sway an already doubtful bride. As she reached the altar, the heavy weight of the audience's glare finally settled uneasily within her, realising that this was the life she was signing up for… constantly scrutinised yet beloved. Her dad squeezed her hand, a little too tight, and finally released it; allowing the woman to take her final step. Her Dad knew. He knew his little girl was settling. He had given her away hundreds of times as she and her friends dressed up in their wedding outfits when they were younger. He relished in the excitement that seeped from the girl as she bounced up and down in her disney princess dress which she insisted was 'the best wedding dress a girl could wish for'. Yet today, as the day she has wished for finally came true, none of that excitement was apparent in his little girl, and that just didn't sit comfortably with him. Chloe however insisted, knowing he secretly hoped 'this feeling' he was having was completely wrong and that she really did love the man who stood before her. As the registrar began the prosaic verse, Chloe turned her attention to her soon to be husband placed to her right, who turned to her with his boyish grin. The grin that would win any girl over. Any girl but Chloe. With bated breath, she made her choice; prosperity over love.
"I, Chloe Beale, take you, Tom Parker to be my lawful wedded husband…."
Those words, those few simple words, have been muttered, cried and declared thousands of times by endless numbers of brides and grooms. However, on days like today, I wonder how many have been truthful - as I am suddenly beginning to realise they are harder to deliver than it seems.
I cannot promise you what the vows wish of me; love, trust, respect, as to do so would be deceitful;
deceitful to you, deceitful to me, deceitful to the many unknown eyes behind me, although standing here today is the biggest lie of them all.
"To have and to hold, from this day forward…"
I have envisioned this day hundreds of times, like any girl would; I suppose you could say I had always been a prominent figure at Barden in regards to the many young men at the university . Aubrey had almost come accustomed to the shrill laughter and moans which occurred regularly at night. Young boys in their dozens would be requesting my company for one evening, but their naivety never fulfilled by romanticised dreams. I dreamt of a man, but not just any man, the ones you see in the Disney movies. Prince Charming or Flynn Ryder , the characters who would put love before anything else, who would put me before anything else.
As time drew on, I realised my dream was nothing more than that, a nonsensical delusion.
That is until, I met Beca.
"For better for worse…"
She was nothing like I imagined. She was no Prince Charming yet she was perfect. I still remember the little things, even five years on, as if we were still sat in her dorm room…
if only. She would always sweep any whisper of ginger hair which lay on my face behind my ear almost immediately, as if she was studying a piece of fine art, intricately taking in every detail.
Her hands would trace my cheekbones with the faintest of touches and she would sigh contently, whispering never-ending compliments in my ear. From anyone else's lips, your lips, those words would have been nothing but ordinary. From hers, anything but. I had never seen a woman so complacent, and I probably never will again. I was finally like one of those girl in the movies, my own awkward but yet seamlessly perfect movie, with a woman I had never dreamt of, because I didn't realise people like Beca existed. But not even the movies can ignore the harsh reality of the world; a world which couldn't understand or handle our love.
Her dad found out first, having stumbled into her room one early morning after a night of love and elation. He sent her home to her mother, wherever home was. She fought, she yelled but she knew she had no control. Mr Mitchell had in some ways brought Beca into my life in the first place, hoping to help his daughter with a collage education, yet he just as easily ripped her away from me. She remained in contact. Text messages here, the quick whispered phone call there. Always signing off with 'I love you' and 'one day we will be together' helped me remain hopeful. Remembering her feathery touch and piercing eyes helped me remain patient. I was willing to wait, as long as it took, because thats what love is. A love that I had never truly felt before. But as time drew on, as two years slowly passed without her, the contact slowly declined. The 'I love you's turned into 'Goodnights' and there were no promises of forever. The last call was the hardest. It was late yet as I saw her name flash on your phone I had never been more awake. Yet it wasn't the 'Goodnight' call I was wishing for. She told me it was time to move on because apparently she 'already had'. I sobbed down the phone and begged for the love I so urgently craved but all that came back was the defining dial tone. A tone that still sticks with me to this day, the day I never thought would come.
"For richer for poorer…"
You took her place. I didn't truly believe you did until I saw your blurry, misshaped figure through my tired, hungover eyes as I advanced, somewhat foolishly, through the hundreds of nameless faces who stared unknowingly. I believed we were fleeting, that this whole facade was fleeting. It was only when I was sat in the warm yet chillingly cold bath into the late hours last night, watching the crumbling and rejected wedding invitation I had sent to Beca fall apart in the soap dish that I knew my dream had fallen apart completely.
You can offer me everything she can't. She offered me the world, you offer me the rest: stability, a life any girl could only ever wish for, I still can't shake the emptiness in my stomach.
This 'marriage' isn't one made from love, the heavy weight of the audiences glare clarifies that. But how can I deny the fact you're stood here today with a proposition that she never gave me.
"Wait for me." Those words scribbled at the bottom of the now crumpled wedding invitation are the only acknowledgment that a future exists with Beca. I hadn't heard from her in exactly 2 years and 78 days before yesterday. A part of me expected her to turn up today, but I know i'm only fooling myself. 'Wait for me' gives me no hope. I waited for two years, and got nothing in return. Who's knows how long I would have to wait now. I've never been one for risks, or I used to be before my heart was broken. So I've made my choice, even as I compromise my own happiness.
"In sickness and in health…"
She held me in a way every girl wanted to be held, even if I didn't realise it until the moment another's arms were around me. Her arms would hold themselves firmly around my back as if I would slip from her grasp, if she loosened them in the slightest. Even when we were sat in comfortable yet rare silences, her hand continued to create patterns on my back, to remind me she was always there. Her grip is still felt to this day, only growing more desperate as I took my final steps down the aisle…but like my unobtainable Disney happily ever after, the tighter she grasped, the further I slipped away, far from a life she dreamt with me. You're the consolation prize.
I'm settling for second place, she knows that. She has to….
"Till death do us part…"
