3 months Until the Wedding

The rapping on the door surprises you. You jolt up glancing at the clock, yawn and stretch on the way over to the door.

11 pm on a Monday. Whoever the hell it was better have a damn good reason-

The air rushes out of your lungs when the door opens and the words die in your lungs because you see that it's her. That it's her and she's real and for the first time in almost two years the woman you've always wondered about is real and in the flesh and smiling that crooked, shy smile at you-

"Hey," she breathes, her eyes skittering and dipping down.

"Hey," you're choking, knees quaking and mind all to spin.

"I- hi- uh- You look- " Her hand goes to her glasses in a well-practiced move, the other brushing through long dark hair.

"Yeah," you're breathing, eyes skirting down the length of her, "you, too. I- uh- Holly?"

Her name rings out in the hallway and you both stand there frozen simply looking, peering, assessing.

Her eyes lock with yours for a moment, she takes a step.

And then her words are tumbling out her beautiful lips and it's all you can do to keep up, to listen. Because she's telling you that's she's back. She's back and she's going to be working her old job- well, sort of- her old job but better, she says, skirting the issue- but she's back and she just wanted you to know because although you haven't talked much over your absence, you had a bit and she didn't want you to be blindsided because-

And then all of the air that still remains in the room is gone because she's holding out a trembling hand and you can see the fucking rock that sits on her hand.

"I'm getting married."

The words are out in a rush and they take your guts with them. Your body is hollow and your hands find themselves gripped tightly together as the words sink in, slowly, painfully.

"Oh," you're choking, the smile on your face strained and tight, "Oh, I- Holly, that's great. I'm so- happy for you. So- I'll see you at work?"

And Holly's face is unreadable then because she's looking at you- really, really fucking peering straight into you and furrowing her eyebrow and you can hear the words before they're spoken and hold a sweaty hand up to quell the sound because you can't stand to hear it right now, can't stand to hear it maybe ever. You're shattered and you don't want to hear it.

"Don't you apologize," you're interjecting, "Don't you dare apologize for finding someone who makes you happy, Holly. I'm- I'm glad. When- when?"

And then she's rushing out that her fiancé- Sam, she mentions, wants it to happen fast so they're thinking March.

March.

When it was January.

Your stomach rolls again, your eyes close against the onslaught. Your whiskey is calling your name and all of a sudden you are so desperate for it to light a fire down your throat, invade your chest with warmth- anything to distract from this bottomless ice.

"Thanks for letting me know," you're saying, backing away.

She's looking at you in that way she used to when you would have night mares in her bed. Like she wants to help, like she wants to heal.

But this time she can't, this time she will be the face that haunts your dreams.

"Gail-"

Your name, once lovely and pleasing to your ears, ricochets in your chest, pings painfully at your heart.

"Have a good night, Holly," You're saying, the door of your apartment safely between you both now, "I'll see you at work next week."

The door closes on her worried face.

You turn your back to it, heave a sigh and lean on it.

You slide to the floor and drop your heavy skull into open and aching palms.

You fight the first heave of your chest, grit your teeth into the second. Mostly surrender to it then.

Holly was back. Holly was back and here and God-

You crawl your way into your bedroom then, deep under the covers, nestle into the dark nothingness, into the comforting arms of the Jack bottle you'd picked up earlier. A long draw, a shuddering breath. A long cry into the covers as the pressure of it all crushes you.

You've never felt more terrible in your life.