Chapter 2
It was a beautiful wedding. Erza and Levy had (quite literally in Erza's case) worked their asses off to make it so. The Grecian style silver sage bridesmaid's dresses played well against the pink roses and succulents in all the floral arrangements. Somehow, despite a last-minute catering snafu, the mini quiche arrived with just the right proportion of caramelized onions. And if the pastor had any lingering issues with the amount of skin revealed by Lucy's dream wedding dress, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Erza was happy for them. Really.
She said it loud and proud as she saw Natsu and Lucy off from the after party, wide grin and friendly wave intact. Their post-wedding afterglow was reminiscent of a desert sunrise. Natsu's warm orange blush tinted Lucy's glitzy radiance as they finally excused themselves from Bar Sun, lighting the night as they went. But no sooner had the groom scooped his lady up bridal style and barreled out the doors than Erza turned back to the bar, ordering another blueberry mojito and a shot of tequila to dull the ache.
Because once she was certain that the happy couple was in a world all their own and the cameras were safely stowed away, Erza could finally admit to herself that she wasn't happy. Not a little bit. Not at all.
It wasn't because she hadn't had so much as a morsel of strawberry cake in over three months. Well, maybe just once or twice in moments of weakness. Neither was it because she harbored any romantic feelings for the bride or groom. That idea was laughable; she thought of them like younger siblings. Not even seeing her ex, Simon with her childhood friend Millianna on his arm saddled her soul with regret or remorse. Though, by all accounts, it should have bothered her more.
As Erza felt the telltale agave-infused burn of house tequila scorch her throat, she allowed herself a moment of selfish weakness, regret and even anger. This beautiful, meaningful, thrown together in less than six months because they couldn't wait any longer wedding wasn't Lucy's. Not a little bit. Not at all.
Four years ago, it was Erza's. The same chapel and reception venue. Even the same caterer. Only the cast of characters had changed.
Erza gave Lucy all her contacts, without mentioning how she came about the information for elegant but affordable weddings in Magnolia. All because Lucy had done what a younger Erza hadn't been willing to accomplish. She'd told her father to go to hell. Told him she knew her own heart, and she was marrying Natsu with or without his support.
And as the liquor flowed down Erza's throat with reckless abandon, she forgot to watch the time. She forgot that Gajeel and a somewhat green around the gills Levy had abruptly left an hour before Natsu and Lucy made their exit. Caught in a buzzing haze of hard liquor and wedding wine, she forgot to secure another avenue back to her mother's house, waving every friend off with assurances that she'd be just fine. And really, she didn't want Irene to see her like this. Not a little bit. Not at all.
In the midst of her mourning for the wedding that wasn't, Erza realized that she had overstayed her welcome. The overhead lights dimmed, and the music swelled as repetitive, computer synthesized beats overtook her thought process. With renewed purpose, Erza located her cell phone from within her bright yellow clutch and began scrolling through her contacts. Jellal's name jumped out like a diamond in the rough. She wasn't drunk enough to forget that she saw his car, an older Jeep Wrangler, in the parking lot of 8-Island on the way in; however, the sweet taste of blueberry liquor drowned the memory of Jellal saying that he'd settled for Erza all those years ago, that he wanted to see other women. In any other circumstance, she would not have called.
Erza half expected that he wouldn't answer, but he did with an offer to collect her in short order. No more than 20 minutes later she found herself, flushed faced and slightly swaying, taking the hand of Jellal Fernandes. Erza allowed his palm to press into the small of her back as they navigated the crowded confines of the bar. And he was just as she remembered, heartbreakingly so.
Though older, Jellal's features held the same severity, an intensity that had often cut Erza to the quick when he had wanted to convey something meaningful. The tattoo, an "unfortunate stain across half his face" as his mother had called it, also remained unchanged in a striking burgundy contrast to his somewhat fair complexion. But what Erza missed most, apart from the lip-biting muscle definition that hid beneath his conservative clothes, was Jellal's hair. As much as she knew he liked her scarlet mop, Erza also longed to turn his unruly strands between her fingers with a firm grasp. His colorful locks, like a blue sapphire with the saturation of deep saltwater and the glossy dimension of a brilliant cut gemstone, longed to be handled once again.
"You look nice," he said simply, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath.
And while her Erza general instincts were that of extremes, she chose an attitude of understated gratitude. "I'm glad you're here, Jellal," she mumbled as the night air hit her bare shoulders.
"Me too," he replied while helping her into his jeep. And though Erza was vaguely aware of his hands nudging her feet in the car and his arm reaching across her stomach to fasten the seatbelt, she steeled herself. The shots had been an awful choice, and she wouldn't, absolutely wouldn't allow herself to vomit inside her ex-fiancé's car. Not a little bit. Not. At. All.
"Where to?" Jellal asked as he slid into the driver's side and backed out of the parking lot. "Your mom's I'm guessing?"
"I-I can't go back there right now," Erza responded with as much emotional sobriety as she could muster. "She'll say I've been irresponsi-bib-le, and I know I have. I just…" she hiccupped heartily, bringing a hand to her mouth help suppress the acidic aftertaste that stole her other senses. "…just want to get some sleep. I can't let them see me like this."
"Still too anxious to show those gaps in your armor." Jellal glanced over at the redheaded inebriate with a small smile. "You've got good friends, Erza," he added matter-of-factly. "They shouldn't mind taking care of you for once. Tell me the name of the hotel your friends are at, and I'll find someone to-"
"No," she cut him off with obstinate resolve. "I can't. I can't tell them. It was… It was our wedding, Jellal. The church by the park where we met. The room above Café Jo's with the balcony that overlooks the river where we used to go tubing. Do you remember the one I planned for us?"
"I do."
"Funny choice of words considering we didn't," she spat with more venom for herself than for him, not that it mattered. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that. It wasn't meant to hurt you." Well, not only meant to hurt him.
Jellal said nothing of Erza's outburst as he spun the wheel of the car with decisive intent. "Then you'll have to stay with me for a few hours, at least until you sober up."
"Thank you," the redhead murmured solemnly.
They drove in silence for the remainder of the journey, and though she hadn't seen him in months, hadn't really spoken with him in years, Erza allowed her resolve to crumble in his company. As her head fell back against the headrest, she shut her eyes. Tears trickled languidly down Erza's face and stained her cheeks with what was certainly not waterproof mascara. If Jellal noticed, he said nothing, and Erza wondered, not for the first time, where they'd gone wrong.