It was not supposed to be this way.
It was wrong. Of that he was certain. He should not feel the need today of all days, he should not be here. He should not be doing what he was doing right now.
Today was his wedding day, goddamnit! He was happy! He actually was.
Perhaps it is wise to backtrack. He met his now-fiancée some good fifteen years ago, when they were entering puberty. He was getting out of his awkward phase and settling into his infamous good-looks, while she… well, he jokes she was not much to look at. Braces and bangs.
It was not love at first sight. Definitively not.
They fought, a lot. They had very conflictive personalities. The fights were about anything, they were constant. To the point they were doing just because they could not stand the thought of the other not being miserable with them.
Teenagers are egoists, confused and immature, he acknowledges. It was a difficult time for them, personally, and they took it out on each other.
It certainly did not help the fact that his father was married to his mother. Yeah, let that settle into your mind for a moment.
He supposed he was allowed some eccentricity.
Some growing-up later, and they started communicating better. Understanding each other better. So, the fighting diminished, the anger and frustration ebbed away. Nowadays, he would be hard-pressed to name someone who knew him better than her, and he valued it dearly.
Another thing that contributed for the change in their relationship was going to college. Being completely alone, together, in Kingston made them fall back on each other. College did not play out like they expected, they haven't found their place there right away, or at all in a way, but thank God they didn't.
One thing led to another, and here they were. Happy together, ready to swear in front of God and society they were it forever.
Well, kinda.
Almost as long as his relationship with his fiancée, was his relationship with… well, drugs.
He feels like such a middle-aged housewife when he talks about drugs in these terms. So lame.
One could argue that it was this attitude that got him into them in the first place, and while that would not be completely uncharacteristic of him, he would beg to differ.
He was an anxious mess. Nightmares, terrors, cold sweat, gastritis, the works.
Back when he used to play hockey, in some away game, an upperclassman from the other school remarked how some guys snorted cocaine to focus better, to have energy.
He was so nervous, so wrecked, that he was willing to try anything. So, he bought a few grams just outside the school grounds, brought back to the locker room and snorted it all at once, dressed up and got out on the ice.
He had never played better.
He was quick, observant, strong. He felt like a machine. They won, evidently, and he started using it before every game.
He found that he would not feel anxiety when he was amped up with coke, that his energy would be directed, that he would not be so paralyzed with insecurity, his nausea would disappear. His body jumpstarted, and he went in, feeling invincible.
Soon enough, he was snorting cocaine when he did not have a game to play, before tests and presentations. Just to go by the day.
His intake also increased; he would not feel as good with just a little bit. He needed a lot to get the same high, the same invincibility. The crashes were getting even worse, as well. He would fly high and fall hard.
She knew, of course she knew. She begged and pleaded and threatened him to stop, to find treatment, but he would not, could not, stop, and she couldn't leave him, either.
Their stalemate only increased his anxiety, and therefore his intake.
Then, we get to last night. He was supposed to have a bachelor party, but he was not in the mood. He asked for something simple, what Sam, his best man, was only too glad to oblige, and even then he left early, claiming to want to sleep, if only to make the time go by faster.
He was still a bullshitter, after all.
It was not a complete lie, he would be very glad if the hours passed quickly, but they did not. He was anxious, after all, the time seemed to drag itself by, every minute was an eternity.
So, he snorted cocaine. A lot of it. He went through his entire stack, and then, around three, he went out for more, snorted it all, and went out again before going to his childhood home to get ready. He was still using it.
He couldn't help it. He felt like a screw-up. A mess. He was 75% certain she would, sooner rather than later, look around and find someone better (what is not that hard, I mean, how much worse can she get than a coked-up moron like himself?), leave him, and then he would be alone and miserable. Possibly forever. Likely forever.
The irony of him ruining his own wedding with all the cocaine to deal with the fact he might ruin his marriage was not lost on him, that's for certain. He almost wanted to laugh at his situation. Almost.
He knew his father would come to fetch him soon to go to the church. He would be the one who finds him.
What would his dad do? Probably call Nora, he was one calm man (ironically, he wonders if he got the anxiety from his mother) but he did not do well in crisis. She then would tell Casey, who would scream and cry and want to murder him, and he would let her, because he did not like to see her cry and he kind of deserves it.
Well, she would if she got the chance, something he was not all that confident right now. He started shaking manically half an hour ago, in the shower, but he did not stop. Soon, his hands turned cold and he felt really exhausted.
He laid down on his bed. It was so soft and welcoming, but so very cold. His vision started to fade, black framed the corners of his eye, looking at the ceiling. Tears clouded whatever remained.
He was sorry. He was so very sorry. He was going to die on his wedding day, he would ruin the party for everybody and leave Casey alone to deal with the whole thing.
He heard someone call his name and shake his body, but it was too late. He was tired, so tired. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up. I'm sorry… I'm sorry…
I'm sorry…, and then it was black.