To love someone

The first time I saw him, I was 11. It was love at first sight. He was older, in a much higher class and I was utterly infatuated. He played a starring role in every one of my childhood fantasies. I stalked him as often as I could, went to every football game (and I hated football) just to see his magnificent self in action. Then it ended. One day he left. A DECADE LATER. He was standing in the crowd, trying to work his way out of the bustling crowd.I almost hadn’t seen him, but I could never forget that face. Never. I worked up the courage to introduce myself, something I had never dared to do in the past. He remembered me. How that was possible I had no idea. I’d always felt I was invincible when I was younger, at least to him. He asked if I would like to have coffee or get drinks sometime and, of course I said yes. We became friends, we hung out, laughed, shared problems and jokes. I'd like to think we'd become close friends even, and just when I was about to declare my affections towards him, he made the announcement that almost destroyed me. Engagement. He showed me the ring. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t for me. Someone else was trying to steal MY ring. MY diamonds. Yes, I had known he'd had a girlfriend, but I never thought it would lead anywhere serious. She was supposed to be a temporary flame. Two days before the wedding, he invited me to lunch. He would confess, he said. He’d had feelings for me once upon a time we're his words. Along our friendship journey he had developed emotions that had exceeded a platonic love. He wanted to get it off his chest. He said some other things, which, quite honestly, I didn’t hear. When I got home, I thought for a long time. I read in between the lines of what he had told me. He loved me! He didn’t want this marriage. The witch had probably forced him into it, I thought. Perhaps trapped him with pregnancy. I started making plans; I made reservations for two for a one-way plane ticket to the Caribbean, bought suitcases as well and took out my Visa from the safe in my wardrobe. I'd been planning the trip and it wasn't supposed to happen for a few weeks, but this was as perfect a time as any. I was in a very pleasant mood. The morning of the wedding, I went to his dressing room. Everything’s ready, I’d said. He’d looked shocked. I explained to him everything I’d done and how we could finally be happy. He rejected me, said I was delusional and nothing of the sort would happen. I was patient, then tried to reason with him. Nothing happened, still he rejected me. Then, like a titanium ship, what he was saying sunk, and I was overcome with fury. His words faded and became a distant hum, his speech became incoherent. To my left on a table, I sighted a sterling letter opener. In a chapel, on the isle, a woman stood in a gorgeous white dress, a wonderful bouquet of magnolias and Laurels clasped between her trembling hands. She was nervous and scared. Where was he? There were people from both their families sitting in the pews, their murmurs sweeping over the otherwise quiet church. Had he gotten cold feet? No, she calmed the waves in her stomach, he wouldn't have. Not him, not her love. She remembered how they'd met almost 2 years ago; it had been at a small party mutual friends had invited them to. He'd spilled her drink due to his callous behavior and she'd been about to go off on him till she'd looked up and her eyes locked with his. Her anger had seeped away like air from a deflated balloon. He threw her a smile, which made her stomach tumble, apologized furiously and insisted on getting her a new drink. That night, they sat by the bar and talked for hours about everything and nothing. She wasn't sure, but she thought that was the moment she had fallen in love with him. He was charismatic but not in an obnoxious way, smart, kind, and the icing on the cake for her, very easy on the eyes. After a few weeks, they had started going out and as much as no couple was without conflict, they were rarely with. He was everything she wanted, and she'd poured her heart into him. She had never had reason to doubt or suspect infidelity, that was, until she showed up. He said he'd met her randomly on the street and she was a school friend from long ago. For some reason, it rubbed her the wrong way and she'd found herself feeling uneasy about it. She hadn't wanted to come across as insecure so she tucked her real feelings away. She'd been hoping that their friendship would wither away, but as fate would have it, the exact opposite happened. Once, they'd all gone out together. She had suggested it and he'd had no opposition. They had decided on a bowling alley and the two of them waited for her to show up. The moment she walked in, Lola spotted her, as did numerous people in the alley. Lola was not surprised that she was gorgeous, she'd expected it even. She made graceful strides towards their table, introductions were made and she sat. She looked straight at Lola and grinned, revealing a perfect set of pearl-white teeth. Lola disliked her instantly. She was charming and seemed nice, yes, but there was something underneath she couldn't quite place her finger on. Lola also noticed the playfulness of her boyfriend and her. She disliked that as well. After that night, there had been arguments about her, and Lola thought the worst. Surprisingly, two months later he'd proposed in the sweetest way. Amidst flowers and slow jazz, he'd pledged his undying love and devotion on his knees. She'd wanted the wedding to happen quickly and it was scheduled for 6 weeks after the engagement. Lola was determined to have a great marriage, one that ended with a happily ever after. This was the man, this was her soul mate, her other half. The wedding was supposed to be the start to the beginning of their lives, now she stood alone at the altar. Where was he? 5 miles east of the chapel, in a dressing room that held the faint scent of coconut, a man lay completely still in a pool of thick crimson liquid, his immaculate white shirt soaked, his eyes lifeless. Thousands of feet above ground level in a plane heading to the Caribbeans, a woman sits in first class holding a brochure and humming a Taylor Swift song. She reaches for her purse to grab a chap stick but comes across a letter opener instead. It was stained with the blood of her love.She'd slit his throat with it and watched him struggle to breathe, slump upon the white tiles, twitching, until he was still. A tear trickled down her cheek at the memory. She'd had no choice. That was all there was to it. She brushed away the tear and smiled brightly. This was a vacation. The past was in the past. She dropped the letter opener back in her purse, relaxed into her chair and took a sip of her cherry chardonnay, wondering what meal she would try first on the island.