CHAPTER 001
1174 Words
: The Dress I Ignored
POV: FREJA
My fingers will continue to shake. I'm staring at myself in the mirror, but I have no idea who I should be looking at now. My skin feels tight; the wedding dress's lace stalks like thorns, gripping my ribs as though they want to burst. The loudness of my heart makes it difficult to think clearly.
Why am I donning the gown at all?
Why am I the only person here right now?
Outside, the environment seems flawless. People, dressed in their best, smile and sip champagne as sunlight floods the garden and lovely music floats around.
But me personally? I am disjointed.
Freja, you will do this for the family.
His voice comes back to me like a slap—that of my father. Cold. Separate. He signed an agreement without consulting me, treating me as merely a part of it.
And each of them was there. Both of my stepsisters, standing next to Linnea, had those arrogant little smiles. Seeing me like this made me part of some protracted game they eventually prevailed in.
I say to myself, "Linnea should be wearing this dress." And she should.
But I did not make this decision. This was definitely not what Mikkel was seeking. His grandfather, Jörgen Sorensen, chose me. He expressed his belief that I possessed a distinctive essence. He claimed that I exuded the right attitude and presence. He never asked me if I wanted this role.
The door opens behind me slowly and squeakily.
I have no turning to do. I know already who it is." Prime: Her speech is honey-flavoured with poison. Linnea's posture at the doorway, her hair flawless, lips closed in a grin meant to be sympathetic.
She marches in as though she owns the room, heels clicking on the floor with every I am counting down the strides until the moment I fall apart.
Are you sure you want to go forward with this? She probes, probes; the tone is pleasant and false. Max—that is, Mikkel—he is never going to adore you.
I stare straight forward at the mirror.
You could pull out, you know. Still times.
She smiles, then approaches closely—her perfume smothering me. Perhaps you wish for this as well. Perhaps the second choice still improves on nothing.
I remain silent.
She touches my shoulder, and the pressure of her fingers is painful. "Don't worry, sister." He will ultimately come back to me. He always behaves.
I begin to swallow my words. In no way am I satisfying her by witnessing my break.
I inhaled and left, head high.
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There are packed wedding halls. Those turn their heads and whisper. I start to hear the music. Every stride causes the tightness in my chest to grow.
At the end of the tunnel-like rows along the aisle is Mikkel.
He is rigorous. Jaw tightened. Hands squeezed tightly.
And those eyes?
Those cool, dark eyes that used to be warm—for her. They land on me now, as if I were something terrible.
I try to regain my composure. Keep walking without hesitation. Do not let yourself fade away.
When I get to him, he does not offer his hand.
The officiant begins speaking, but over the beating in my chest I can hardly hear.
"Do you, Mikkel Sorensen, identify Freja Nygaard as your legally married wife?"
He listens. Extremely lengthy.
Please avoid stating that.
His mouth twitched. He looks at me as if I have wrecked his life.
"I do," he says between teeth.
The pain lingers longer than a smack.
I do, my voice hardly above a whisper.
Following is applause. Congratulations. Grinning. This applause creates a fairy tale ending.
Still, Mikkel hardly looks at me. He looks away and walks off as if he never even existed I find myself imprisoned in this empty, cold place. at the altar.
And this.
We have just begun our journey.
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That evening, I sat on the edge of a bed too large for one person. I still have on my dress. Bent. The hem isn't clean. I have not relocated. The room seems cooler than it should be due to the moonlight streaming in through the drapes.
I leap at the door knock-on.
He's right here.
Mikkel enters without first seeking permission. He shrugs off his jacket, says nothing, then tosses it on the chair like this—some hotel he hardly intends to remain in.
He glanced at me.
just for a moment.
"What do you want from me?” My voice comes out worn and harsh.
He pivots. Relatively slowly. His eyes are more keen than those of knives. Are you really going to pull the innocent card?
" I asked for nothing like this."
"You believe me to be right?" He laughs, but his demeanour is dry and cold. You had to have worked hard to persuade my granddad. Act not as though you stumbled upon this.
"I objected to all of this!" she yells. "You think I wanted to wed someone who hates me?"
His gaze becomes rigid. "You and your mother both did an excellent job at posing. She also misled others. She had complete control over everyone in her immediate vicinity.
"You know nothing about her!!"
Yes? She raised you just as I know.
He approaches, reaching for my arm. His fingers penetrated my flesh. I wrinkle.
He growls, "You got what you wanted; don't expect politeness." "Don't expect politeness."
He walks away as if he has touched something dirty. I staggered back, clutching my arm.
He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
I froze there. Where he reached me, my flesh burnt. Already forming is a crimson mark.
I fix my sight on it.
Why did it have to be me?
Is this really how everything turned out?
Dreaming about love used to occupy me. I dreamed about a future that was free from a sense of confinement. I dreamed of a wedding where I truly smiled. My heart was filled, not broken.
I'm married to a man who despises me right now. My father only saw dollar signs. Because Linnea yearned for everything I possessed. Because Jørgen chose me, I felt that nobody else mattered.
Tears begin to flow, but I quickly dab away at them.
No more tears. The present isn't the right moment. never once.
There is nothing fixed by crying.
I strolled to the window and peered out into the darkness. The city lights twinkle far away like tiny hope sparks I never will touch.
People are laughing someplace out there.
Kind.
Existing.
Neither did I, though.
I am imprisoned here. I find myself imprisoned in this empty, cold place. I find myself surrounded by a stranger who serves as my husband.
I turn to look at the marks. Then, I curled into myself and crawled under the sheets.
Perhaps tomorrow will turn out worse.
Not sure.
But as I already know, nobody is showing up to save me.
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- Writer
