Sophie
I grabbed the champagne cup from the first waiter who passed by and guzzled it in a sip as I looked across the room at what my boyfriend should have been, talking to a possible buyer, the decidedly too many-legs secretary Sandra attached to his arm like a f*****g mussel.
I sighed and looked around.
At least he didn't listen to me and didn't realize how much only his scent gave me to my stomach and made me vomit.
I sighed, leaving the glass empty on another waiter's tray, and hopped from foot to foot. Those stupid shoes were torturing me, and I couldn't stand them. It had been hours, HOURS!
Time I had spent on my future husband's arm while he showed me, everyone as if I were his f*****g trophy, an object. I was not a trophy, much less an object. I didn't want to belong to anyone
