Page 97 of Hell Breaks Loose

HELLENA

Ringing bells.

Supposedly of joy.

Not the death knell I hear over and over in my head.

Along with the basic facts of the affair. It’s all I seem to be able to keep straight or make my brain do.

Traditional bullshit decorations and proceedings that everyone expects to make their dreams come true. All of it reeks of ulterior motives. Paid guests. Outrageous decorations rush ordered.

All of the so-called beauty is starkly contrasted with the rest of the day’s details.

The day is overcast.

It seems cold, despite it being the end of summer.

Margaret bustles about the room, fussing over me. My hair, my makeup.

The dress is black. A little joke I thought would taint the day like a drop of ink in water.

Not sure I can find the humor in it now.

I should never have allowed things to get this far, to actually reach the point where there was no going back.

Outside, a crowd of well-wishers and sycophants gather to show their support for Marco. To garner favor with him.

Kiss his ass.

To see him marry his fucking ex-stepdaughter.

Another outrageous fact that might have me in stitches. If I wasn’t so fucking terrified.

If I had an ounce of control over the situation.

All I can do is what I am told.

As it’s always been. As far back as I can remember.

I’ve never had a choice.

I do what I'm told.

At least since the Sinful appeared in my life. Or maybe it reaches back further.

“Miss Hellena, your flowers,” Margaret mutters softly. She’s trying her best to stay positive. But she can see that I’m broken.

That I’m not the glowing bride I should be on this day.

It should be them.

My guys.

My lovers.

Not a villain, a monster out of a nightmare.

Sheer white and red flutters outside the window in the breeze.

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