Page 99 of Hell Breaks Loose

The last three steps are monumental. Impossibly high steps, weighed down by my doom plated pumps.

In another life, the thought would make me smile despite the situation.

In another life, I would tell Marco to go fuck himself.

A hand guides me into place in front of the minister, Grico, or Lonnie, or Vance. All three of them encircle the podium. Guarding Marco. Guarding me.

Looking out once over the audience, all I see is black and white. Vapid stares.

All worshiping at the altar of Marco’s power.

Grinning with maniacal, fake joy. It is a celebration, after all.

But this isn't my wedding. This isn't the day I imagined.

In my heart, I am dying. Not getting married.

And even if tonight, he tries to have me…

I won’t be present.

So I focus on those three faces. The loves of my life. My reasons for living.

Tucking them so deep inside my soul that they’ll never be torn away, until I find a way to end everything once and for all.

A final choice.

My choice.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Get on with it,” Marco snaps.

His shoes are the only part of him I see, my head lowered, my eyes downcast.

“Look. Up,” he orders.

I comply.

Another few words, lost on me. Until I feel that hand again, shifting me into position, facing the officiant. I wonder if they held a gun to his head, too, forced him to preside over this debacle.

Another nudge from the right.

That’s when I realize that the man at my side is Sing.

Keeping me in place. I must have been wavering.

Slouching.

He offers me the slightest bit of support and comfort by staying near to me.

Or that’s what I tell myself.

Because I am truly alone here, surrounded by only Marco’s people. His guards. His associates. His family members.

My ears don’t register the first few things the minister says, his voice a shrill rasp, echoing out over the crowd. But the tone follows a pattern, something we’ve all heard a million times on TV.

Or maybe he says something inspiring.

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