Page 112 of Accidental Husband
Thankfully, the assholes are completely unaware they're missing their limo.
Jules refuses to tell me where we're going. She directs James to our hotel and instructs him to wait. (We can't wear the same outfits we wore for a lap dance for our wedding, apparently).
We grab our clothes, pick up paperwork at city hall (minutes before closing), head straight to a tiny chapel way down the strip.
It's surprisingly classy. Like an actual church where Elvis gives sermons.
The King marries a couple in matching Joy Division t-shirts.
I nudge Jules. "That could have been our outfit."
She smiles thatI hate yousmile. "So original. How do you do it?"
"I think of what would get the biggest reaction."
"Oh yeah?"
I nodhell yeah.
"That's been our entire relationship, huh?"
"Yeah."
"You're always trying to make me blush."
I nod. It feels good teasing her, but there's so much more I want to say. Ever since that day in elementary school I saw that bitch Sandra mocking Jules for reading at recess, I've wanted to help her.
I want to protect her.
To hold her.
To love her.
I want to show her all my ugly broken parts and find acceptance in return.
It's hard, even thinking it. All my life, I've been sure love was what my parents had.
That it was hurled insults and harsh words and knives in backs.
Dad never hurt Mom. Not physically. But the shit he said, the shit he did behind her back, was as bad as any beating.
He convinced her she was worthless and unloveable until she believed it.
He pushed her until she left. Then he blamed me for it. Turned his insults to me.
He'd hit me when I stepped out of line.
Jules is the only person who knows. The only person who's ever known.
"I now pronounce you, husband and wife," Elvis croons. "Show me some sugar, baby."
The happy couple squeals. They jump into each other's arms and make out like there's no tomorrow.
There's not.
That's what Jules wants. Only tonight.
But then I want—
