Page 63 of London's Calling: Part 1
But you forgot to tell her about it!
Priest and Fletch guide me to the back of the ballroom, away from the rest of the guests, knowing I’m close to losing it. Yeah, I hid my true feelings about Roni from them, hell, I was even hiding them from myself, but we all knew how I felt about her; how I feel about her.
Priest passes me a beer as Clayton begins saying his vows. I swallow down the bile that rises as he gushes over her, spouting bullshit promises about taking care of her, loving her above others until death parts them.
Death is coming sooner than either of them think if I don’t get out of here.
“Just look away, man, turn it off,” Priest urges, steering me further away.
I allow it, but I can’t stand still, so I pace. I should have listened to my dad. I should have put a stop to this the second I realised I was falling for her. I was a fucking idiot.
I hear her voice as she begins repeating the reverend’s words, and I have to look. I have to see her face when she says it. And I need her to see me too. I slam my beer down and push through the crowd toward the front of the stage before either Fletch or Priest can stop me. I come to a halt beside the vodka luge, directly in her line of sight.
I can feel Franklin’s smug glare from here, but I keep my focus on her, Roni fucking Hart who is about to break my heart.
“Do you, Veronica Sophia Hart, take thee, Clayton Eric Simmonds, to be your lawful wedded husband?”
I hold my breath, and it feels like forever before her eyes meet mine. When they do, it’s devastating.
Holding my stare, she says, “I do.”
And just like that, it’s done.
The only woman I’ve ever loved just married someone else.
The crowd claps and cheers as I back up away from the sight of Clayton taking Roni in his arms and kissing her. Before I turn away, I see Franklin laughing, so when I pass the vodka luge, I give it a sharp shove, knocking it off the table. It crashes to the ground with a loud clap and shattering in to a dozen chunks, which skate across the floor, causing people to jump back.
“Congratu-fucking-lations!” I bellow as I exit the ballroom.
“Mickey, Mickey, fuck, man. That was…fuck! Hold up,” Priest calls behind me.
But I don’t stop and march straight out the front doors only to be accosted by two cops.
“Mr Rawlins, Mickey Rawlins?”
I ignore them and attempt to walk around them, but they block my every move.
“You need to come with us, please?”
“No thanks.”
“I have to insist, Mr Rawlins,” says the first cop who spoke to me, holding his hands up.
I stop moving and pin him with glare. “Am I under arrest?” I snap, getting in his face.
“Not at present?—”
“Then I have nothing to say to you.” I try again to move around them, furious when the cop won’t let me pass.
Priest steps in front of me, pushing me back and preventing me from laying out a cop. Voices echo around me, but all I can hear is Roni saying I do.
Two words that play on a loop in my head, blocking out everything else.
Two words that without context don’t mean much.
Two words that have devastated me, broken me, split my heart in two and stomped all over it.
My body is burning, my eyes glaze over and still the words play over and over. Building to a crescendo of agony so deep, so visceral, so raw, there is no way to stop what’s coming. The eruption is ruinous and savage and destructive.
