Midnight Sirens

Cheap Champagne and congratulations flowed all night. Camera flashes blinded me as we changed poses every time a new guest coveted a personalized keepsake. I sat staged, fresh-faced with glossed lips in a pure white princess-style ball gown. He loved me in white. My curls were tamed and pinned tightly on top of my head, a string of cubic zirconias draped around my neck.

A porcelain doll ready to be taken home unwrapped, carelessly tossed about, and once chipped away by negligence, placed on a dusty shelf to live out the rest of my days. Tradition.

The clanking of silver on crystal disrupts my premonition. No, tradition. Like my mother, his mother, and their mothers before them. Each trophy half-heartedly dusted off and allowed to stretch before preparing the new offering for the collection. Passing down the laws of preservation before she reclaims her cobweb-infested spot on the family shelf.

"How lucky I am to have such a lovely bride." The coos of endearment and teary eyes almost made me believe he does love me, we'll be different, better. "I remember my wedding like it was yesterday. The happiest day of my life." Lie after lie spouted from the lips of husbands who came before. "Marriage is about compromise." The patriarchal choir sang, weaving the illusion needed to uphold these traditions.

We met like most soulmates, love at first sight, sparks, and all that jazz. I saw him reading a book across the office and couldn't help but notice the subtle way he caressed each page. So gently, thoughtfully, intentionally, as if they would crumble into dust beneath his fingertips.

My yearning activated.

He was my breath, a swirl of life drifting along just a second off beat. Loving him was all I ever needed.

"I do!" He chimed. My heart skipped a beat. There's no going back now. Dozens of meticulously placed red roses, candles, and chairs. Hours spent on hand-steamed linen, table placards, and seating arrangements. "It has to be tulle, darling, it's tradition." My mother chirped. Tradition, the word rattled around, souring in my stomach.

" I do." 2 little words rolled off my lips, no louder than a whisper, sealed my fate.

"Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant looked out into the sea of joyful ignorance, and my palms began to sweat. "By the power vested in me by the state of Kansas, I now pronounce you Husband and wife!" The complicit cheers were deafening. I winced as he lifted his mother's century-old, tear-stained lace veil, helping to conceal my makeup-caked bruises. "My beautiful bride, I am yours, and You Are Mine."

I had to make him love me again. I did everything I could, cooked, cleaned, smiled as he dragged his boots across my back. Why won't he say it anymore? It's just 3 words!! 

The clock clanged half past 9.

Where are you, where are you, where are you?!

"You're late again, every week it's the same thing!" I shouted from the living room's Persian rug. Hair done up, lips painted rose. Desperate for his attention as he shoved past me on his way to his safe place. His own piece of heaven in this hellscape we had created. His true and only lover.

I began to ball, a tattered lily pad in a pond of endless tears. He loves me in white.

Memories from times long passed fuel my every move. The dance of our life, every clumsy plié, every sloppy pirouette, is a part of the masterpiece, the sacrifice.

My long, soft arms reach for the Sky as the contents of my purse rain down on the floor. His steps harshly crushed the trinkets as he raced around our shared prison, flinging pillows, ripping magazines into confetti. I knew what he wanted, but not this time. This time, he will be sober, and we will live happily ever after.

"Where are you, where are you, where are you?" His enraged screeches shattering the fairytale I was creating mid-fantasy.

The collision of the back of his hand with my pleading eyes reverberated off the walls, plastered with pictures of times we'll never have again.

Black rivers of thick mascara cascaded down my cheeks, carving dark rivers as I heaved, unable to stifle the raw wails of despair that tore from my throat. The chaotic clatter of slamming drawers and the harsh screech of suitcase buckles echoed through the chipped and dented walls of the bedroom. The hem of my nightgown fluttered against the chilling night air, marred by crimson smears that spread like a haunting bloom with each agonizing step he took away from me. Desperation surged through me as I clung to his brown corduroy pant leg, gripping it with the ferocity of my love and longing.

When my body crumpled against the cold marble floor, the shock of the hard surface jolted me, yet his unwavering gaze bore down at me from his imperious vantage point, his expression a mix of indifference and resolve. With an off-key melody, he sang, "I'll be back..." The words hung in the air, glazed with false promise. As the final click of the lock echoed like a gunshot, I was left drowning in silence. My streams of sorrow swelled into oceans, saturating the delicate fabric of my once-spotless white silk nightgown, now bespeckled with the weight of my heartbreak.

I curled myself into a tight ball, my arms encircling my knees, rocking gently back and forth on the unforgiving floor as I whispered his beautiful lie over and over to myself, "he'll be back..." The words became a fragile mantra, a desperate hope clinging to the remnants of my shattered illusion.

As I started to succumb to the void, a gentle tapping grabbed hold of my consciousness. The tapping escalated from inquiring to demanding. The pounding engulfed me, reigniting my senses. Again, feeling the coolness of the smooth stone against my skin, the dampness of the ever-growing crimson bloom sending prickles down my motionless body. The deafening sound of the door splintering before it exploded open, blanketing me in shards of wood chips and snowflakes. My eyes fluttered open as the clock chimed midnight. A dark figure swept in, cloaking me in his embrace. The Sirens sang in harmony, a ballet of blue and red orbs soothing me as I drifted back into the abyss to wait, "He'll be back, He'll be back... He'll be back..."

Ash fell, disfiguring the freshly fallen snow into sludge. The aroma was a complex perfume of chocolate chip cookies, hung mistletoe, a display of cherished keepsakes, shared memories, and flesh.