Her Crimson Gown

Inspired by Summertime Sadness. It's highly unedited! 

Chaos.

That’s the only word fitting the surroundings. That’s the only word fitting the events that occurred today.

That’s the only word describing her thoughts.

It’s a traffic jam on the bridge. The night is clouded, yet the grey moon is fully on display. The drivers around her are honking continuously, impatient to reach their places of destination.

As for her? She is beyond devastated.

Her hands are shivering on the black steering wheel and her gaze is on the BMW convertible ahead. Occasionally, she glances as the rear-view mirror.

Instead of seeing the bubbly, enthusiastic face that she’s accustomed to, she sees a closed woman – a young woman with eyes that look a thousand years old. A young woman who has just seen what it feels like to lose someone who had this powerful ability to consume her completely.

Her thoughts are revolving around him… his enigmatic nature… his deep, husky voice… his blue eyes – darker than the night’s sky… his sly smile…

She’s thinking about all those times he made her laugh. She’s thinking about all those times when he would put his muscled arms around her shoulders and comfort her.

She’s thinking about how he betrayed her.

~~~~

She can’t believe it’s been two years since she’s known him.

Two years and she couldn’t identify how wrong he was for her.

Oh, how well she remembered the first time she’d met him.

She had been on the verge of recovery. Her parents had died in a terrorist attack a year ago and she was still burning from the pain of their loss.

There was only way to heal herself – books.

Her parents had been ardent readers and in the past few months, she had transformed into a bookworm herself. 

They had met at the bookstore she usually went to. While shuffling through the books in the Mystery section, she’d bumped onto him. 

“I’m so sorry!” She gasped as the books cascaded down the floor, on his polished boots.

She bent down to pick up The Hound of Baskerville and Murder of Roger Ackroyd from the floor.

“I should be sorry.” A deep, husky voice replied.

Slowly, she looked up.

He had bent down next to her, Mysterious Affairs at Styles in his hands.

“H-hi,” She stammered, quite taken aback by the colour of his eyes and the intensity with which he gazed at her.

“Hello there,” He winked at her and gently tugged away the books from her hands. He placed it back on the shelf and added, “You can get up now, you know.”

“Oh – oh, how could I be so silly?” She murmured and got up, feeling utterly sheepish.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Why should I tell you?” She answered back coyly. “You could be a serial killer or a terrorist or something equally heinous!”

“Would you care to tell me why would a terrorist be in a bookstore of all places?” He replied, smirking at her.

“What if the terrorist is a bookworm?” She said, her face breaking into a shy smile.

“If I were a terrorist, I wouldn’t have been in the mystery section of the bookstore.” He pointed out the sign hanging above then and went on, “That would be rather obvious and give me away.”

“That’s true.” She nodded. “So, why are you so interested in mysteries?”

“Because I like being one,” He replied, his voice lowered.

“What?” She questioned, feeling that she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Because I like reading one,” He smirked again. “What about you, beautiful maiden? Why do you like reading mysteries? Why not chick-lit?”

“Mysteries involve a lot of brainwork.” She said, folding her arms across her chest. “And I love challenging my brain by reading such intellectually appeasing books. It gives me great comfort in knowing that I’m not stupid.”

~~~~

Now, she feels like she was a charlatan.

Because in reality, she had been so stupid. She had been so ignorant.

She had not noticed his character at all.

~~~~

A year later, they were still meeting each other. And she had fallen deeply in love with him – to a point that she couldn’t bear to think of a moment without him.

She still remembers that night vividly – it’s etched so deeply in her mind that she can’t forget it, even if she tries.

The sky was splattered with brightly shining stars. They were at the very same bridge that she’s stuck in (right now), leaning against the railing and talking.

Suddenly, his hand dived into his pockets and he extracted out a small box from within it.

“What’s this?” She enquired, trying to look genuinely clueless but she knew what it was.

“I credited you for being much smarter, love.” He grinned and opened the box to reveal a glittering object – a ring.

It wasn’t huge or extravagant – just a simple little diamond on a gold ring. But her heart melted all the same.

“Is it – is it for me?” She whispered loudly, feeling it was too good to be true.

“No, it’s for your precious terrorist friend.” His lips curved into the smirk that always managed to make her heart thud faster. “Of course, it’s for you!”

“So – so does this mean we’re getting married?” She asked, after he’d slid the ring onto her finger.

“When’s the question, love.” He replied and kissed her forehead.

~~~~

Now, she glances at that ring, worn on her ring finger and she is attacked by a myriad of overwhelming emotions – emotions which she cannot explain verbally.

She rests her head on the steering wheel and lets them out – in the most incoherent manner possible.

Her sobs are loud, yet drowned in the cacophony of the honking horns and cussing drivers.

She wants to be reassured. She wants her faith in humanity to be restored.

She wants him to comfort her.

But he’s gone. Permanently.

“Today was supposed to be the best day of my life.” She murmurs between her sobs. “THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”

With each word, she bangs at the steering wheel and tries to let out the dizzyingly overpowering emotions churning within her.

“I WAS GOING TO GET A HAPPILY EVER AFTER!” She screams, banging the steering wheel again. “I WAS GOING TO GET MARRIED!”

~~~~

She remembers how that evening was. She was bubbling with excitement and laughing at everything, even the lamest jokes she’d ever heard.

She remembers sitting in front of her dressing table, her best friend doing her hair into a highly intricate braid. 

She remembers getting up and surveying herself in the mirror.

“My, don’t you look nice today!” Her best friend exclaimed. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m the queen of the world.” She cried out exuberantly and hugged her best friend tightly.

Her best friend led her outside the hotel room, down to the hall where she would get married to the man of her dreams.

Downstairs, she saw her uncle – the only member of her family left. He beamed at her, kissed her forehead and walked her down the aisle.

She saw her future husband, standing at the altar, his trademark smirk on his face and his dark blue eyes shining brightly.

For a minute, everything was perfect. The guests were beaming at her, her uncle was telling her how much her parents would be proud and then –

Three gunshots were fired.

Her love crumpled onto the altar ground and a shrill, banshee-like scream escaped from her lips.

“No!” Somebody warned her, but she found herself rushing towards her dying love.

“Whatever on earth happened?” She wailed, when she reached him. She touched his face and started sobbing, “Why did this happen?!”

“W-what’s meant to b-be,” He coughed and smiled weakly at her. “Wh-what’s m-meant to be, w-will always hap-happen…”

“Not to you and I,” She sobbed, hugging his weakened body tightly. “We have a right to be happy!”

“I l-love you.” He murmured dazedly.

All of a sudden, somebody tried to pull her back. Some people were tugging at her arms and muttering, “Get out of the way, miss. He’s a dangerous terrorist on the loose. He’s killed a lot of lives, miss. Including your parents’.”

“NO!” She retorted. “THIS CAN’T BE TRUE!”

~~~~

But it was true.

She had fallen in love with a man who had murdered her parents.

She now doubts if she could fall out of love with him.

She opens her eyes and she’s decided what she has to do.

She gets out of the car, slams the door shut and weaves her way through the maze of cars to find the railings of the bridge where he’d proposed.

The bridge where she’d decided to pledge her life to a murderer.

When she’s finally found the railings, she leans against it for a minute, trying to catch her breath.

She glances down at her wedding dress – now stained with his crimson blood. She glances at the sky, where the ominous moon is peering down at her. She glances at the water below, wondering how cold would it be.

She knows it’s irrational, to kill yourself over a guy.

But she has no choice. She can’t bear to live with the thought that she’d fallen for a guy who had taken the best parts of her life away from her.  

Resolutely, she climbs over to the other side of the railing and stands there for a minute, her heart hammering in her chest and tears pouring unashamedly from her eyes.

Then, she lets go.

Of her grip on the railing.

Of her grip on her life.