Black Swan Affair(4)

By: K.L. Kreig

My shoulders shake with silent terror and morbid thoughts. Tiny stings of misery run in droves down my face. They hurt. I hurt. Every part of me hurts. I take it back. I’m not numb. I’m nothing but a distorted ball of pain.

The past pelts me as I struggle to remember every touch, every word, every memory. There are so many. So many.

Our lives are eternally interwoven. Our futures together already penned. They have been since the day of my birth.

He can’t die.

We were just starting our lives together. The way it was meant to be.

I can’t go on without my soul mate.

I bore my watery gaze into the man in front of me, the one who loves me so much, and spit venomous, hateful words. Words I don’t mean but can’t call back now that they’re out. “I wish it was you,” I say heartlessly, callously.

I ignore the hurt in his eyes. Hurt my words inflicted. He’s already devastated enough after how things ended between us weeks ago, and here I am…adding to it with my heartless tantrum.

I wish I could make myself care.

I am destroyed. I will never survive this if he’s taken from me.

“If it would save you even a moment of pain, Maverick, then so do I,” is his quiet, sincere reply.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t release his grasp, even the tiniest bit. He’s holding me here, tethering me to a place I’m not sure I want to be a part of anymore.

He doesn’t move, so neither do I.

We both sit just like this, leaning on each other, praying like we’ve never prayed before.

I park my car in the desolate, dim parking lot, turn the key to the off position, and sit there for a few moments, gathering my wits for the day ahead. The glint of my wedding set catches in the streetlight, drawing my eye. I hold my hand out and study it, ignoring the French manicure that’s now grown out.

It’s stunning. A near flawless three-carat cushion cut surrounded by a carat of pavé diamonds, all set in platinum. The wedding band boasts another two carats of round diamonds that span the entire length of the circle.

It was bought with love. It was given with trust. Neither of which I deserve.

I stare at the expensive piece still in disbelief that I did this.

I’m married.


To Kael Shepard.

My best friend since I could walk.

Brother to the man I really want.

I am now Mrs. Shepard. Ironic. It’s the name I’ve always wanted. This just isn’t exactly how I pictured getting it.

I can’t recall a single second of my wedding day after I walked out on Killian. I don’t remember Daddy giving me away. I don’t remember the vows I recited or the cheer of the crowd as Kael and I walked out man and wife. The taste of our wedding cake eludes me, even two weeks later. The chords of our first song are just white noise. The feel of him moving inside me on our wedding night was as if it was happening to someone else while I watched, detached, from above.

This situation is so messed up, I struggle to get my head around it most days. I’m self-destructing. And I don’t know how to fucking stop it.

I haven’t stopped riding an emotional rollercoaster for over two years. Since the day Killian Shepard married my older sister. One second, I’m still in shock and the next, I want to die. Outwardly, I’m portraying the perfect, happy newlywed, but inside all I feel is desperate, lonely isolation. I think that’s probably called despair.

And I’m angry. So fucking angry.

All the time.

With Killian. With Jilly.

With Kael for marrying me, refusing to see what was right in front of his fucking face.

With this godforsaken town and life to which I feel chained.

But mostly I’m angry with me. Why can’t I cut a man loose who spouted his love through cryptic words but showed his true colors through real actions? Why can’t I return the love of a man who treasures me more than air or life or his precious restored 1969 Camaro? If I could, I’d go back in time and change so many things. The first being: I would never let myself fall hopelessly in love with Killian Shepard. Liar. Betrayer. Saboteur.

And guilt? God…the guilt. That emotion has this entire despicable scenario wrapped up in a nice, neat little bastardized package, tied up tight with a bright shiny bow of infamy.

Top Books