“I love him”, I spurt. My hands grip the cold concrete counter top of the bar for stability: both for my life and my inebriated self as I teeter precariously on the bar stool.

“You love him…”, she said slowly, every syllable a stab from Bree’s bright red lips. She grips the bridal sash, squeezing it in a white knuckle death grip. Behind her skewed dimonte clad tiara I can see Ellen and Suz, the rest of the bridal party, out on the dance floor either side of Ben the scantily clad stripper, naive to the floor tiles shifting underfoot.

Mercifully the bartender returns with our Cosmo’s so I can tear my eyes away from her scowl. I don’t know why I continue. Dare I blame the alcohol for my idiocy? But no, I need confess. It came out as a strange concoction of guilt, pride and love.

Clasping the stem of my glass, I down it, gulp by gulp, vodka burning down my throat.

Wiping my mouth, I turn to her, “We have been seeing one another”.

*

Jason wore his mischevious smile, one he had mastered in grade five when the teacher questioned whom had realeased the pet hamster, a secret to this day I have kept. That sunlight grin, even now warmed me as headed over.

“Hot stuff,” he said to me while nodding to the young waitress who had been watching him and his muscular arms since he had entered the cafe.

“Do you feel no shame?” I sat down across from him, an intimate table for two in the back corner, blocked from view by a latticed fake creeper vine. The familiar scent of coffee permeated the room. Murmurs and the brisk thrum of the coffee grinder the background track to our rendezvous. Menus arrive almost immediately. Placing my bag at my feet I unnecessarily brush my black pencil skirt while clearing my throat. “You wanted to see me?” I say, picking up the menu.

“I always want to see you.” I motioned to leave and he laughed. “Okay, no flattery, got it. My apologies.” The overly eager waitress interrupted, uncaring that I’d just picked up the menu. “A black coffee with one and an eggs Benny and…” he looked my way cheekily, “a latte, one sugar with a dash of caramel and a huevos rancheros for the lady.” He winked unabashedly at the waitress, who’s fake grin concelead nothing of the seething jealousy as she looked my way.

“Must you be so encouragble.”

“You wouldn’t like me otherwise,” He sighed and lent back, “I’d like you to meet Bree soon.”

“Bree…” it was as though the name got caught in my throat. “Why not Dannielle, or Tiffany?” A burning sensation started at the back of my eyes; Or me, pined my traitorous inner voice.

“Bree is different,” all boyish innocence in his eyes, “it’s not just physical, you know”.

He should have just hit me. My eyes set alight as tears try to extinguish the hurt. I mean nothing. I’m just a body.

Jason’s face ages 10 years in a second as his brow furrows and he leans forward, no more warm sunshine. “Shit sorry, I did’nt thi… that’s not what I meant...”

My embarrassed feet and tormented mind discover pavement soon after. I still do not know how I found my way home through the tears lashing my face, and the blur of time and space.

He followed me.

My haste had not slammed the door as it ought, and my broken heart could not reject the comfort as he followed me to my bedroom.

The comfort we shared thereafter. Each moment, unashamed and void of sin.

How could one find guilt in such healing solace. He is mine. He has always been mine. He will always be mine.

*

Ice cold liquid hits my face, the one-two: a citric tang of orange and lime up my nose followed with a vodka tinge in my eyes. My white halter neck mini dress now fashioning cranberry splatters.

“You fucking bitch,” came a high pitched war cry as the bride-to-be lunged. A violent gnawing at my scalp as my hair gets wrenched out in clumps.

Bless Ellen and Suz, they somehow pull the bobcat off, minimal hair going with. I hold on to the dance floor as though on a gravitron ride, my stomach swirling; I want to get off.

4 sparklings, 2 mohito’s and 3 cosmopolitans singe my asophagus and splatter accross the dance floor. Guttural heaving to house beats, a final hurrah to the bridal shower festivities.

*

An icepick chips at my skull as I wake to the familiar ringtone of uptown girl. With a dry throat and a gymnastic gold medalist for a stomach I try to sit up, blindly reaching for Billy Joel hiding somewhere in my doona cover.

I clasp my mobile and bring it to my face as it rings out.

14 missed calls from Jason.

Shit.

The iceberg of memories resurfaces. My confession. My hair loss. Ben’s muscular arms placing me in a taxi.

I float out at sea a minute, all around me only the empty promise of the horizon past the rough ocean waves.

Uptown girl starts up again.

I can’t.

I push Billy back into the maze of cushion and fight my way to the kitchen. Digging around the cupboards I find my merciful life raft, the last remaining lemon flavoured hydralite.

Dry toast and a shower later I crawl back to my comfort fort, and brace myself.

24 missed calls: 18 from Jason, 2 from Ellen, 4 from mum.

I press Jason. It only takes two rings.

“What the fuck?” He shouts at me as though I was the cheater.

“I had too.”

“No. You did’nt” he said, as though trying to bite back his temper.

“I…” the word lodged in my throat unable to budge.

I could hear his baited breath, waiting.

It wouldn’t come. My lips moved, mouth edging around, tasting the words, but no sound came out. And still he waited. Unable to interrupt the unsaid.

I could see us together. Hand in hand. A golden retriever, a 3 bedroom house with a veggie patch, a lawn he’d have to mow. A Bali beach. Amalfi sunset. Eiffel Tower-side cafe with croissant in hand. A crying baby in my arms. My little boys first smile, just like his fathers, as we walk into Disney land.

“I… love you.” I say as the knot in my throat gives way and my eyes start watering. “Its always been you Jason. I’m sorry.”

All I hear is the gentle breaths on the other end of the phone. I swear I hear the knot in his throat, as his mouth fights for control.

Then the disconnect tone beeps.

Breathing becomes difficult as the tears of joy shift to pain in an instant. Heartbreak.

When a loud impatient knock comes from the front door.

“It’s Jason!” Comes the shout.

And my life finally begins.