best day of your life

http://www.flickr.com/photos/curve/3881044088/

How much fucking longer are we going to have to stand here? My face is beginning to hurt. Jesus, as if it wasn’t bad enough already, she bloody chose this prat to do the photos. Another idea from ‘bride” magazine or whatever that pile of useless crap is called. There are so many in the bedroom now, I can’t get to the wardrobe anymore. Or maybe her mother talked her into it. Wouldn’t put it past her. Interfering bitch.

It was meant to be simple. Hah. Simple my arse. But it’s not simple at all. Not in any way. And it’s too late to say anything. I should have…I couldn’t have… I couldn’t. I knew though – I knew the minute she came through arrivals. That cold dread that ran through me when I saw her. .I knew then and I should have said something but I couldn’t hurt her like that. All those thousands of miles, all those hopes, that happiness in her voice when I suggested it. I didn’t know it would be like this. This just makes it worse – the flowers, the dress, him over there, prancing around with his light meters and whatnot.

Look at her. She is loving being the star of the occasion. Look how her face is lit up. That’s not all tungsten you know. Imagine how she’d be if I’d said something – if I’d told her how I felt. You see? It wasn’t possible. Who could do that to someone? It’s not like it’s her fault or anything.

God there was no one I could even talk to about it. We don’t do we? Men, I mean. We put our mobiles on the bar, and we eye up the birds, and we talk about sport. We don’t talk about feelings – not like they do. I tried once – he’s a good mate – got married himself not so long ago. He slapped me on the back and said, “Nerves, Dave – that’s all it is. You’ll be fine. Let me get you another – what was it?”

Gave up after that, but it won’t go away. It’s there each morning when I wake up, and it’s there last thing at night; the panic. I’m a good guy. I thought I was anyway, but if I’m so good how can I be doing this? How could I hurt her though? She would be destroyed. How could I do that to someone?

Well, it’s done now. I’ve gone and fucking done it. When David Bailey over there has finished, we have the reception to get through. Guess if I drink enough it won’t be so bad. Yes it will. What have I done? Oh shit what have I done?

Maybe I can make it work. Maybe – maybe it won’t be so bad. I like her – who wouldn’t? Look at that face. She’s beautiful – everyone says so. She’s a wonderful person – bright, happy, good job. It’s just – it’s just – wrong. I have lied so often I can hardly bring myself to say the truth – ok – here goes – I just don’t love her. Not like that. I like her, but I don’t love her. Fuck that sounds dreadful. What kind of bastard says that on their wedding day eh?

Just drifted into it – let myself get carried along – it’s no excuse is it? God I am a bastard. Too late now for all that. I’ll try. Maybe it won’t matter. Maybe the friendship will turn into love. Sometimes it does, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

I still don’t believe what I’ve just done. It doesn’t feel real. Each vow we had to repeat – it was like slapping her in the face. Felt so bad. We held hands awkwardly at the end. Then the kiss of death on that soft cheek. How could I? I just didn’t know – never thought you could get caught up like this – let things get so far.

Too late now. Make the best of it. Only thing I can do. I’ll try so hard. Maybe we can make it work.

“Excuse me mate, my shoulder’s gone numb against this beam. Are we wrapping it up soon? I think the reception’s about to start”