She walks towards him across the floor, heart beating wildly in her chest, mood swinging erratically, from happy to nervous to excited. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on him as she weaved her way through the crowd.
As she watched, as she drew closer, he turned his head and gazed across the room. A chill crept into her stomach as she followed his eyes.
She saw her sister, looking her radiant, beautiful self, and she saw the way he was staring at her so intently.
The dread struck her hard in her stomach. Panic strangled her. He couldn't…she couldn't…it was her imagination. She told herself that she was just being paranoid, but her instincts knew better. Her stomach muscles clenched. Oh crap she felt sick, really sick. She couldn't breathe. Her head felt weird and she wanted to bolt into a bathroom. Yet still her legs carried her forward, still denial whispered sweet nothings in her ear. George hadn't done anything. He was still single. He wasn't going to do anything either, not with her sister…not with…
She was next to them. She spoke. They seemed unaware of the forced tone, unaware of the light-headedness, suffocating panic and tense everything.
She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. Nevertheless she was forced to stand frozen, unable to prevent everything unfolding in front of her eyes, like some trapped bystander seeing their worst nightmare occur and unable to look away because of the sheer shock.
When they walked away together…that was when the wound sliced deep into her and she felt herself slowly start to leak away. The pain was dull and unreachable. She couldn't smother it or heal it because it was too deep to reach. The wound gaped and leered and mocked her. She could not ignore it because it refused to let her forget it was there. Not a moment passed without the realisation, or the memory, slipping across her mind and then a fresh wave of panic would envelop her, and she bent over double with a groan, wishing that her stomach ache would relax. Sleep eluded her because she wouldn't stop thinking, imagining the two of them, replaying the evening, or her life with George up till that point and how it was all going to change.
So instead she waited for news, cleaned something to keep herself busy. Not knowing was killing her, but knowing the truth could possibly hurt more.
So commenced her life of pain for the next few months, a life full of jealous twinges, panicked glances at private telephone calls and sickened looks at the passionate kisses.
At least they still hardly knew each other though. She still had time. It wasn't as though they were going to get married yet. That was one small blessing she could count, that she wouldn't have to be bridesmaid to that particular union for a very, very long time.