His eyes are only for the bridesmaid that's walking right now, her deep blue dress perfectly accentuating her curves. She's five years older than him, and she's never looked at him twice. But he's been after her since the moment he saw her, nine years ago. Every time she's gotten a new boyfriend, he's been standing in the wings, waiting for her boyfriend to mess up. And it happens every time, but she's never needed his shoulder to cry on.
He knows that he really doesn't stand a chance. He's heard whispers of her once dating the groom, six or seven years ago. And he's heard that she was heartbroken when he broke up with her to go out with her older sister. Being observant as he is – his best friend is fond of calling him a 'stalker', but he's not, honestly! – has caused him to see the brief look that she gives the bride and the groom every time she sees them together. It's recognizable to him; that's the same look he used to give her when she had a new boyfriend. It's one of distress, pain, hate, envy, and many other negative emotions. She's not over him.
She's at the altar now. She gives the groom – his cousin – a look before she steps to the side. She's the Maid of Honor, so her finish means that the bride is coming in. Oh joy – note the sarcasm. He sighs as he – along with the rest of the guests – stands up. The Bridal March plays.
The bride comes sweeping in, gliding down the aisle, nose in the air. The guests around him sigh at the bride's beauty; he snorts in his mind. The bride's too stuck-up for him to think of her as beautiful; that's why he prefers her sister. Because her sister is honest, intelligent, kind, fiery, and a host of other things that turn
Slyly, he chances a glance at her, up at the altar. She's watching her sister, a stony expression on her face, revealing no emotion. But he keeps watching and, slowly, a few tears dripdropdrip off her cheek. They're not tears of joy; they're most likely tears of pain. Why can't she just love a man that's available, that's not going to hurt her, that's not about to get married – why can't she love him?
He watches her throughout the ceremony. He's worried about her. She looks sad and angry, and it's not a good combination. What if she does something drastic? Her sister will be M-A-D if she ruins the wedding in any way. And she doesn't need to kill the bride for being selfish, not tonight at least.
And then…his world stops. The minister asks the bride if she takes the groom to be her lawfullyweddedhusband, and the bride is squealing Ido,Ido,Ido! Her eyes start to blaze, and he tenses up. And now she's runrunrunning, and she's throwing her bouquet into the audience. Tears are streaming down her face, and he just sits there, trying to process what the hell is going on.
Now it's too late. He stands, but she's gone. He sits down slowly, a few tears gathering in his eyes. Sits through the ceremony – in agony, nonetheless – but he's not focused on it. The ceremony ends, and he stiffly follows everyone else to the reception. Stays only long enough to congratulate the newly-weds in a monotone. Then he goes home to wonder what happened to the Maid of Honor that he's so in love with.
He's just heard the news. She killed herself. Cut an X across her heart, and reminded them all that her one true love was her sister's new husband.
He's sitting on a secluded bench in his family's garden. He's staring at everything and nothing. Trying to make sense of it all. Where did it all go so wrong?
If only…if she had seen…if he'd told her… His thoughts are jumbled, and he's not exactly following his own train of logic. He's confused, hurt, depressed. She may have lost the love of her life to another woman – her sister, no less – but he's experiencing what it feels like to lose the love of his life to the Grim Reaper.
This is his personal end-of-the-world. Because she was his world, and now she's gone, and he has nothing to keep him stable. He has nothing left to live for. Knows that he'll never love again. He'll be eternally loveless; she's taken all his love – and his heart – to the afterlife.