Today, my only brother is getting married. Right as this is being posted, to be precise. I hate weddings, in general, and I am quite glad I only have to go to the reception. But with weddings on the brain, I decided to look more into what it means to bind yourself to a single person for the rest of your existence, or at least until you decide to sign the divorce papers.
Now, if you have read No More Games, then you should already be familiar with Vinny and Alice. But a new face pops up, and things are a bit twisted behind the scenes. So, enjoy!
(Warning: Content not suitable for readers under the age of 16.)
I let my eyes fall on the picture which has been on my wall since the night my life changed. I can see my own reflection in the glass, hidden inside of her round, cherubic face. I can't smile though, despite the fact that today should be the happiest day of my life.
Emily is happy though. She's been happy since the day I knelt down and asked her to be my wife. She's been happy since I slid the ring on her finger, and funded her dress. She's been happy since we've told Mrs. Johnson, who cried at the news. She's been happy since Mr. Johnson gave us a talk about the joys of marriage.
Me? I'm not happy. I love Emily, don't get me wrong. But I've known her since she was but a child, alone and terrified, being lead into Mr. and Mrs. Johnson's house. I love her like the sister I think she is, instead of the lover she wishes me to be. I can never love her how she needs to be loved, and yet she still said yes.
I have found myself unable to love, not since Alice. Not since the night I headed to bed, dressed in my spaceship blue pajamas, pulled back the covers of my blue spaceship blankets, and found her body there. That was 20 years ago.
I gaze once more at Alice's face as I straighten my tie, and head out the door to the garden, where I will be waiting for Emily to join me.
"You may now kiss the bride," the pastor says, and I obediently lift Emily's veil, pausing but a moment to remind myself that she isn't Alice, no matter how alike they appear. A chaste kiss later has small, scattered claps following the gesture appropriately. Not many people came to our wedding, as many do not approve of it. I am 11 years older than her, having helped raise her in the Johnson home since she was eight years old. Apparently, this causes many people to frown when I announced my plans to take the young girl as a bride.
Mrs. and Mr. Johnson understand though. They know how when I look at Emily, I often see Alice in her place; it grew worse the older she became. Mr. Johnson had talked to me frequently since I confessed my unhealthy attraction to her 14-year-old self, which prompted me to move out of the home. But as she grew older, her affections towards me prompted a different route.
"Wait until she's old enough," Mr. Johnson suggested, holding me against his chest as I cried. "When she's an adult, it won't be a sin."
Now that time has come, and I climb into the limousine with her, 'Just Married!' scrawled along the side windows in white paint. She smiles brightly at me, and I just take her hand, a solid lump in my throat. I briefly wonder if I would suffocate before we reached our honeymoon suite. I hope I do.