On my wedding day, I drank a glass of wine my best friend handed me, and after that my mind went blank.
When my husband and my best friend came looking for me, I was lying in a bed with my best friend's new boyfriend.
I took every curse and every blow from my husband, my best friend, and my family.
It was my best friend's new boyfriend, Val Pruitt, who stepped forward, took the beating for me, and shouldered all the blame alone.
Later the two of us ended up together. Val treated me wonderfully, following me everywhere like a shadow.
Then, a few days before our own wedding, Val threw a bachelor party with his buddies, and while I stood there holding the wedding ring, I happened to hear what they were saying.
"Val, you already sacrificed yourself for Muriel Harding by sleeping with Annabel Pruitt, and you got stuck dating her too. Don't tell me you actually want to marry that woman? No way, right? Back when you slept with her, you got so sick you threw up."
"She's a woman Preston Chandler already played with. Anyone would feel a little grossed out."
Val's voice came slow and even.
"Yeah, it does turn my stomach a little…"
The smile froze on my face, and my whole body went cold. So the person he loved most had been my best friend all along.
I'd been branded the woman who stole her best friend's man. In Los Angeles I could barely hold my head up.
Cursed at by everyone I met, my reputation in ruins, I was tormented for three whole years.
And now they were telling me it was nothing but a play they'd written and performed themselves.
I called my grandfather overseas. "Grandpa, I lost. I'll agree to go to France and never come back."
Then I threw the wedding ring into the trash.
1
When I got the wedding ring the two of us had designed together, I couldn't even wait for the wedding day. I rushed to the private room where Val was, wanting to share my joy.
I'd just pushed the door open a crack.
"Val, you already sacrificed yourself for Muriel by sleeping with Annabel Pruitt, and you got stuck dating her too. Don't tell me you actually want to marry that woman?"
"Back when Muriel had you drug her, I remember you hugging the toilet and puking forever before you finally got into bed. You really think you can marry her?"
"Word is you haven't touched her all these years either. Is it because her body's too filthy, and it disgusts you? She's Preston Chandler's leftovers, after all. Anyone would feel a little sick about that."
Hearing what they said inside, my whole body stiffened.
Impossible.
Val doted on me, treated me so well, gave in to me on everything. How could he possibly…
The next moment came Val's cold, heartless voice. "Yeah, it does turn my stomach a little…"
A crash went off inside me. I was nailed where I stood, unable to move, as if I'd been struck by lightning.
"You know what's the funniest part? Didn't you all see the wedding ring Val designed? Muriel stamped out the design model with her foot, and he's saving it for the wedding. Think Annabel Pruitt will be able to tell?"
Standing outside the door, hands shaking, I opened the ring box.
It wasn't the one the two of us had designed together.
It wasn't just the mark of a toe. It was shaped like a middle toe.
If I hadn't looked at it early, if I'd pulled it out on the wedding day, how humiliated I would have been.
"Isn't that a bit much? What if Annabel Pruitt spots it right there at the wedding? Everyone would laugh her to death. Her name's already dragged through the mud, and it'd get stamped right back into it."
Val frowned. He had already promised Muriel, and that wasn't going to change over Annabel Pruitt.
"Then just make up some excuse and gloss over it."
I threw the ring into the trash and left without looking back.
Three years ago.
The day Preston Chandler and I got married.
Muriel insisted on dragging me off to drink, and she introduced her new boyfriend to me too.
I figured I'd have to give toasts later anyway, so a little wouldn't hurt. But after I drank it, I didn't know anything anymore.
When I woke up, Muriel was on top of me, hitting me and cursing me, and Preston Chandler's face was dark as he screamed that I had no shame, loud enough that everyone there turned to look.
Preston Chandler let a whole crowd pull out their phones, film me, curse me, point at me.
It was Val who rushed in front of me.
He blocked all of it, said it was his fault, even offered to take responsibility for me.
For three years he was attentive to my every need.
And now it came down to one word: disgust. No wonder he never touched me again after that one time.
I'd thought it was respect. I never imagined it was revulsion.
