Gideon whispered something into Eliana's ear and she immediately led him away. She didn't even spare me a glance as they left.
After the guests had filtered out, I went back alone to the carefully decorated bridal suite and started packing my things. Not long after, Gideon updated his social feed. The short video showed a haze of club lights and booming music. He held a wineglass in one hand and had his other arm wrapped possessively around Eliana's slim waist, winking and mugging for the camera. Her veil was askew, cheeks flushed with drink, her eyes glassy.
The caption read, "Celebrating my sister's newfound freedom! Best sibling times—let certain dogs stop dreaming." It wasn't the words that stung so much as the image. The wedding dress I'd spent six months choosing looked like a joke.
A few minutes later Eliana messaged me.
[Jared, Gideon's still very emotional. I have to stay with him a little longer.]
[What I said at the wedding wasn't heartfelt. I only said it to calm him down.]
[You know about his condition—I had to be tough.]
[Don't be angry, and take it to heart, okay?]
[I'll come back once he's steadier and we'll set a new date.]
Reading those lines, I could practically see her expression as she typed. I picked up my phone, let my fingertip hover for a moment, then slowly typed two words. [No need.]
I'd almost finished packing when the lock clicked and the door opened. Eliana supported a very drunk Gideon into the room.
"Gideon's had too much. He insists on sleeping in our bed and I couldn't say no," she said. "Jared, please understand."
"Please understand." Those words turned like a rusty key in the lock of memory.
Six months earlier, this suite had been brand new. My mother had come over delighted, wanting to sit on the new bed and test the mattress. However, Eliana had brusquely blocked her.
"Auntie, in my hometown we never let outsiders touch the marital bed—it's unlucky."
I still remembered my mother's embarrassed, disappointed face as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Now that rule meant nothing in front of Gideon.
I was too tired to look at her, too tired to argue a single word. I zipped up my suitcase and walked toward the door.
Eliana froze, surprised by my reaction. She asked on impulse, "Where are you going?"
I didn't answer. I didn't even slow my step. There was nothing left to say to someone blind to their heart.
The instant my hand reached for the doorknob, a gust of air came from the side and a sharp, unexpected blow cracked across my face. The force was heavy; heat and pain flared across my cheek.
Gideon had somehow broken free of Eliana. His eyes, bloodshot from the alcohol, glared at me as he jabbed a finger in my direction.
"My sister is talking to you! Scum! Are you deaf?!"
At first I didn't want to engage with him—scenes like this were nothing new after seven years. But my silence only fed his arrogance. He lunged, swinging the half-empty bottle he held, and smashed it toward me.
I turned my head instinctively, but it was too fast, too savage. The bottle struck my temple with a bone-rattling impact. A sharp explosion of pain ripped across my head.
However, he wasn't finished. Pointing at my nose, his voice a mix of malice and madness, he bellowed, "Get out! Scum! You're an eyesore just like your dead mother! Serves her right, she's dead!"
