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Seven years together, and Garry Gilbert never once let himself touch me.
Three days before the wedding, I found tens of thousands of intimate videos on his laptop, all with the same woman.
I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I booked a flight leaving the country on the wedding day.
He kept playing his one-man show, sure of himself the whole time.
On the wedding day the bride ran. And he was the one who lost his mind.
1
The videos ran long and short.
From the cheap motels near campus to a rented apartment, and then to the terrace of a hotel overlooking the sea.
In them, Garry was eager, half out of his mind, every inch of muscle in his body speaking of raw, animal hunger.
A version of him I had never seen.
My hand on the mouse started to shake, and my stomach heaved.
I stared at those images for a long time.
Until my phone rang. It was a director from company headquarters.
"Myra Harding, that overseas branch head position I mentioned last time. Have you thought it over? We need an answer by next week."
I drew a long breath, and my own steadiness startled me.
"I've decided. I'll take it. I'll send you my paperwork later."
"But aren't you getting married next week?"
"Not anymore. Work comes first."
I hung up and immediately booked the earliest flight out on the day of the wedding.
Choosing my seat, my hand finally started to tremble past all control.
Seven years, and there had always been an invisible line between us.
I didn't touch his laptop or his phone; he never asked about who I spent time with.
I had asked him once why he couldn't be possessive, the way ordinary couples were.
He only froze for a second at that, then smiled and stroked the top of my head.
"Because I trust you. So you should trust me without conditions too."
"Those guys only pretend to care on the surface, because they want a girl's body. I'm different."
Every time things heated up between us, he would ease me back at just the right moment.
Said he wanted to save the best of it for our wedding night.
I believed every word.
I even bragged about it to my best friend, quietly.
Said I'd struck gold, that a man who knew how to treasure a woman like that was hard to find these days.
Only now did I understand.
It was never about treasuring me.
He was just keeping himself pure for another woman.
Seven years of being moved by my own story, and now it was one complete joke.
If I hadn't left my own laptop behind tonight and borrowed his on the spot, I might have stayed in the dark for the rest of my life.
Something a friend of his had let slip when he heard we were getting married came back to me now.
"You're really getting married? You sure it's not just age catching up and settling for it? I seem to remember some people used to buy condoms by the case."
"Or is it that unless it's Lucinda Pruitt, anyone will do?"
Back then I hadn't noticed the panic in his eyes. I had just clung to his arm, all confidence.
"We're soul mates. We don't bother with any of that."
However firm I sounded then, that was exactly how much the slap stung now.
A bitter little smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.
I opened our chat. The last message still sat there from a day ago.
A wedding photo I'd saved online.
A man lying on the sand, a woman straddling his lap, the two of them looking close and happy.
I had asked:
"Should we do our photos like this? The other poses are all the same, no imagination. Want to practice tonight?"
He hadn't replied.
I tapped into his profile. His status was one short line:
"Better alone than settle."
Once, I'd believed I was the choice he refused to settle for.
Looking at it now, I'd been laughably naive.
Three days until our wedding.
I set the countdown as my wallpaper.
Every tick of the second hand marked how close our relationship was to its end.
I was about to toss the phone aside when the name "Garry" flashed on the screen.
I answered, and it was one of his friends.
"Myra, Garry's had too much to drink. Come get him. I'll text you the address."
Through the speaker came his friend's frantic shouting.
"Damn it, Garry, what are you doing? Have a few drinks and don't go getting handsy! I'm not gay! You've been holding it in till you cracked, huh?"
"Lucinda..."
Garry's voice made my heart skip a beat.
On the other end, someone clapped a hand over the phone and hung up.
I changed, went to the entryway, pulled open the drawer, and reached for an umbrella just in case.
My eyes landed on the box of condoms beside it, expired two years ago.
My best friend had given them to me when she found out I was seeing someone, swearing I'd need them.
I laughed at myself and tossed them into the trash.
By the time I reached the door of the private room, a shaken voice was coming from inside.
"Lucinda, thank god you're here. You didn't see it. Garry almost ate me alive just now! I barely kept my dignity intact!"
I drew a breath, forced up a smile, and pushed open the door.
The laughter inside cut off at once, every face gone awkward.
The man who was supposed to marry me in three days had another woman pinned down on the couch, his face wild.
And that woman's face, I'd just seen it in his laptop, more times than I could count.
