Meeting Again

~Bonnie

The blue light of the laptop screen was the only thing keeping me anchored. I stared at the blinking cursor, my fingers hovering over the keys, but the words I was supposed to be typing had long since dissolved into a blur of static.

The door creaked open, not a tentative knock, but the confident, heavy stride of someone who owned every inch of the air she breathed. My mother.

"You’re doing it again," she said, her voice cutting through the silence of the room.

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She crossed the floor and leaned against the edge of my desk, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That cloud is following you around again, Bonnie. You’ve been acting weird for like a week now."

I didn't look up. "I'm just tired, Mum. School work is piling up."

"Don't give me tired. I know tired. This is something else." She let out a long, dramatic sigh, the kind that usually preceded a lecture on my lack of gratitude.

"Don’t tell me you pestered me for years to get myself a suitable match, and now that I finally found a husband, you’ve decided you don't like him. After all that talk about wanting me settled?"

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I choked it down, turning it into a sharp cough.

"I'm happy for you," I managed to say, though the lie felt like swallowing glass.

"You have a funny way of showing it," she huffed, reaching out to straighten a stack of papers on my desk. "He’s perfect. He’s stable, he’s successful, and he treats me like I'm the center of the universe. What more could you possibly want?"

“I want him to be anyone else,” I thought. “Anyone but the man whose hands I can still feel on my skin.”

How was I supposed to look her in the eye and tell her the truth? How could I explain that the man she was currently measuring for a tuxedo was the same man who had breaking every rule with me?

The irony was a physical weight in my chest. I had spent years wanting my mum to find someone worthy.

And now, she had found him. The only problem was, I knew exactly what kind of man he was, because I’d been the one in his bed.

"I'm happy for you," I repeated, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Really. He’s... exactly what the family needs."

"Good," she said, patting my hand before turning toward the door. "Because the engagement party is coming soon and you'll be the most important person there."

As the door clicked shut, I finally let my head drop into my hands. How was I supposed to let him marry into this family? How was I supposed to stand at the altar and watch my mother say I do to the man who had already ruined me?

________

________

Dinner time. She wanted a family dinner. A celebration of a new beginning, built on a foundation of bones she didn't know were buried under the floorboards.

I stood up, my legs feeling like lead, and moved to the mirror. I looked like a ghost of the girl I was six months ago.

Back then, there had been a reckless spark in my eyes. That was before the bar, before the heavy scent of bourbon and expensive cologne, and before I let a stranger take up residence in the parts of my soul I hadn't yet learned to guard.

I pulled on a sweater that felt like armor and headed downstairs.

The house smelled of rosemary and roasted lamb, the scent of happy families. My mother was in the kitchen, humming a tune I didn't recognize, her movements light and airy. She looked younger. That was the cruelest part.

"He’ll be here in ten minutes," she said, checking her reflection in the hallway mirror. "Bonnie, please. Just a smile. That’s all I’m asking for."

"I'll smile, Mum," I said, the words tasting like ash.

Then, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a tentative ring.

My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. My mother practically floated to the door, her hand trembling slightly with excitement as she turned the brass knob.

"Marcellus!" she beamed.

I stayed in the shadows of the dining room, my hands shoved deep into my pockets to hide the shaking.

"Honey," a voice vibrated through the hallway. Deep. Smooth. A voice that had whispered things to me in the heat of a tangled bed that no mother should ever hear. "You look stunning."

I forced myself to step forward. I had to see it. I had to see the moment the mask slipped, or the moment I realized he was a better actor than I ever was.

Marcellus stepped into the light of the foyer. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, looking every bit the successful, stable man my mother had bragged about.

He handed her a bouquet of lilies, her favorite and then his eyes drifted past her shoulder.

They landed on me.

For a split second, the world stopped. I saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the way the light in his eyes hardened into something sharp and predatory.

He didn't flinch. He didn't turn pale. Instead, a slow, terrifyingly composed smile spread across his face.

He stepped toward me, extending a hand. A hand I knew the weight of. A hand that had traced the line of my hip while he told me he never wanted the night to end.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you again," he lied, his voice a low purr. I hope we can get along better than the last time."

I looked at his hand, then up at his eyes. He wasn't afraid. He was challenging me. He was standing in my mother’s house, wearing her affection like a trophy, and daring me to be the one to break her heart.

"Marcellus," I managed to say, my voice a brittle thread. I didn't take his hand. I couldn't. "The pleasure is all mine."

My mother laughed, oblivious, tucking her arm into his. "Oh, I just knew you two would hit it off! Come, dinner is ready. We have so much to plan."

As she turned to lead him into the dining room, Marcellus paused. He leaned in, just an inch, his breath warm against my ear as he passed.

"Lovely house, Bonnie," he whispered, so low it was almost a vibration. "I think I’m going to like it here."