Eric Church What I Almost Was Novels & Stories

On the day of my wedding, I accidentally oversleep by six hours. By the time I rush to the venue, my fiance, Jared Marshall, has already gone through the entire ceremony with his first love. He looks at my sweat-drenched face and just smiles and comes clean. "I'm the one who drugged you. Amber wanted a wedding, and it's no big deal, so I gave her one." As if worried I might cause a scene, he adds casually, "Be good, and I'll take you to get our marriage license next week. Besides, making a fuss now won't change anything. "Look, the wedding dress isn't even your size." My gaze settles calmly on the bride, who is wearing the gown I've spent nearly half a year choosing. Everyone holds the

"Because I wanted to be there for you, to help you heal and become a stronger version of yourself. I didn't want to take advantage of you when you were at your lowest." I never expected him to consider so much for me. I also didn't know that Evan was kicked out of the monastery for being a lazy good-for-nothing on the day of my wedding. He ended up on the streets and died of a severe illness.

“They are mad. The article in the newspaper provoked them,” The crowd began to push toward us. “Quick, you must get inside. We will try to speak to them,” Eric said. “But who are they?” “A religious sect,” Eric replied then he lowered the pitch of his voice and whispered. “They are homophobic and for some reason, they think all the allegations in the article about this place are true,” I swallowed hard and stood my ground. “Get inside, now!” Eric yelled and quickly opened the door. Before I could blink, he pushed me inside, forcing me to disappear into the room. I stood in front of the closed door, watching the growing crowd.

The nurse advised Erica. Hearing an answer that was beyond her expectations, Erica had to personally scan her surroundings to find out the truth. She finally realized that this was neither heaven nor hell. She wasn't dead; she was in the hospital. The white color contrasted with the yellow of the sun, making the room feel less cold. There was a slight warmth, and the scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Erica withdrew her gaze after learning that she was still on Earth. So God had given her another chance. Erica wondered if she was happy. Erica seemed to have forgotten something. And it was true; she had overlooked that this was what she had been imploring for while in a coma.

It was a very big and modern church. Eric, on the other hand, was nervous as hell. He wanted today to be perfect. Not for him but for Annie. Eric, his Dad, Best man and the groom’s men got to the church on time. By then most of the guests had arrived and had settled down. Dylan and Eric made their way to the aisle and soon enough it was announced that the bride was around. It was only then Eric let out a sigh of relief. The whole congregation stood to their feet upon the announcement. First to step in was the little bride and the ring bearer.

When the tone came, I did not hang up. “The police were here,” I said into the voicemail. My voice sounded wrong—low, strained, stripped of every careful surface I used with my parents. “They asked about Corbin. They asked about the night of my birthday. People in this town are talking about a gunshot from the east wing, and my not going to church is making them look at me. I told them I returned hymnals and went to confession. I don’t know if they believed me.” I closed my eyes.

“And?” “And then I think about what I almost lost.” He exhaled. “That’s worse.” Lisa turned toward him. “You didn’t lose yourself today. You found the part of you that knew when to stop.” He considered that. “Tessy said something similar.” “Then maybe it’s true.” He kissed her forehead, lingering. “Thank you for not letting me turn fear into control.” “Thank you for choosing us,” she replied. Outside, the city continued its endless hum—money moving, power shifting, deals being made and broken.

I asked nonchalantly. "Because," Eric breathed, his voice heavy with regret and bitterness, "I have gazed into the face of the devil—and it is not you, Jeffery. Edward Richards is going to unleash something apocalyptically evil. If we don't stop it, all that we have ever loved will be nothing but ashes." He released the cuffs with a smooth motion, the metal falling from my wrists with a clatter. I rubbed them, looking at him suspiciously. "Do you expect me to believe that you developed a conscience overnight?"

There must be something Damian feeds all of them. “I’m not, ma’am. It’s just a few tips for survival. The police might stop by your house after and you have to tell them the right words. If you dined with us for months, that just makes you a part of us.” “I don’t give a shit, Eric,” I spit. “I’m not sworn by whatever satanic bullshit that binds you together.” “You should.” His face mirrors nonchalance. “You’re one of us now. Take care and say hello to my old friend.” Then peeling out the parking space, he speeds down the street with his tail lights blinking at me.

"All those years we almost lost each other. Femi. Sophia. The distance. And now we're here. Still almost." He took her hand. His fingers were cold. "But not yet." "No. Not yet." "Then let's stop almost losing each other. Let's start almost staying." She looked at him. "That's the same thing." "No. It's different. Almost losing means we're waiting for something to go wrong. Almost staying means we're trying to make it right." The next day, Grace called. Maya answered on the second ring. "Hi, baby." "How are you guys?"