Chapter 31
Chapter 31
The door to my office opened, and Vivian walked in with a broad smile on his face. “I saw the news, man. Congratulations.” He said.
I smiled, dropped my pen, and leaned against the chair. “Thank you.”
He sat and crossed his legs majestically. “So tell me, were you nervous?” He asked with a curious brow.
I was nervous when I asked Imela to marry me, but with Cecil, “No, I wasn’t.” I replied with a shake of my head, adding, “When it’s time to make the move, you know.”
His eyes flickered, and he nodded. “I guess I will take a thing or two from your book of confidence and follow in your footsteps with Julie.”
I wanted to tell him there was only misery in store if he followed my path, but I didn’t want to dash his confidence to the ground.
“Have you shown Julie your tattoo?” I asked, changing the topic.
“I’m meant to show her in person, not over the phone,” he answered, giving me a duh look.
That made sense.
There was no way around it, so I was just going to ask. “Do you remember much of what happened that night at the tattoo parlour?” I asked with a narrowed brow.
He shrugged. “I was drunk; most of my memories are vague. I only remember calling Julie at the bar and taking a picture right after the artist finished his work. A few details here and there, but not so much.” He mumbled towards the end, and he scanned his brain for more information. It had none, though.
“Did you at any point hear me call Imela’s name at the shop?”
His brows furrowed at me. “Your missing and yet–to–be–found ex–wife? No, I don’t remember that; I was
more focused on myself. Why do you ask?”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Because that tattoo I got…” I trailed off.
“The bridge one?” he supported.
I nodded. “That very one. It wasn’t a bridge–it was, but it was also Imela’s name, and Cecil saw it and
recognised it.” I answered.
“Fuck!” His eyes widened, and his hands ran up to cover his mouth. “How are you still alive?”
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“She was hurt and didn’t think I loved her, and I had to assure her that I did, so I asked her to marry me,” I confessed everything in one single breath.
It took Vivian a few seconds to digest it all. “So you didn’t ask her to marry you because you wanted to spend eternity with her, but because you wanted her to hate you less.” He put it together and sounded a little disappointed.
In my defence, “I knew I was going to marry her someday. Either that or I’ll spend the rest of my life
alone.”
“Getting a tattoo of your ex–wife is crazy.”
He didn’t have to tell me about it.
I’ve tried not to think about it–her. It was the only way I could move on from the betrayal, the pain, and the guilt. The pain came from the betrayal, and the guilt came from my actions.
The last time I saw Imela was the day she went missing. I had my hands around her neck, and that wasn’t the best version of myself. I promised I would kill her if she brought herself back into my path. I
meant every word because I was still hurting from her betrayal.
Two days later, I saw posters all over the university declaring her missing. The students claimed they saw her leaving the university’s parking lot around five p.m. two days before; a report said they saw someone matching her description heading towards Harvard Bridge. While rumours flew that she had committed suicide, her family didn’t accept that and kept searching for her.
I believe the rumours. Ela had begged me to kill her in the parking lot, and she meant every word.
Perhaps she couldn’t take the shame of the reality she created anymore. Since her death didn’t come at
my hands, she took another path.
I grieved at her disappearance because, despite everything she did to me, I never stopped loving her. I was grieving with guilt because I was one of the last people to see her before she went missing, and I was
not nice.
It’s been over four years, and the anger, pain, and guilt remained, so I tried not to think about it. I still
think about her, but only the happy times.
Why did I opt for a bridge in the first place? Of all the things I could have chosen to have tattooed on my skin, why did dumb drunk me choose a fucking bridge?
Closure? The Harvard Bridge was the last place the love of your life was last seen, and you thought getting it would bring you a little closer to her.‘ The voice in my head replied.
‘Shut the fuck up,‘ I hissed.
“I need to remove the tattoo,” I told Vivian, breaking the silence. “I should never have gotten it.”
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“While I sympathise with you, the tattoo needs at least eight weeks to heal before you can take it off. If you are unlucky, you need to wait four months.”
That means I’m fucked!
I growled in frustration and ran my fingers through my hair. “I have so much to focus on; the current messed–up situation of the country, which is drowning the company and leaving no room for a comeback, is one of them. I do not have time to be debating whether or not I love my fiancée, and as long as this tattoo remains on my skin, I will keep answering that line of question over and over again.”
“Yes, man, you are screwed.” He stared at me with his mouth slightly parted.
“Thank you again for being so obvious with the truth I already know,” I replied and rolled my eyes.
“I saw Cecil on the news, though; she looked so happy, so I doubt there would be
That was the thing with Cecil; her mood changed just as fast as the chameleon changed its colour. She’s done that since we became a couple. This was one thing that scared me when it came to her, but knowing she never hid her true feelings from me whenever she was angry gave me hope.
Right after we returned home from our first official outing as an engaged couple, the smile she had worn on her face faded, and she pulled away from me. We were home, and there was no need for charade
anymore, I guess.
“If I had known what I was getting, I would not have gotten it,” I revealed earnestly. I didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Cecil. We have come a long way.
Once, my world revolved around Imela, and this would have been okay then, but it wasn’t anymore. I
moved on and found better.
She was my past; Cecil was my present and future.
As I closed from work, I instructed the driver to take me to the flower shop to get Cecil her favourite flower, which was a rose. It would be my way of showing how sorry I was for what I did. Hopefully, we
move past this.
“Mr Plane, the usual?” the shop attendant asked with a smile dancing on her freckle–covered face.
I offered a smile back. “Yes, the usual, and an apology note attached to it.”
She reached for her pen. “What should it say?” she asked, raising her brow.
“I’m sorry, I was a jerk. I will do better.” I replied, and she nodded and walked to the back while I stood, waiting at the counter.
She returned two minutes later with my flower wrapped and the note tucked in. I paid and thanked her.
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I stepped out of the shop, happy with what I got, and approached the car when I saw a face across the road that made me pause in my tracks.
Brown hair, a striking heart–shaped face, brown eyes, full lips, and the perfect glowing skin.
I have deeply etched that face in my soul.
It was the face of Imela, the woman I loved. I held my breath, uncertain whether the person standing across the road was real or if my mind was again deceiving me.
Just like many other times, I blinked, and she was gone.
Love’s Beautiful Mistake
