I Married The Best Friend Now I Wreck The Story
Tonight, as a fever of one-hundred-and-three cooked me from the inside out, he took the forty-ninth call from that same best friend.
It was a plea for him to go check on the ankle of the female lead, Lily Evans.
My hand, weak and trembling, caught the hem of his shirt. He pried my fingers away without a moments hesitation. "This is the first time I've ever seen Damien care about a woman like this," he said, his voice clipped with urgency. "I have to help him. This is it for him, Audrey."
When I woke up in the hospital, the first thing they told me was that the baby was gone.
Lost in a fog of grief, I saw the comments appear at the edge of my vision.
Over? Who the hell said it was over?
1
My fingers trembled as I dialed a number I hadn't called in years, a number belonging to my childhood friend, the man they were calling the "final boss" villain, the one the comments said was about to jump off a skyscraper.
Youre a pathetic excuse for a villain, I said when he answered. If you cant do the job right, Ill do it myself.
Its just a sprained ankle, Damien. Are you sure youre not overreacting? Audreys burning up. Her fever is almost one-oh-four.
A pause. Then, a long, put-upon sigh from my husband, Marcus.
Alright, alright, I get it Christ, I swear I must owe you from a past life. The first time you ever give a damn about a woman Fine. Im on my way.
I summoned the last of my strength, my arm shaking as I reached out. The moment the bedroom door opened, my fingers managed to snag a fistful of his impeccably pressed shirt.
Dont go, I rasped, the word tearing at my raw throat. It didn't even sound like my own voice. Marcus, I feel really sick.
Audrey, dont be dramatic. He was already pulling away. Lilys ankle is swelling up like a balloon, and Damiens losing his mind. This is the first woman hes ever really fallen for. As his best friend, its my job to make sure he doesnt screw this up.
Gently, but with an unmistakable finality, my husband uncurled my fingers from his shirt.
The soft click of the front door locking sounded like something inside me splintering.
I tried to push myself up, to get the glass of water on the nightstand, but the room tilted and spun. My body hit the cold, hardwood floor with a heavy thud.
The last thing I did before the world went black was dial 9-1-1.
Im very sorry, maam. We werent able to save the pregnancy.
I lay in the sterile hospital bed, the doctors words echoing in the hollow space of my mind.
What would Marcuss face look like if he knew hed just lost a child he never even knew he had?
I waited until noon to call him.
When he picked up, I could hear the triumphant joy in his voice before he even realized it was me. He was clearly talking to someone else in the room.
Damien, you bastard, you better treat her right! Do you have any idea how many times Ive had to ditch my own wife for you two?
He chuckled, then his tone shifted as he finally noticed the call was connected. Audrey? Hey. How are you feeling?
My hand drifted to my stomach, to the place that had so briefly held a spark of life. If you had to choose, I asked, my voice flat, between me and Damiens love story, who would you pick?
There was a definite pause. Then, a light laugh, laced with confusion. Audrey, whats gotten into you? Why would you ask something like that?
Answer me, Marcus.
He didnt. He must have put the phone on speaker. A soft, sweet voice trickled through the receiver, trying to soothe him.
Dr. Cole, it was all Damiens fault for overreacting and dragging you out in the middle of the night. Im sure your wife is just upset. Im fine, really. You should go be with her.
I recognized that voice. It belonged to Lily Evans, the woman my husbands best friend, Damien Blackwood, had been chasing for three years.
Marcuss voice came back, dripping with the fond, patronizing tone he always used when I was being difficult. Did a little fever turn my invincible Audrey into such a sentimental mess? Dont make me look bad in front of Damien He softened his tone, trying to placate me. Listen, honey, I have to cover a shift tonight. Ill be home tomorrow after work, and Ill make you dinner, okay? Be good.
I hung up the phone.
That made things simple.
The truth was, Marcus never even knew I was pregnant. Now, after the miscarriage, the doctors wanted to keep me for observation for a couple of days.
I wouldnt even have to come up with an excuse for not being home.
I lay in that hospital bed for a half an hour, just staring at the strange, transparent comments scrolling across my vision. It took me that long to piece it together.
The world I inhabited wasn't real. It was a story. A long, clich, dark romance novel.
My husband, Dr. Marcus Cole, was a stock character: the loyal best friend to the possessive alpha-male protagonist. The one who would do anything for his bro.
The time Marcus spent by Damiens side would always be more than the time he spent by mine.
And it was all because of Damien Blackwoods obsessive, all-consuming love for Lily Evans. A love story built on a foundation of clichs: possessive stalking passed off as romance, kidnappings, car crashes, and forced proximity. Lily was always getting hurt, and every single time, one call from Damien was all it took for Marcus to drop everythingincluding me.
You know how he is, Audrey, hed always say. Damiens never felt this way about anyone before. I have to help him.
So that was it. My entire life, our entire marriage, was dictated by a plot device. By a character archetype.
A tidal wave of grief and fury crashed over me, stealing the air from my lungs.
Because I was only a few weeks along and otherwise healthy, I only needed two days of recovery at the hospital.
When I got home, Marcus wasn't there.
Valentines Day. Two months ago.
That was the day the test came back positive.
Id planned everything. A candlelight dinner, his favorite wine. I was going to tell him, to surprise him.
I waited all night. Just after midnight, my phone finally rang.
Audrey, Im so sorry, hed said, his voice rushed. Vanessa got taken along with Lily. I have to go with Damien. Eat without me tonight.
At that point, Marcus had already been running himself ragged for weeks, cleaning up messes from Damien and Lilys turbulent romance. I was so worried about him that night, I just sat on the couch until the sun came up.
It turns out, while I was sick with worry, my husband had his arms around another woman.
From the looks of these comments, my worldthis storywas rapidly approaching its finale.
I clutched the discharge papers in my hand, the crisp paper crinkling under the pressure. A chilling, profound sense of absurdity seized my heart.
A side-character romance? A perfect pairing?
My baby was dead. Dead because my husband abandoned me for a scratch on his best friends girlfriend.
And in the eyes of this world, this story, that was just a necessary plot point on the way to a "happily ever after"?
To hell with their happy ending.
A searing hatred, white-hot and absolute, burned away the last of my tears.
The end? Who the hell said it was over?
That comment made me sit bolt upright.
I snatched my phone, my fingers flying across the screen, dialing a number I hadnt used in three years. The voice that answered was brittle, hollowed out with despair.
Who is this? If youre calling to laugh, just get it over with
Its your goddamn conscience, I said.
He gasped, a sharp intake of breath. Audrey?! Is that you?
The comments said he already had one foot over the ledge.
Sebastian Croft, I bit out, they dont let you bungee jump off residential buildings in this city.
I heard a frantic shuffling sound as he stumbled back from the edge. Audrey? Youreyoure supposed to be dead!
Its only been three years, and youre already wishing me dead? Ill outlive you all, I snapped.
Three years ago, my fathers company in the States was targeted by a vicious corporate takeover. He made the call to move the entire family and our operations overseas to Europe. I only came back last year, alone, after I fell in love with Marcus, who was attending a medical conference in London.
Sebastian seemed to be processing this. Old Mrs. Gable from next door told my mom your dads company went under and he took the whole family with him. I thought you were gone.
Right. I remembered her. Mrs. Gable, the neighborhood gossip who could spin a whole epic from a single wrong-number phone call.
After a long silence, I couldnt hold back my disgust. And with an IQ like that, you thought you could play the villain? Youre pathetic, Sebastian. If you cant handle the job, then let me.
I met him at his apartment.
You look like hell, he said, his voice raspy. He looked more mature than I remembered, the boyish charm replaced by a weary hardness. There was a nervous energy about him as he paced the marble floors.
I dropped onto his sprawling designer sofa and looked him up and down. Youd look like hell too if youd just had a miscarriage.
Sebastian froze, his face hardening into a mask of fury. A miscarriage? What the hell happened?
I met his gaze and told him everything.
He paced the room, his hand reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the counter before he glanced at me and shoved it back into his pocket.
The great Sebastian Croft, eldest son of the Croft dynasty, cant even get the girl and lets his rival drive him to the brink of suicide. I shook my head in mock sympathy. Your father would be so ashamed.
I dont even like Lily Evans, he muttered, his jaw tight. And I was just getting some fresh air on the roof.
I raised an eyebrow. Then why did you go to war with Damien Blackwood over her?
The tips of his ears turned red. He shot a glance away from me. Because she reminded me of someone.
Duh, I said flatly. Shes a human being. Shes not going to look like a golden retriever.
You dont get it!
As he spoke, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then looked at me, a strange expression on his face.
I kicked his shin, leaving a dusty footprint on his pristine black suit pants. Spit it out.
He gestured for me to check my phone.
It took me a solid minute to get the sluggish Twitter app to load. When it did, the top three trending topics were emblazoned with fiery "EXPLODING" icons.
#DamienBlackwoodWeddingRehearsal
#DamienAndLilyFairytale
A push notification from a celebrity gossip account popped up at the same time. The headline was sensational: [Damien Blackwood's Fairytale Wedding Rehearsal! A-List Groomsmen and a Picture-Perfect Romance!]
The post was a gallery of nine photos.
The center image was Damien and Lily gazing into each others eyes, surrounded by a crowd of impossibly beautiful people. In one of the smaller, corner photos, my husband, Marcus, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, was angled slightly away from the camera. He was steadying a woman who had nearly tripped over the hem of her bridesmaid dress.
It was Lilys best friend, Vanessa.
The photographer had caught the moment perfectly. Their eyes were locked. A small, intimate smile lingered on Marcuss lips, not yet wiped away.
The next photo showed Lily, her back to the crowd, tossing her bouquet. The spray of pink and white flowers sailed through the air, landing squarely in the startled arms of Vanessa. The crowd was roaring with laughter. Marcus was standing right beside her, his gaze fixed on her as the camera shutter clicked.
The trending hashtags were impossible to miss:
#LilyEvansBouquet
#PerfectBestManAndBridesmaid
The comments were still flooding in, a chorus of strangers celebrating a happiness I was supposed to be a part of. I felt the rage coiling in my gut, but I kept my face a mask of detached curiosity as I looked at Sebastian.
I hear you kidnapped Lily Evans on Valentines Day.
Ten minutes later, a new post was pinned to the top of my Twitter profile. It was marked with a content warning for nudity.
The caption read: Looks like my husband might be getting a new girlfriend. Should I wish them well? Asking for a friend.
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