Tumult

She stood silently in the tumult, allowing the noisy commotion to swirl around her. People buzzed as they passed her by, talking animatedly about nothing in particular. She stood listening to the pointlessness in their conversations. She mocked them silently.

The room was filled with high class society people. They were all dressed in long, flowing dresses and the typical formal black tuxedos. They all held cocktails in their hands, some downing them by the minute, others carrying them just for show. Diamonds sparkled throughout the room, a clear sign of wealth. The more diamonds a woman had, the richer her husband was.

She had always hated these types of events. All of the world’s biggest snobs stuck together in one room, all smiling fake smiles, all drinking as if their bodies required alcohol to survive. She had always detested being forced into frilly dresses, being forced into the uncomfortable shoes. It was one of the reasons she had run from her life as a teenager.

Yet, here she was again, in the same position she had been in 23 years ago. Wearing a frilly dress, in uncomfortable, yet very, very cute shoes, only this time with a cocktail of her own and a muscular arm around her waist. And it was worse this time than before. Because this time, the party was for her and there was no way to get out of it.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again, wishing it all away. Colors swirled around her, all different hues of all different colors. They were fantastic. The array of colors alone would have made anyone sigh in awe, but the way they moved, unknowingly coordinated around each other, every little flutter of movement, was absolutely unbelievable.

She looked up at the man holding her close and stared into his eyes. He gave her a tight smile, one not made to convey happiness, but to show her that he was okay. She returned his smile and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with regret.

“It’s alright. I’ll survive,” he replied.

“Survive? That sounds optimistic. I can tell my parents you’re not feeling well.” Her blue eyes looked up at him in a mixture of humor and seriousness.

“Do you not remember what happened last time?” He asked. “They had me strapped to a bed with a doctor checking me to make sure everything was okay. No. There’s no way I’m going through that again.

She laughed at the memory. “It was there was of welcoming you to the family. Or at least attempting to.”

“Sure, sure. Because that’s what it was,” he grumbled. She gave him a real smile and he couldn’t help but reciprocate it. It was infectious.