s i x || Unlooked-for Changes and Confidential Reasons

|25th January 2019|

IT IS CLOSE TO SIX WHEN THE CAB STOPS IN FRONT of the beach house. Count this as my fourth visit to this large maze today, though unlike all other times when I would forget one or the other planners/files and go fetch them from the office, this time I had gone to my apartment to get ready for the party.

Fine fine, the engagement party. And boy did I get ready, the exact same way I'd gotten when Elliot had asked me out on our engagement date. I'd even gone far ahead of myself and scoured my closet the whole night yesterday so I could find and wear the same dress; a quite evident indication of how I never found the courage in me to dump the said dress in a pit swarming with strong nuclear radiations so it could rot to death. Perhaps I deserve to be sued unto death for that. But goodness, the shock that would flash on his face when he'd see me in this dress will definitely be worth my backbreaking work. I used the same accessories too, only my heels were different because duh, I am not one of those who'd safeguard a pair of pitiful heels for such a long period of time. But I guess that's alright. He isn't jobless enough to notice such a piffling difference.

From inside the cab, I frown at the sight of empty seats surrounding the decorated palm thatch umbrella. Elliot was supposed to be out there, ready with the proposal by now. Where is this Godfather of Satans? I exit the cab after paying for my drive and enter the castle-- yes, I know and totally agree, the Nithercotts were facing some serious vocabulary crisis when naming this place 'Nithercott Beach House II' because it looks a lot more than just a damned beach house. It is a whole colossal mini-empire. Yes, a mini-empire sounds more accurate.

I pass the beautifully decorated archway that leads to the main hall, quickly scanning the area for Mr. Nithercott amongst the small crowd. I want to know whether he and his changing-for-permanent-goodness wife are satisfied with the efforts I've put into transforming this large maze into a party hall in a matter of not more than sixteen hours (that's a record I set there, folks). Oh, and also why Elliot isn't out there already.

Ironically enough, I seem very eager to see him propose to someone else.

Once my eyes spot the tall old man talking to a help at a fair distance, my legs work on their own accord and after showcasing a sight of strides wobbly as a result of stepping upon and almost tripping over my super, super expensive, sweeping floral lace gown, I make it in one-body-piece, hoping his gaze slices towards me sooner than later. That's because Elliot the memory-seller has decided to propose to the girl he is supposed to marry for the sake of business, by the beachfront, with only a few close family members being allowed to see him take the plight of troth, and I have to rush because ha-ha, it's me we're talking about, that semi-delusional, semi-screwy girl hell-bent over getting her heart shredded into smithereens by witnessing the mind-wrecking scenario.

It would have been very picturesque though, the silhouettes, the setting sun, the fairy lights and the oh-so handsome Elliot with his oh-so beautiful Olwyn had it not been Elliot's way of expressing with an overload of satisfaction the fact that he has already grasped the rules of my mind-blowingly phenomenal game. That and perhaps the subsequent fact that that was the same way he'd proposed to me had irked my conscience.

What has struck me as an exceptionally peculiar occurrence, however, is the unavoidable suspicion as to why Elliot is being so adamant about reusing our memories; like, if he has actually moved on and is willing to start a new life with a new person, he should have already let go of the memories he'd designed with his initial love, right? Why did he want to trade duplicate copies of them with this person? And why, when he's well aware of the hideous scar his love has left on my heart?

Oh, Jesus, glory be to my inquisitive self that has been planting a rumor in my mind that I had been a bulky criminology/psychology question bank in my previous life with a google unanswered why's.

Mr. Nithercott is giving his surroundings a brief look, trying to explain something to the help when his gaze lands on me. He shortly excuses himself and walks to me. "Ms. Wilson," he launches into a conversation even before I can clear my throat, his eyes roaming around the hall in wondrous admiration. "You're a really efficient planner. I mean, this place looks incredible. No wonder Aric chose your firm," he praises my hard work with a warm smile.

Aw, isn't this man simply lovable? I think, breezily overlooking the part wherein he decides to drag the fiend in our talk. I am certain that Elliot has chosen our firm for something more than just marriage planning. What for, is something I have yet to figure out.

"Why, thank you." I offer him a mock bow. "What did Mrs. Nithercott have to tell about... everything?" I ask next, curiosity transparent in my voice.

"Oh, she liked it a whole lot more than me! She said and I quote 'oh my goodness, she has done it better than what our marriage planner had done for our engagement'." He exclaims, passing me a hearty grin. At least something good is scheduled to happen today. Thank you, God, for you have bestowed a huge favor upon this petite soul.

"That's nice." I nod to myself in satisfaction before recalling the succeeding reason I've come looking for Mr. Nithercott here. "Uh, what about El−" I slap my hand over my mouth before I can say his full name. Shit, what was I thinking? That I could address his son as Elliot and he wouldn't ask how I knew his son's old name? Ugh. Careful, Celeste. "I mean, Aric. Why isn't he out there?"

I know I addressed Elliot as Aric and not Nithercott Jr., but given how I had been focusing on veiling my mistake more than using his highly respected surname, there wasn't much I could do about it.

Mr. Nithercott casts me a puzzled look, seemingly ignorant about my slip-up. "Did he not inform you of the change of plans?"

"There's a change of plans?" I inquire, my mouth hanging open in unlimited perplexity, bouncing back right into its place when he answers with something I should have totally seen coming considering this is Elliot's brain's ruling I am dealing with. What's this guy up to now?

"He shan't be proposing to Olwyn by the beach. He'll do it in here," he nods at the hall. "Or by the pool. That's up to him, actually. He said it should be a bit of a surprise for us parents too." He laughs towards the end.

Such a...wanker. God, I feel like slapping him right now, left to right and right to left and again left to right until his cheeks match the colour of blooming lavenders. Did I do so much for nothing? The colour on my face falls flat due to lack of emotion, my eyebrows rising in contrast. "And what might be the reason behind this sudden change of plans?" I demand acerbically.

If there has ever been anybody born with a backbone long and tough enough to break through all of my plans, it is this very person with a very animalistic way of life: Elliot. His actions literally juggle around with my mental stability!

"I'm afraid it's very confidential," he says. His face maintains its solemness but his eyes burn with mischief as he gauges my dumbfound expression. This is bad of you, Mr. Nithercott. Very bad indeed. Just a while ago, I classified you as a lovable man but you just had to burst my bubble of love and joy with that sharp needle of suspense, didn't you?

"Oh," I simply say. It isn't every day someone as nice as him says something as un-nice as what he just said. "Okay, that's new." I pause momentarily, at a loss for words. "Fine, I'll get going then."

Elliot's smirking face flashes in my mind and I find it so punchable I have to restrain myself from punching the air, presuming it to be him. He puts Satan to shame with his shenanigans.

I start walking away, minorly elated that Elliot isn't doing something that feels so much like a betrayal but majorly fuming as to why he'd do such a thing. Or rather, what the 'confidential' reason could be.

Feel blessed Celeste, at least he isn't selling memories now, the voice at the back of my mind reprimands me. Okay fine, but why didn't he notify me regarding the unlooked-for change of plans? At least then I wouldn't have chewed the asses of workers around me and yelled at them to do everything at once, hoping against hope that they'd somehow be bestowed with supernatural powers.

"Ms. Wilson!" I hear Mr. Nithercott address me from behind.

I turn around. "Yeah?" I ask dryly, unable to forget how mean he had been to me just moments ago. People these days, I tell you, such chameleons.

"Aric was looking for you," he tells me.

What, weren't the seven encounters in the past five hours enough that he wants to meet me again? Shocked? I dare say I am, too. He was so content about catching up on the rules that he even brought me hard-rock coffee and doughnuts earlier today, making me want to kick the stupid smirk off his lips and drown his face down the same cup of coffee and then squish the doughnuts into his nose.

"Alright," I say, squaring my shoulders with an air of confidence. "Where can I find him?"

"The green room." he informs me. "He should be ready by now."

I depart from Mr. Nithercott's presence and jog as fast as I can in heels to the particular room. Initially, I opt to dispose of my manners in a mental wasteland, barge in, and demand why Elliot did a thing as spill water all over my hard work, when I hear two voices. One of them belongs to Elliot, I'm certain, whereas the second to a female, the pitch of which definitely crosses his mom's name out.

Is that...Olwyn? If yes, what is she doing with him inside a changing room? I mean, he doesn't even love her and they aren't even engaged yet. Then why?

Watch out, ladies and gentlemen, for, this is when the green-eyed demon shall once again rise from within Celeste Wilson... the internal voice says, fake caution painting its tone in hues of red and black. It sounds as if it is narrating a flop horror story, which, quite honestly is annoying, but at the same time, it reminds me as to why I hold so much pride in my sense of humor. It is bloody brilliantly hilarious.

Aware my curiosity owns the potential of me being caught intruding a to-be-engaged couple, I push my raised hands down to my sides and accomplish an undertaking I have always taught Zephrine not to do: eavesdrop. Ironic much, yeah?

"But she doesn't know that!" the female yells, her voice loud and clear. Geez, whoever is in there is one heck of a loud woman.

"Exactly, and she doesn't need to know that, either. I just wanna see if things are still the same." Elliot sighs heavily, a pause in the audible conversation ensuing while his lungs perform the lifelong process of respiring before he continues. "Listen, Olwyn, when we go out there, you do it the way I asked you to."

So it is Olwyn. And what's he asking her to do? "Please, I still have a few unanswered questions." he requests.

Ha, he never made requests with me.

That's because you both always agreed on the same thing, you doofus, the voice reminds me.

Ah, I agree with it, true that.

She lets out a scornful sneer. "Remind me why I even agreed to this!"

What is happening in there is definitely not what all lovey-dovey couples would do on the day of their engagement. A triumphant grin replaces the scowl previously occupying my face at the realization. Only I am capable of handling Elliot.

"We both know why you agreed to−"

Not finding it in me to conceal such a lovely grin, I quickly knock twice on the unlocked door for the sole sake of formality. And then I walk in. Okay, more like cat-walk in. Elliot's alarmed eyes fly in my direction (figuratively speaking) and the words he had planned to speak next pulverize into the tense atmosphere that suddenly overtakes the whole room. The layer of anger that has his orbs insulated thickly for less than a second because I had entered before hearing a come in melts away when his eyes take in my attire, settling in the second darkest shade I've ever encountered them in. The first one was when I had told him that I wanted a rare, incurable disease to take over my system because my mother had died and somehow, even an act as simple as an upward pull of the lips felt like a grave sin. Thus, it was when I was undergoing a very painful episode of deep, dark, suicidal thoughts.

When I had wanted to die.

Not because I had admired the idea of losing this valuable existence to blackness. No. Rather because I had wanted to end the inevitable pain the thought of never being able to see my mother again had brought to me. That's when he had held me. So, so, so close. And whispered into my entire being that he would be there for me, come what may, and that he would take care of me, happen what may, and that he would never leave me to fend for myself alone, leave who may.

But reminiscences of the past aside, the darkening of his eyes explains something. Something that has a lot to do with him remembering this dress. My heart jumps with glee. Jesus, he fucking recognizes this dress!

I calculatedly cast a careless look at his own getup. Like every other day since we have re-met, he is clad in formals; a crisp matt black blazer over an even darker turtle neck shirt. His attire explains a lot about the high temperature of this room, doesn't it? the voice inside my head says, adding a girly giggle to its observations.

I internally giggle along with it. Absolutely! And damn that turtle neck.

Oooh, makes you wanna tear it off his skin, does it not? it giggles again.

I don't look away from Elliot as I reply: Damn, right it does.

Fooling my own self with thrashy falsehoods that I don't love the way energy shoots through me as Elliot continues to stare his orbs off at me and my prepossessing dress as if he is hypnotized by either or both of us, I turn towards the brunette standing a few feet away from him, a cloak of shock screening her face.

Sharp features, long brown locks, dark eyes, shorter than me in height but tall enough to be noticed by the male population. Woah, one heck of a drop-dead gorgeous lady she is. Yet, I can't help but notice the aura around her, something...different, something that effortlessly classifies her as someone El would never choose as his life partner, someone just not his type.

Huh, who am I kidding though? Despite being of his type, I never managed to earn a permanent residence in his life. People change with the passage of time, so what a great deal are their choices?

"Hey, you must be Olwyn." I chirp as confidently and sweetly as I can, sympathetically forgiving Elliot for not informing me regarding the change of plans. He shouldn't be entitled to my anger; he seems to have had enough from his to-be-fiancee.

She clears her throat awkwardly, a light pink engulfing her features. "Hi," she responds, her lips tugging upwards and her hand moving to pass me an embarrassed wave. Why does she feel so displaced in a room of just three?

"Nervous?" I quip, trying my best to ignore the sudden formation of a large lump in my throat. I can't believe I still want to be in her place.

What I gathered from the daily news reports (news of their marriage is apparently all over the place, pfft) is that Olwyn is the only daughter of a family friend and a business partner of Elliot's dad, meaning they both have known each other for quite a good amount of time.

"Um, yeah, kinda. But it's normal, I guess."

Suddenly, Elliot's hand buds out of its idle position by his side and he jerks Olwyn towards him, arm solidifying around her waist. Needless to say, my heart aches at the sight. Nine years ago, I was in her place. Phew. Time really does great things.

"Ms. Wilson." he addresses me, his sharp gaze shredding through mine in what I feel is a provoking manner. He and the idea of provoking others seem to share a great bond as of lately. "Meet Olwyn Gray; the love of my life," he says, placing a soft kiss on the right side of her head. The love of my life? A little too much of a clichéd white lie, don't you agree?

I have a vague feeling about him doing all of this just to provoke me, but why? Surely nobody can be this malevolent.

"I think it would be better if you'd restrict your public display of affection to a four-walled space with just the two of you, Mr. Nithercott." I grit, my tone coming out surprisingly calm. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you haven't lost your sense of hearing and clearly heard me address 'the love of your life' just mere moments ago." And then, I shoot him an easy-going grin as bonus.

If there's anything I've learned about Aric as a personality sheltered in the same body as Elliot's, it is that that unlike the latter, the former never responds politely to anger-related tantrums. The only way to vex him is happiness. Even if it is forced. Even if I have to bite the inside of my cheek so hard that for a moment there's nothing I can focus on but the pain my action yields. Even if I have to grip my gown in the creases lining my palm with such vice-like grasp that I'm afraid I will tear it. Even if the calcium barricades over my heart are on the fringe of potential crumblage because of the said organ beating so, so frantically. Even if my brain is linearly swaying by the odds of losing its awareness of sanity and the incredibly essential counterbalance.

My theory about Aric and his susceptible issues with sweet temperament pretty much explains why I am trying so hard to maintain my cool when all I actually want to do is bang my head a million times on the nearest wall, and repeat it, again, and again, and again and not stop until I have inflicted upon my hippocampus chronic damage and lost my memory as its end product. Seriously, the last time I was a part of so much drama was literally never.

"Why, does my public display of affection towards my beloved Olwyn bother you?" He asks, heavy eyebrows arched.

What did Olwyn see in this Aric Nithercott that she agreed to get officially handcuffed to him for the rest of her life? Has she mistaken herself to be able to handle with as much expertise and knack as she assumes she has? Has she got an incurable disease that no man on this planet wants to marry her and Aric, surprisingly, has agreed to take her into his house in exchange for money? Or else the least possible, but not impossible, possibility: there is some good in him-- of the type that is obviously imperceptible to me-- to counterbalance the several unacceptable personality defects he seems to have acquired over the years.

"More like makes me want to throw up all of this beautiful dress of mine and that stupid tux of yours and spoil them both just because you cannot keep your hands and lips off the 'love of your life', as you claim her to be."

From the corner of my eyes, I spot Olwyn flinching in distaste. Sorry honey, there's only so much Celeste Wilson can do to keep the jealousy off her voice.

"Ah," Elliot heaves a sigh, though it isn't in distaste for what I just explained; it is one that expresses contentment and thrill. Okay, I officially affirm this dude psychotic. Like, which normal person sighs in content after being spoken to brutally? That's right, no person. "Only time will reveal to you situations in which you'll come to this presumably deaf person for help, Ms. Wilson," he said, looking me dead in the eye.

Here we go with the mind games again. God, I'm starting to hate them already.

My eyebrows wrinkle, objection towards his cryptic speech explicit on the elements of my face. "What do you mea−"

"Olwyn," he turns towards her, ignoring me. Slipping her one of his genuine smiles, one that almost compels me to flush him and his stinking sick and stupidly sweet smile down the toilet. How can he give her that smile when I myself haven't encountered one of those since he has expedited his way back into my life? As his ex-fiancee, I reckon even I have particular privileges. "Baby, gather the people downstairs? I wanna make an announcement."

An announcement to get engaged to you.

An inaudible congratulations to you, Olwyn. Because you won't ever hear me say it out loud.

"Alright," she parks a soft peck on his cheek and leaves the room, waving me a polite bye before she goes away from us.

This whole ordeal is so, so shitty. No matter how hard I try not to feel envious of that dainty woman, I still do. I can swear by God that I have evolved into the most disgusting attention-seeking twenty-seven year old piece of shit in the past two weeks, so much so that I cringe almost every time I see my reflection in Elliot's eyes.

Anyway, moving on to Olwyn; I don't know if that woman faces a shortage in the department of brain cells or she did it with a fully-functioning brain, but she closed the door after her. Now you tell me, which level-headed woman of the twenty-first century leaves her future husband and his psychotic revenge-seeking ex-fiancee alone in a closed room? Of course, she might not have any knowledge of the relationship El and I once shared but the least she could do was leave the door open. Or at least slightly ajar.

But no, she closed it. Damn the woman and her illogical sense of reasoning.

My eyes shift from the door to Elliot who seems too busy walking his way over to me to notice what I noticed, reducing the distance between us with every intimidating step he takes.

Um, someone be generous enough to tell me what's going on? The to-be bride is giving her to-be husband and her marriage planner unwanted privacy and the to-be husband is exploiting it to his benefit. Good Lord, what has the world come down to?

"I heard you." I manage to say amidst all silent commotion.

The confusion inside his mind seeps through the lines on his face. "You heard me what?"

I breathe in as he stops walking just after he steps into my personal space, not too dangerously close, but limited-ly far away, and I rack my brain to speak of something, anything. I can't let him see the way I am fumbling with the loose thread of my gown at the lower back of my frame and allow him to conclude that his presence still has that effect on me. "I heard you asking her to pretend. Clearly, Elliot, she doesn't even want this. Then why--" I breathe once again, trying to keep the irritation at how everything is spinning out my control at the speed of light at bay. "Just-- you know what? Imma do this my blunt way. What the hell is going on? Why are you doing this?"

He smiles, but it's far from genuine. It's a tad-bit sardonic, another tad-bit mischievous, and a whole lot amused. "Because all the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players."

"Dragging a dead Shakespeare will not rid my train of thoughts of my query, remember that." I assert, rolled eyes and hand gestures backing my statement.

He presses his lips together, pushing the pair to the right when I continue to look at him with my jaw ticked, him looking deceivingly apologetic. "Too sad I assumed it would."

I shake my head. Will this boy forever continue to be such a test to my mental health? "My question still stands."

"Then I suggest you ask it to sit down. It'll take a while for it's turn to come up," he says, shrugging in nonchalance.

Then, he moves.

Close.

Closer.

Destructively closer.

I try to brush the wildfire that is then assigned to burn out every inch of my being, whisking and whipping my mental stability as it flares higher, louder, wilder, as a physical illness. It has to be one heck of an illness, one that shows up only when Elliot is around. "Mr. Nithercott told me that you w-wanted to see me," I say to stop my mind from drifting off to command the hormones starting to filter into my blood stream.

"Ah yes," he nods, his eyes lowering to my jade pendant. "I wanted to forewarn you regarding the surprise I have for you," a pleasant titter absconds his throat as he further lowers his eyes to do a once over my entire attire. "But looks like I've been getting surprises myself."

I laugh, suddenly feeling very smug about Elliot's confession. I knew he would be affected by my dressing, but I would be lying if I said I knew he would put his surprise out verbally. I mean, now that he's the Aric Nithercott, the anti-philanthropic homo sapien who never expresses how happy, sad, angry, or surprised he is, everything he says or does is a little more than easy to take. "You should know better than to take me lightly." I whisper in all my grace.

My respiration rate spikes when he takes another step towards me, his body getting close enough to make our chests touch if and when either of us shall inhale.

This is it, this is the very moment after which I'm not going to breathe. I don't care if I die right here, all I care and know is that I'm going to have to minimise physical contact with this extremely gorgeous boy in front of me at all costs. Else, I can bid bye-bye to my self-respect and show how lost my senses are every single time I peek into those eyes-- those so, so, so mesmerising eyes with such blue irises, those slim streaks of silvers surrounding them and the ocean only darkening towards the center. Oh, such a sight.

He undertakes the task of twirling a bunch of whisps around his finger next, his eyes staring at the roll of my hair around his finger in child-like wonder.

Oh, God, my ex-fiancee is unknowingly suffocating me to death, please send me an emergency helicopter before it's too late and I have to come meet you-- after falling in his arms, that is.

I want to scream, push him away, even donate a piece of my brain so he learns what he is doing is wrong, but all these wants last only so long as until I savvy that no matter what I want to do, nothing will miraculously happen if I continue to stay paralyzed by a simple touch from some moronic wanker.

"You wore this dress on purpose, didn't you?" he whispers, voice hoarse, tilting his head towards the right.

You're such a vile fiend, Elliot. You know what that tilt does to me, yet you still do it!

I simply nod in agreement, determining it best for me to not reply. My vocals can never be trusted in situations like these. "Mind telling me why you're doin' this?" he asks again, eyes moving from his finger to meet mine.

Excuse me? I mentally cackle at his words. Why am I doing this? Please, gents first. Go on, prove to be the generous one and tell me why you're doing this to me; took my house away, agreed to offer me fifty percent of the great share of the money, made me teach you how to propose to Olwyn when there is no way you didn't know how to do it yourself, grasped the rules of my mind-blowing game and you still have the spunk left in you to ask me why I am doing this?

A sudden overflow of energy, much thanks to his words, causes my temporarily malfunctioning vocals to resume working and I speak in the smuggest voice I can muster. "Yes Elliot, I'd definitely mind. Besides, won't it be more accurate for me to ask you the same?"

Despite the wild racing of my heart as his fingers trace my bare collarbone, eliciting a barely-there sigh from me, I manage to grin at him. A laugh escapes his throat when he perceives my expression, sounding like a soft jingle in the quiet room. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

Oh. So he hasn't forgotten me. That's, um, nice to know...?

"Not everyone manages to make as drastic changes to their lives as you did."

He leans in. You seem to be hell bend over killing me today, Elliot. Might I remind you, I have a nine-year-old daughter who needs her mother to love her like no one else, alright? "Then I'm guessing your heels are taking after me."

Crap. He did notice what I thought he wouldn't. Perhaps he is jobless after all.

He licks his lips as he is quick to move away and let space fall between us, let it take up the warmth of his body and leave me yearning for the eerily familiar heat of his body. "See you around, klutz." he winks, making it impossible for me not to ponder over his most favorite nickname for me− klutz.

But I would be damned to ponder over that when, clearly, there is another thing to break my head over.

I reach out to him, but I am already late because he has now reached the door and is opening it. Although I cannot make it to him physically so quickly, my voice carries through the air my message to him. "How do you remember that?" I exclaim, baffled.

He says nothing, just stands there, hand on the knob and eyes on me. Knowing he won't answer unless asked again, "But why?" I push.

What I think is the ghost of a smile appears on his face, washing my brain of all of my doubts and fears with its mighty supremacy. "Because you, my dear, beautiful little klutz, are the owner of that vain crap of a brain who has yet to realize what a see-saw of susceptible sentiments you are making me wobble on since day one."

He shuts the door with force greater than his words. Yet the banging of the door against its frame ceases to ring as many crimson signals inside my head as his words. As my words which he precisely reiterated, leave me huffing and puffing for a good dosage of oxygen so I won't just collapse into the pile of clothes and perfume bottles beside me, on the dressing table. Because what I had assumed he hadn't heard, he had.

Did he echo my words only to prove that he had heard me yesterday or...or does he mean them?

Good gorilla. What on jinxed Jupiter is happening in my life and why does everything I predict have to fail?

••••

Woohoo, so he remembers...and well, has enough spunk in him to remind her of the past too. One heck of a guy, ain't he, hehe?
Have you shipped anyone around here already or should I go ahead and ship Celly darling and Elly baby myself? C'mon guys, give your girl a hand in this matter! She's writing this story already, of course she can't do everything on her own!