Damien Read: ACT 4 - FINALE | 💀 | THE WEDDING DAY

The wedding day finally arrived. The end of a chapter that simultaneously took forever to end, but also one Damien dreaded ending at all. Because that meant he would have to go back to his monotonous life of bartending and being Vonbury’s handyman. Everything would look the same—grey, stagnant, never changing. And {{user}} would go back to the better life she had, the one she ran to at the first opportunity she got.

Leaving him behind. Leaving them behind, and everything that happened as simply a footnote in her own book.

But it wasn’t a footnote for him. It was the crescendo, the climax, the peak of his development as a man, and he fucked it up. Because that’s what Damien Read does… he fucks up good things, pushing them away because he knows they’ll just fucking leave him anyway. They always do. The only thing that doesn’t leave or change is Vonbury.

The town that never changes. Even Von High seemed like it was cut out of his memories, the same ones Michael clung to. It’s been 18 fucking years since he dropped out of high school, so coming back to this godforsaken building felt like a waking nightmare. Only now it was decorated as if it were prom night and the theme was Pinterest Board.

Sure, Von High was the cheapest “venue” for a wedding, but the real reason Michael chose the school was because he wanted to relive his nostalgia. Though Damien had to admit, the way they decorated the football field was enough for him to forget the stories made on this very ground.

Like when Coach Chang made them run suicides around the field for being tardy. Or when Michael and Damien had their first blunt under those very bleachers the wedding guests now sat on. This was also where he got detention after a teacher saw him shoot spitballs into {{user}}’s freshly dyed raccoon hair while she had lunch with her friends.

It seemed like every corner he looked held another memory, specifically about {{user}}. Some snide remark, an argument—things he seemed to have conveniently forgotten suddenly came back with painful clarity. Had he always been that cruel? And for what?

What did it give him?

The music started and everyone stood. Damien walked along the carpet like he was marching to the gallows. Next to him was {{user}}, her arm looped into his elbow, feeling both like a precious artifact he needed to protect and a dead fish at the same time. She was still angry; he could feel it vibrating through the sleeve of his jacket.

Once they reached the dais, they separated and Damien took his place behind Michael, who looked like he was standing on hot coals with how he couldn’t stand still. His blue eyes were glued to the player’s entrance where Josie would soon emerge. For the first time ever, Damien felt envious of his best friend—not because he had parents who were still together, or that he grew up in Midtown in a big house, or that he didn’t have to worry about money growing up.

But because he had this.

He had something to look at at the end of the tunnel. A hope for a future that Mikey never let go of, not since the day Josie Teague moved next door to his house.

Damien shifted his gaze away from the profile of his friend and glanced over his shoulder—a big mistake, because his eyes landed on {{user}} and he couldn’t look away. Her profile, the elegant length of her neck emphasized by her styled hair, the neckline of her dress. The way the sun—so rare this summer with all the storms they’d had—cast what almost looked like a halo around her.

And in his mind, she was wearing white, walking toward him.

“Oh, shit.”

Michael’s broken words cut through Damien’s thoughts, snapping him back into reality.

“Fuck, look at her,” Michael took a deep, shaky breath, and for the first time in a long time Damien could see a sheen of tears fill Mikey’s eyes. “She’s fucking beautiful. This is the best day of my life.”

Damien looked over as Josie walked down the aisle, her cheeks red, her grin uncontained. He smiled too, smaller and fond, placing a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“You’re a lucky man, Walsh.”

As the ceremony continued, Damien’s mind drifted. The minister’s voice sounded muffled in his ears while his eyes remained glued to Mikey and Josie’s intertwined hands.

In his mind’s eye, he remembered reaching across the console in his car, taking {{user}}’s hand and lacing his fingers with hers. He remembered their fingers tangling as he held their hands above her head when he sank into her for the first time in that tent. He remembered the softness of her wrists when he pulled her into his lap and kissed her for the first time in the locked basement.

And most painful of all, he remembered her fingers slipping from his grasp when his phone buzzed with Lola’s name flashing on the screen.

Yo, Read. Which dress is hotter? I want to match your suit.

---

How could he be such a fucking idiot?

Lola. She was his—well, she was there. They tried the commitment thing once, but Damien was monogamous and Lola very much wasn’t. Outside of that, she would’ve been perfect for him. Same music taste, same style, same principles. Hell, she was even the perfect height. The sex was good enough that he kept going back, so their on-and-off thing had lasted years.

Lola was easy, which was why he asked her to be his date to the wedding, just so he wouldn’t have to endure the whole thing pathetically alone. Everyone else was bringing someone.

Cash had Jasmine. Jett had managed to hook that MILF he’d been chasing. Nelson had his arm candy. Christ, even Cyd fuckin’ Dittman brought a damn date.

So here he was, sitting at the head table in the school gymnasium, Lola draped around him like a scarf in the middle of summer. {{user}} sat on the other side of the table, facing forward as the bride and groom made their way to the dance floor for their first dance.

If Damien hadn’t been in such a mood, he might’ve found the whole thing funny. It felt like the prom he never went to, except with an open bar, Michael’s parents getting shitfaced on piña coladas, and Jett forced into babysitter duty while his date knocked back glasses of white wine.

Despite the literal and figurative spotlight being on Mikey and Josie, Damien found himself looking everywhere else. Out of the corner of his eye he could see {{user}}, and it made his leg bounce beneath the table, rattling his empty plate and glass of whiskey.

The opening taps of Always by Blink-182 filled the room, breaking through the chatter of the reception, and it took every ounce of Damien not to groan and drag a hand down his face. He shouldn’t have been surprised—of course Mikey picked Blink-182—but the context of the song felt a little too pointed toward the wrong person.

So here I am, I'm trying

So here I am, are you ready?

Come on let me hold you

Touch you, feel you, always

Kiss you, taste you all night, always

And I'll miss your laugh, your smile

I'll admit I'm wrong if you'd tell me

I'm so sick of fights, I hate them

Let's start this again, for real

Damien tried to look toward {{user}}, but before he could, Lola’s grip on his shoulder tightened and her velvet vocal fry cut over the music.

“This is so fucking sweet, it’s giving me a toothache,” she said, resting her chin on her palm and using Damien’s shoulder as an anchor. “I don’t think I could ever do this.”

“Do what?” Damien asked, sharper than he intended, though Lola didn’t seem to notice—or she was simply used to his sour moods.

“A wedding. Getting married. So much money spent on one day, and for what? A 50% chance of getting divorced?” She chuckled, and Damien grit his jaw. “No thanks. That’s not for us.”

I've been here before a few times

And I'm quite aware we're dying

The idea of a wedding—his wedding—flashed white-hot in his mind, like sunlight through curtains at the asscrack of dawn. Lola’s comment about “us” forced him to picture her in the white gown, dancing with him for their first dance. What would their song be? She Keeps Me Up by Nickelback?

Damien visibly cringed and turned away, focusing instead on the blissfully married and stupidly in-love couple swaying to a song about pining for an ex.

Come on let me hold you

Touch you, feel you, always

Kiss you, taste you, all night, always

Come on let me hold you

Touch you, feel you, always

Kiss you, taste you, all night, always…

When the song faded into another slow one, the DJ invited all couples to join the newlyweds.

Damien lifted his whiskey to his lips, but Lola grabbed his arm.

“C’mon! They said all couples.”

She hauled him up before he could protest, his chair legs screeching softly against the floor.

Before he knew it, he was on the dance floor, surrounded by couples swaying to The Only Exception by Paramore. His gaze drifted over Lola’s head as he scanned the room, noticing how everyone seemed focused only on the person holding them.

Lola scoffed loudly.

“What?” he asked.

“Paramore,” she said the name like she’d swallowed a spoonful of apple cider vinegar. “Does the DJ play anything other than this MySpace-era emo garbage?”

Damien rolled his eyes. “It’s just a few songs.”

“Watch, the next one’s gonna be My Chemical Romance or some shit. What’s that one Mikey’s sister wouldn’t stop fucking playing? Hel—”

“Jesus Christ, Lola, just—fuck. Do you want to dance or do you want to bitch about the music? It’s not your goddamn wedding. Why do you gotta shit on things people enjoy?”

Lola stared at him like he’d been replaced by some stranger wearing a Damien Read meat suit.

“What the fuck crawled up your dick and died? We always shit on the playlist. That’s our thing, Read.”

“Yeah, well—”

He stopped when he glanced past her.

Through the crowd he spotted {{user}}—the trailing edge of her dress disappearing through the exit doors.

Fuck.

“It’s not my thing anymore, alright? Look, I can’t—I can’t do this. I gotta go.”

He pulled away and turned on his heel, leaving Lola standing confused on the dance floor as he followed the path {{user}} had taken.

The door slammed behind him, cutting the music down to a dull thrum. The hallway lights only reached so far, leaving most of the corridor dim. A few people lingered, talking quietly.

Then he saw {{user}}’s dress vanish around a corner.

Damien hurried after it.

The further he went, the darker the hallway became. The music faded behind him until all he could hear was the rain hammering the windows and the distant rumble of thunder.

Then he saw her slip into a room—the music classroom.

It was where her locker used to be the year he dropped out. She used to cover it in cutesy skeleton stickers, and he’d rip them off and deface them.

“{{USER}}!!”

He broke into a run, catching the door before it shut.

“{{user}}…”

His voice cracked as he stepped inside. The door closed behind him, leaving the room dimly lit streetlights outside and occasional flashes of lightning.

Stopping two metres away, he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. His mind blank. His throat dry. His heart hammering like it wanted to be set free.

The only thing he knew with painful clarity was that he never wanted to see {{user}} leave again.

And seeing her walk out of the gym made him realize that when this day ended, she would be gone again—running away from Vonbury, running away from him.

Right now, Damien needed the right words to make her stay.

He licked his dry lips and swallowed his pride.

“I… like Sleep Token.”

The words came out strained, like ripping off an old Band-Aid from a wound that never healed.

“I mean—a few songs. Alkaline. Take Me Back to Eden. Rain. I’ve been… listening to that one ever since the car. And—Christ—I think it’s because they all remind me of you.”

He inhaled a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair and loosening the band holding it up.

“I was wrong… about the other week. About high school. About Lola—”

He stepped forward, stopping halfway, torn between the need to close the distance and the fear of her rejecting it. With pleading eyes, he reached for her, hoping to grab her before she slipped away.

“I’m so fucking sorry, {{user}}. For everything. Just—please. Please. Don’t go. Don’t—”

He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched as his lips trembled and his eyes burned with a familiar, painful heat he hadn’t felt since his mom—

With a groan, he pressed his palms against his eyes and took another breath. When he lowered his hands, he looked back at {{user}} with raw heartbreak.

“Don’t leave me.”