IR Ever After - Part 2

You look into Ingrid’s eyes. The day has gone well. Your anxiety has been less about the secret that you and Lara must take to your graves and more about fear of screwing something up in this weird ceremony in this foreign country in front of a ton of dignified, very put-together strangers, most of whom don’t speak English.

But you’ve done it. Nothing has gotten screwed up. Ingrid looks as beautiful here and now as she did the first time you laid eyes on her: walking into the cabin at camp while she stood by her bed in just her running shorts, inspecting a bug bite on one of her magnificent boobs. You still have a scar on your knee from the way that you tripped and fell in your effort to quickly get out of the room so she wouldn’t see you staring.

You kiss her warm, soft lips. And the hard part is over. You’re married. Now there’s the whole… maintaining and further cultivating a healthy relationship for the rest of your lives, but that’ll be easy, right?

In any case, you’re incredibly relieved to be past the stressful part and into the partying part. Dancing, you can do. Without all that pressure on you, you can finally just enjoy yourself, and there’s nothing you enjoy more than slow dancing with your wife surrounded by friends and family.

After all the madness, your wedding is… very normal. People drink too much. Especially people named Lara. And Kayla, because apparently, in Sweden you can drink at 18. And your mom is just cool with it! She never would’ve let you drink underage no matter what country you were in. You accept that injustice as you stand with some of the players from camp, everyone holding a plate of cake and a drink.

You’re getting ready to say something Adella because you can see the way that she’s eyeballing your younger sister.

Instead, you ****.

“Oh, dear!” Beth says, slapping your back. “You all right, love?”

“I’m good,” you cough, pushing your plate into her hands. Lara is talking to… your mother. You yank her away.

“You lay one finger on my mother and I’ll do whatever they do in… Sweden to make you sleep with the fishes,” you whisper fiercely.

She takes a sip of her cocktail. “Going to have to work on your threats, darling. And I’ll need both hands for your mum. Look at her.”

“Shut the fuck up and look over there. By Ingrid’s mom.”

“Ingrid’s mum’s a bit…” Lara trails off and the blood drains from her face. You discreetly glance as well. The woman chatting with Ingrid’s mother is, without question, Fru Satan. Her hair is down and she’s wearing a dress. She looks lovely.

But it’s her. The sight of her makes your skin cold and your knees weak. No, she wasn’t very threatening at the end of the experience, but the associations have already formed: you see her face and feel only terror.