I Do

Chapter 18

Dedication goes to @Kera1234 for her lovely comments and for voting for me in the award contest! Thank you <33

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Chapter 18 *Wedding in: 9m 16d*

-Hallie-

I slouch on a metal park bench, unsuccessfully trying to focus on what has to be the most boring book ever written. I've been shoving my assigned reading away every time it creeps into mind, convincing myself that I need to relax or conspire plans against Ara. Now, though, I'm counting on Edward Finch's Philosophy of the Courtroom to distract me from my absolute despair.

As I skim the page, the words blur before my eyes, turning into ink globs. I glimpse the word karma, which sends me into a spiral of other thoughts.

I've never had much patience for karma, mostly because it never seemed to exist. Did Ella McGuire in my third grade class get caught cheating at the spelling bee? No, instead she got a coupon to Applebee's for being the 'best speller in school' and a shiny gold sticker. Did Arabella ever face revenge for persuading our teacher to let her sit out during the physical fitness activities because she had a 'severe medical condition'? No, instead she stayed fresh and dry while the rest of the class was drenched with sweat, and spent the rest of the afternoon taunting me about my sloppy hair.

Suddenly, though, the tiniest of my evil actions are slammed back into my face. I covet my best friend's boyfriend, BAM they're engaged. I agree to the job of wedding planner so that I can ruin the ceremony, and I burn my hand, blistering it for weeks. I decide to sabotage Harabella's wedding, and this.

I could tell you I chose to sit in the park because I adore listening to barking dogs, panting walkers, and screaming toddlers. But that would a sad lie.

See, the brief overview of my horrible day has revolved around a temperamental, stick-up his butt safety inspector, my lazy landlord, and 'dangerous structural damage' in my flat. I'll avoid going into details, and the result is I'm homeless with eight boxes of junk. Worst of all, when I asked how long repairs would take, I received a vague grunt, "'Bout a month."

I had one thing that I was honestly proud to call mine, one thing that I didn't have to share, and within two weeks it's ripped from my clutches.

So yes, karma and I are now acquainted and are not on good terms.

At the moment, my options are: a) shamefully beg my parents to allow me to move back and suffer through Mum's condescending glances and skeptical comments or b) sleep on this bench. I'd gladly choose the bench, if it weren't forecasted to rain this evening.

Frustrated, I slam the fat book closed, earning a furious 'shh' from an old lady avidly reading 50 Shades of Grey. Wonderful, now I've interrupted an elderly woman's perv-reading. What will you do to me now, karma?

Slumping even lower, I scowl at the pebbled trail, shaking my head at the tears that have mysteriously sprung to my eyes. I'm homeless. Like the sad cases you see sleeping outside buildings on the streets in London, wiggling tin cans under everyone's noses. Barefoot.

I suck in a deep breath. Per usual, I'm overreacting. It isn't that severe. I've got a steady income, clothes, money, and a house to go to, if necessary.

But you know what I don't have? I don't have my own colossal flat that has a lovely view and no structural damage. I don't have a flawless face, glossy hair, a curvy body or stylish clothes. I don't have what seems to be a get-out-of-karma-free pass. I don't have an adoring, brilliant, fit, understanding and fun fiancée who anyone would fall in love with. I don't have the perfect life.