Arrow Imagines

Wedding Bells from Hell ~ Oliver Queen

i should be able to add voice memos to my chapters bc you guys would get an earful lmfao

this is the full version of that drabble i did a WHILE back

anyway please don't mind as i guiltily update after yet another long ass hiatus (it's been like three, maybe four years guys?)🙈

i think i'm coming back to Wattpad, the ads are mad annoying but i miss writing.

~

"You left me, remember?" you scoff, walking away but leaving the door open so he could follow you into your apartment. You jump onto the kitchen island, crossing your legs and watching as Oliver hastily sits in front of you, waiting for you to continue. "I was standing there, at the fucking altar, and you just—what? Forgot to show up? Please, Oliver, spare me the bullshit."

You carefully adjust your dress and hair, doing your best to make sure everything is perfect for when you walk down the aisle in just a few moments. There's a gentle knock at the door, and your best friend slips in with a solemn look on her face. You know it's nothing good.

"He's not here," your best friend frowns, meeting your gaze through the mirror you're standing in front of.

You stagger back, horrified.

"What?" you ask, though you heard her perfectly fine. You just need her to repeat it because there's no way this is happening. "Is he okay? Was there an accident? Where's Digg?"

"Digg was here, but then he got a message from Oliver and just left..." She's trying to be as gentle as possible, and you know what she's going to say next before she even says it. "I don't think he's coming, babe."

Anything else that comes out of her mouth is drowned out by the thoughts swarming your head, crashing into each other like waves in a storm. Your ears start to ring, and suddenly the room feels smaller, the air heavier, like you can't get a full breath in. The voices around you become muffled, distant, as if they're underwater.

And you swear on everything you love that your heart breaks right then and there.

"I'm not here to make excuses," he frowns, running a hand over his face.

"Then why are you here, Oliver?" your voice is gentler this time, but only because you're tired of having the same conversation with him.

"Because I'm sorry. I didn't—I wasn't—it's—" he grunts, frustrated with himself for not finding the right words. "I love you."

"I loved you," your hands tremble slightly as you reach into the fridge to grab a couple of beers. "Look, Oliver, our relationship is dead. It's over, it's done. Just leave it be."

You crack the beers open and slide one over to him. He catches it and nods gratefully.

"I can't."

"Just like you couldn't show up to your own wedding?" You laugh bitterly, taking a long swig of your beer.

"That's not fair," he says, taking a long drink himself.

"Fair?!" you nearly shout, anger boiling up inside you. "You really want to talk about fair with me?"

He's not here, echoes in your mind, louder with each repetition, drowning out the quiet, panicked questions from your bridesmaids. Your vision blurs, and the edges of the room go dark. All you see is your reflection in the mirror, still wearing the dress you once thought was perfect. The dress you knew he'd love. The dress you now realize he'll never even see.