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Zoe Bennett — Runaway BridesmaidIt had been too much. When Carrie and Mitch kissed on the dancefloor, right before throwing the bouquet, something in Zoe snapped. She fled into the night, into the torrential rain, where no one could see her bawl her eyes out.
She blindly careened through the streets, before slowing into a trot, then a lumber. Eventually, she just stopped. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she kept telling herself. ‘They’re perfect together! I should be happy for them!’ It changed nothing. Zoe was miserable.
The rain soaked through the white dress she had got for their wedding. The hair she’d spent hours at the stylist for was ruined. Her makeup had run and smeared. Zoe barely registered. She felt cold. Numb. Not just from the rain.
Her eyes fell on the dimly lit window of a pub. She had nothing on her - bag, phone, purse, all left behind when she fled from the reception. Still, better than freezing in the rain. Inside, a single bartender was leafing through a magazine. Otherwise the place was empty. Zoe stood for a moment before stiffly lurching to the counter. She sat down on a bar stool, head hung low.
The bartender sighed. Whether out of annoyance or relief to actually have a patron was hard to tell. “What’ll it be, Miss?”, she heard. Then, in disbelief: “Zoe? Zoe Bennett?”
Zoe looked up, startled. Her eyes fell on the bartender. Then widened in sudden recognition. It couldn't be...? Her old friend from middle school! The one she hadn’t seen in at least ten years. “Oh my God! Hour? Is that you?”
She blindly careened through the streets, before slowing into a trot, then a lumber. Eventually, she just stopped. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she kept telling herself. ‘They’re perfect together! I should be happy for them!’ It changed nothing. Zoe was miserable.
The rain soaked through the white dress she had got for their wedding. The hair she’d spent hours at the stylist for was ruined. Her makeup had run and smeared. Zoe barely registered. She felt cold. Numb. Not just from the rain.
Her eyes fell on the dimly lit window of a pub. She had nothing on her - bag, phone, purse, all left behind when she fled from the reception. Still, better than freezing in the rain. Inside, a single bartender was leafing through a magazine. Otherwise the place was empty. Zoe stood for a moment before stiffly lurching to the counter. She sat down on a bar stool, head hung low.
The bartender sighed. Whether out of annoyance or relief to actually have a patron was hard to tell. “What’ll it be, Miss?”, she heard. Then, in disbelief: “Zoe? Zoe Bennett?”
Zoe looked up, startled. Her eyes fell on the bartender. Then widened in sudden recognition. It couldn't be...? Her old friend from middle school! The one she hadn’t seen in at least ten years. “Oh my God! Hour? Is that you?”
