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The Lies We Tell Ourselves

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I awake with a start, my sheets twisted tightly around my legs as proof that I’ve spent the entire night tossing and turning.  Nothing unusual there.  Ever since my sister announced her engagement, I’ve been having nightmares, my sleep plagued with horrific visions of the worst thing I’ve ever done.

I don’t want to get on that plane.  I don’t want to fly home and see her.  But missing your sister’s wedding because you don’t want to face an old girlfriend is apparently not an acceptable excuse.  I should know.  I tried it.  In return I received an earful of the most hateful, curse-filled screaming one could possibly endure, a soft-spoken but ultimately ball-shrinking lecture from my mom, and a threat from my brother to simply beat me to a pulp and deposit my bloodied body in the church anyway.  There was clearly no getting out of it.  My one hope, the only spot in the whole mess that even hinted at something bright, is that she has moved on.  Perhaps she’ll walk in on the arm of a millionaire, three chestnut-haired kids in tow, sporting the Hope diamond and that sweet smile I remember so well.  It’ll kill me, but it’ll also tell me what I need so badly to know, that I made the right decision.