the entire church falls silent. johnny's standing there, larger than life, his chest heaving, mouth open as the words are out in the open.
your tongue feels heavy---any kind of response failing to manifest as you (and the rest of the guests) gape at him. he takes a shuddering breath, and when his mother wraps her frail hand around his forearm, something in her eyes pleading, he shakes his head so subtly, as if to tell her he's sorry.
johnny says it again.
and then he's moving, shuffling sideways so he can get out from behind the pew and into the aisle that you'd walked down only minutes ago. there's whispering going on, but it echoes throughout the church anyway.
"i love you," he declares next, your name like a prayer as he speaks it, "i love you more than m'self, i love you more than life. i will'nae let you marry 'im. not when you and i know we're mean' for each other."
there's a pause. one that contains the thundering heartbeat in your ears, the baffled faces of all your guests staring right at you---waiting for your answer.
your feet carry you towards him without second thought.
the low hum of the stereo is what you register first.
music, quietened, droning on alongside the wheels of the car and the rattle of the engine. it's soothing, like a balm of your childhood swiped over your dreams, tempting you to return back to whatever lull you'd originally fallen into.
and then you remember everything.
johnny's focused on the road, an outstretched arm gripped on the steering wheel with his elbow resting against the ledge of the window. his other hand is settled on the gear stick, relaxed, almost next to your covered thigh.
you try to wake silently, blinking slowly as you look at all the sharp lines of him, and then the pinks and purples dusting the sky around you. it's beautiful—even the weather seemed to encourage you to marry your fiancé, the sun beaming throughout the day and the breeze cool against your skin.
this sunset is exactly what for weeks, you'd wished would show up on this day. well, that and johnny.
convincing johnny to come to the wedding took a lot less effort than you expected. there was work, of course, johnny had made it his priority for more than half of his life, but then there was the issue of your partner.
they'd always harboured a poorly concealed animosity towards each other. snapping sarcastically and subtly competing for your attention. it tore you apart, to think that neither of them could approve of the other: that you were stuck between choosing the love of your life and the man you were to spend the rest of your life with.
but johnny had shown up anyways. despite work, despite his grievances. for once, he'd really shown that he'd cared more than anything else, about you.
maybe that was why you ran with him. you had just been waiting, all along, for his cue.
maybe that's why he showed up the wedding in the first place.
the hitch in your throat at the question has johnny's attention on you, his smile all teeth when he notices your bleary gaze, still pressed into the car door from where you'd made the window into a makeshift pillow. he checks the road for a brief second before turning to you again.
"sleep well?"
your nod is small, dampened by sleep as you sit yourself upright from your curled position in the seat. there's a kink in your neck which only gets worse the more you try to roll it out, softly moaning as you press your fingers into the achy spot.
johnny spares another look at you, something cunning in his eyes. it makes your chest warm.
the change in posture lets you take a good look at your surroundings—one side of the road is covered in shrubs and trees looming over the cement, lush with summers radiance. the other side is a loch, deeper sapphire now, the sun no longer sparkling over it.
your voice is scratchy, "how long have we been driving?"
"about three hours now."
"oh," your eyebrows raise, apprehension inevitable as you look at the very desolate road ahead of you. one glance in the side-mirror only tells you the same. "how long left?"
"thirty minutes, wanna stop by town as well to pick up some bits."
you trust him, because he's your johnny, but your stomach is still heavy with anxiety, watching as he taps his fingers along the steering wheel. he's at ease, it's obvious to tell.
and that, well...you can't help the suspicion.
"where are we going, johnny?"
there's a pause, one that has your heart clenching, your hand fiddling with the hems of your dress.
his hand inches its way from the gear shift to your concealed thigh. hot, huge, you focus on it, the way his fingers dip in and even past the suffocating layers of fabric grip onto you. like a saving grace.
"'ve got a safe house," he starts, and you close your eyes as you sink into the image of it, of the way he surrounds your every sense. "by the coast. got it fer work, if me or the boys ever needed somewhere."
your exhale is shaky, not even having realised you were holding it. johnny's hand still sits atop your leg, but it feels less like a shackle.
"open your eyes," he murmurs, and you can't do anything but oblige. it's always been this way as long as you can remember, following his lead—you so meek and unsure following the guiding light that was him. boisterous. alive.
johnny's looking right back at you, and you have half the mind to tell him to get his gaze back on the road. he's got you trapped like this though, with those swimming pools of cerulean, with that sparkle which you've been told he only has for you.
you're freed briefly by the sound of a passing car.
"i love ye," the same words he'd said earlier, the same confession that's flipped your world upside down. "'n i should'a said it sooner, and i should'a treated you better. but 'm 'ere now."
"i–" you stutter.
"nae," he interrupts, "i know ye, dove. know ye gonna say things you don't mean or don't intend to, so i want ye to think first. really think. and then, you can tell me whatever yer heart desires. alrigh'?"
stunned into silence, you blink at him with a blank face. or as much of one as you can muster anyways, because everything else in you is screaming. something claws from inside your chest, scratching at your ribcage to be released.
the same thing which you've lived with since falling in love with him. you'd suppressed it, hidden it, away from everyone and everything. you'd just about forced yourself to get over the man, because after the decades of playing around, you couldn't take it anymore.
it never went away.
when you think about it now, looking at the messy slop of hair which he calls a mohawk and the sharpness of his jaw and the scar which runs from it down his neck—so faint, something you'd accidentally left behind on him—you realise that it only grew stronger.
not like you'd made it much easier for yourself, nearly settling down with that germball (now you realise) might have just been the biggest mistake of your life.
because never once, not even at your engagement, did your fiancé bare his heart—soul—to you like this.
like it's yours to take. to consume. to hold and cherish and tuck into your own chest cavity.
johnny's letting you decide what you want. even though he's caused a chaos that's not unlike him. even though you don't think either of you will ever be able to turn the car around and go home.
he's offering his love like god offers his forgiveness.
he knows there's the very chance that it might be trampled on.
that's how you know you're in the right place. that the scratch of the crackly radio and the smell of the grass and johnny's aftershave is what you're supposed to be around.
that anchoring hand on your thigh was always meant to be there. everything that's happened today has to be divine intention.
johnny's here, you're next to him.
so you think, thoughts carrying all the way down the winding roads and darkening sky. you think about your childhood, your family, your life.
