Accidentally Married Aliens

Los Angeles

Ann's POV

Help

This is pure deceit, but I couldn't care less. I watch the message tick sent before grabbing the bottle of vodka and gulping it all down, hoping it will help drown out all my thoughts.

Help

I send again, this time with desperation and frustration tugging at my heart.

When I watch the message go, my heart crashes against my chest at the realization.

He wouldn't reply to me. He would never reply.

He is probably somewhere with his bride-to-be, having the time of his life, while I am here, in nothing but a bathrobe, drowning myself in alcohol in a cheap hotel close to his apartment.

We were here once, when he claimed he had friends over at his apartment, three months ago. I was suspicious, but his sweet words overruled my suspicions.

When a hot tear slips through my cheek, I wipe it away quickly, remembering the vow I made.

I won't cry for him anymore.

I won't beg him anymore.

And I won't fight for us anymore.

He isn't worth it anyway.

But why do I keep feeling this burning sensation in my chest? Why does it feel like my lungs are short of air? Why do I find it difficult to forget him and all the joyful memories we've shared? Why do I keep hoping he will come back and apologize to me so I can take him back without hesitation?

He is not worth it.

Before grabbing the next bottle of alcohol, I dump the empty bottle on the stool in front of me.

The burning hits my throat, and I let out a whimper. It doesn't stop me from downing the liquid until I'm halfway through.

I slam the bottle on the stool and shoot to my feet.

I won't cry. I would rather sink myself in a bathtub or drown myself in alcohol until dawn than cry for that selfish, egoistic bastard.

I won't let him get to me.

When I sway on my way to the bed, I realize I am drunk and my thoughts are messed up.

I laugh. Like a maniac.

When I sober up, I twirl around to grab the rest of the bottle so I can continue drinking while bathing, just in time to hear a knock at the door.

Ryan?

Is that you?

Hastily, I rush over to the door to see if he is there.

Pulling it open, I see no one at the doorway. I step forward and look down the hallway to see a man's back to me. He is wearing black pants and a sweater with a hoodie.

I can't see his face.

When he turns around, our eyes meet, and I realize he is covering every part of his face with a mask, leaving only his eyes.

I shake my head.

This isn't Ryan.

When he takes a step forward, terror slices through me, and I back away. Ryan doesn't wear black. Ryan wouldn't disguise. Ryan can't even be here.

Who is this?

An intruder? A thief?

For a moment, I regret my impulsive decision to stay in a cheap hotel like this. There are no guards or cameras in sight.

This is probably a thief, going from door to door to see if he can get in and cart away some valuable possessions.

He continues to step closer, and I find myself turning around and rushing inside before slamming the door shut.

Panic courses through me, and my eyes widen in fear, my drunkenness gone in a flash, even though my steps are still flattered.

Ryan. I need you now.

Perhaps I shouldn't have pretended to be in need of his help. Now I need it, and I have no one to call for help.

With my hands full, I kick open the bathroom door, rush in, and securely lock it behind me.

I drop the bottle and begin to type furiously on my phone.

You jerk, I f**king need your help! I am in that cheap hotel close to Austin Avenue. There is an intruder in here. Just help this once, and I promise never to bother you again. Pick up the fucking call or come help me. Goddammit!"

Unable to continue with my inner rambling, I tap on the send button, and it successfully delivers. With raw hope, I watch the message tick and turn green.

I almost jump up in excitement when he reads the message. And I wait.

Stamping my feet and trying desperately to ignore the raw devastation streaming through me, I continue to wait for him to type back and send a reply.

I need someone to reassure me that everything is well.

Our lives were so beautiful and filled with happy moments, and we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

I believed he was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be his.

But he left. He left me for her. Because his parents wanted her. He left me.

Because I was extremely mad at him when he told me about his decision to marry that woman instead, I blocked him everywhere.