Written for growinguphowell
"You know what? Fuck you."
"Been there, done that. Got the ring to prove it." I waved my hand at Dylan, ignoring the glare. "Now fuck off so I can make my call, asshole." I rolled my eyes and grabbed the phone, ignoring my fiancee glaring at me. Fucker can take it. We've been fighting for as long as we've been together, this is nothing new.
Figures I'm marrying the jackass that can give as much as he's getting. And sees past all my masks. We pissed each other off from the day we met, when he was directing my production of Cabaret. A week later, after he was yelling at me backstage over how I was running my lines, and I was telling him a hack director like himself doesn't know what the hell he's talking about... We fucked.
And then it happened again. Different fight every time, a lot of fucking, sometimes just straight to it, it started varying. Six months, I'm thinking I'm probably in a relationship, since neither one of us is fucking anyone else.
A year, we're fighting one night, and I get "You're a bitch, you know that? And I can't stand you." because Dylan's never been able to say that he hated me. The suck part is, I could never say it either. It'd give me a little more power.
Fuck it, not like it matters now. So then, I go, "Yeah, and you're an arrogant prick, I can't stand you either.".
And then he goes "Marry me.".
Then I got so pissed for getting caught offgaurd, I slapped him. And then he just takes it, and... He grins at me. Which was fucked up. Then I grinned. And then I said yes.
I mean, if we're going to keep this up, might as well say fuck it, and make it legit, right? Right.
Although, I don't think any of our friends believe it still. Which, doesn't surprise. It took people three months to find out we were fucking, even though it was obvious. So when a ring ends up on my finger, everyone thinks it's a joke. Assholes.
But I don't have to play at anything with Dylan, I'm not acting a part. I've only been able to say that about three people in my life. So why the hell not? There's always divorce if it doesn't work, I've known actresses who've gone through multiple marriages and still come out okay.
Works for me.
And now, I have to call one of those three people I was talking about before, and try and get her to come to New York for my wedding. Her and Sam. Who have a kid, and still aren't married, and I'm nowhere near thinking about a baby and I've already told Dylan what'll happen to him if I get pregnant, and yet, I am getting married.
I'm going to get fucking heckled. At the very least, she's going to snark at me. Which is exactly what I'd do to her. I'll take it. Maybe dish out a little, if the opening comes up.
I dialed Carly's number, and waited for her to pick up, leaning back against the wall and pulling Dylan over. I kissed him, then pointed to the bedroom, glaring at the smug look and mouthing 'go, before I kick your ass'. And he just grins at me like a fucking idiot, and goes to wait for me.
I'm not going to smile over that. Oh please.
"Hello?"
"Gina's RSVP service." Shit, did she get it by now? Am I going to have to say it over the phone? Fuck, I knew I should have waited another day before I called her. "I'm making it easy for you."
You are invited to the wedding of Dylan Lawson and Gina Taylor.
Seriously. We shit you not.
On the thirty first of October, at the house of Carl and Michelle Lawson; 190 West Avenue, Brentwood, New York.
RSVP to 1-212-658-9980
"Been there, done that. Got the ring to prove it." I waved my hand at Dylan, ignoring the glare. "Now fuck off so I can make my call, asshole." I rolled my eyes and grabbed the phone, ignoring my fiancee glaring at me. Fucker can take it. We've been fighting for as long as we've been together, this is nothing new.
Figures I'm marrying the jackass that can give as much as he's getting. And sees past all my masks. We pissed each other off from the day we met, when he was directing my production of Cabaret. A week later, after he was yelling at me backstage over how I was running my lines, and I was telling him a hack director like himself doesn't know what the hell he's talking about... We fucked.
And then it happened again. Different fight every time, a lot of fucking, sometimes just straight to it, it started varying. Six months, I'm thinking I'm probably in a relationship, since neither one of us is fucking anyone else.
A year, we're fighting one night, and I get "You're a bitch, you know that? And I can't stand you." because Dylan's never been able to say that he hated me. The suck part is, I could never say it either. It'd give me a little more power.
Fuck it, not like it matters now. So then, I go, "Yeah, and you're an arrogant prick, I can't stand you either.".
And then he goes "Marry me.".
Then I got so pissed for getting caught offgaurd, I slapped him. And then he just takes it, and... He grins at me. Which was fucked up. Then I grinned. And then I said yes.
I mean, if we're going to keep this up, might as well say fuck it, and make it legit, right? Right.
Although, I don't think any of our friends believe it still. Which, doesn't surprise. It took people three months to find out we were fucking, even though it was obvious. So when a ring ends up on my finger, everyone thinks it's a joke. Assholes.
But I don't have to play at anything with Dylan, I'm not acting a part. I've only been able to say that about three people in my life. So why the hell not? There's always divorce if it doesn't work, I've known actresses who've gone through multiple marriages and still come out okay.
Works for me.
And now, I have to call one of those three people I was talking about before, and try and get her to come to New York for my wedding. Her and Sam. Who have a kid, and still aren't married, and I'm nowhere near thinking about a baby and I've already told Dylan what'll happen to him if I get pregnant, and yet, I am getting married.
I'm going to get fucking heckled. At the very least, she's going to snark at me. Which is exactly what I'd do to her. I'll take it. Maybe dish out a little, if the opening comes up.
I dialed Carly's number, and waited for her to pick up, leaning back against the wall and pulling Dylan over. I kissed him, then pointed to the bedroom, glaring at the smug look and mouthing 'go, before I kick your ass'. And he just grins at me like a fucking idiot, and goes to wait for me.
I'm not going to smile over that. Oh please.
"Hello?"
"Gina's RSVP service." Shit, did she get it by now? Am I going to have to say it over the phone? Fuck, I knew I should have waited another day before I called her. "I'm making it easy for you."
You are invited to the wedding of Dylan Lawson and Gina Taylor.
Seriously. We shit you not.
On the thirty first of October, at the house of Carl and Michelle Lawson; 190 West Avenue, Brentwood, New York.
RSVP to 1-212-658-9980