Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans.

I Don't Have to Wonder

I parked down the street a few blocks, very careful that no one saw me. The late afternoon sun was just beginning to descend behind me, and there were a few darkly foreboding clouds off in the distance. The front doors were clearly visible from where I sat, but I couldn't make myself go any further. I was surprised that I had managed to make it this far, or that I had even received an invitation. I had been telling myself all week that I wasn't going to show up. Every single day since receiving that envelope with "Richard Grayson" printed on the outside in an all too familiar handwriting, I had considered it. Each time the thought entered my head, I would reason that there was no point, that no good could come of it. Yet this morning I had somehow found myself standing in front of a mirror, perfecting the Windsor knot on my necktie, brushing down the sleeves of my suit coat, buffing a few dull spots on my shoes. At three different times I had opened the top drawer of my dresser to stare at the little box, and each time I closed it, deciding to leave it there, realizing that I had no right to bring it with me. It seemed like all morning I had been moving in a daze.

And there I was, sitting in my car, all dressed up, the box in my pocket, staring at the front doors of the church.

I don't know how long I sat there, feeling a strange mixture of anticipation and dread, watching cars pull into the parking lot and well-dressed people enter the building. Too long, really. I knew that I should have either put the car in gear and left or swallowed my pride and gone in. Either would have been better than the purgatory of indecision, but I couldn't seem to choose. Both options seemed unbearable.

After a while, the activity outside the building ceased. Everyone had gone in. Everyone except the chauffeur. He stood outside, leaning up against the long, white limousine, puffing on a cigarette.

My attention was diverted by bright sunlight glinting colorfully from the large stained-glass windows. I couldn't help but wonder what exactly was going on inside. In my mind's eye I saw a beautiful building, all the pews packed with chattering people, some that I didn't know, many that I did. The decorations would be very traditional. There would be a long aisle down the middle. Finally, music would start up, everyone would fall silent and turn towards the back of the church to observe the usual procession of flower girls and ring bearers and hideously dressed bridesmaids. All the people would stand as the bridal march began. And then there would be Kori.

That was where my imagination failed me. What would her dress look like? How would she fix her hair? Would she be crying, or smiling, or both?

My reverie was suddenly shattered by the thunderous ringing of the church bells. Startled, I sat up and carefully watched as the front doors of the church building opened. And then I didn't have to wonder anymore. She was there, radiant in her long white dress. There were pale flowers woven in her deep auburn hair that shone like spun gold in the slanting rays of the sun. She looked amazing.

I was transfixed, completely unable to pull my eyes off of her as she stood at the top of the steps. After a few moments, a small crowd had gathered around her. She tossed her bouquet high in the air, laughing and crying at the same time, tears of happiness streaming down her face. Tears of happiness. She was happy. The tall young man at her side escorted her down to the limo, and they both got in. I scrunched down in my seat as the limo drove by me, hoping that she wouldn't see me, knowing that she wouldn't even be looking. She was happy. Happy with him.

I slammed the car into gear, peeled out, and took off in the opposite direction. It was like I was trying to outpace the thoughts running through my head. I couldn't figure out how or why things had turned out like this.

I raced down isolated back roads, tires squealing in and out of turns, not really paying attention to where I was going, but desperately craving solitude. Eventually I skidded to a stop at the side of the road, near a rickety, old, lonesome bridge. I walked out onto the bridge, shoulders slumped, loosening my tie and leaning my hands against the wooden railing. I stood there, gazing out across the swiftly moving river, the water rushing along the banks, never ceasing, always changing, sweeping along everything in it's path. A deep rumble of thunder behind me was a reminder that there was a storm coming. I didn't really care. In front of me, the sun was setting low on the horizon, bathing everything in a soft red glow. Red, like the color of her hair.

I fished around in the pocket of my jacket, pulling out the small, black, velvet box and opening it. I absently let the box fall to the ground and watched as the sunlight flickered from the diamond ring lying in the palm of my hand. It was Kori's ring. At least, it should have been Kori's ring. I bought it while we were still dating. It had taken me months to pick out. I had never gotten around to offering it to her, though. I had meant to, on more than one occasion, but it seemed like something always came up to prevent it; a new criminal, a break in a case, or some other situation that seduced my obsessive nature. I would immerse myself in my work, blocking out everything, and everyone, around me. At times I would forget I even had a girlfriend, much less that I was going to propose. When whatever I was working on resolved itself, I was back to considering a proposal, but it just never seemed like it was the right time, the perfect moment. I somehow always thought that I would have plenty of time, that no matter how often I forgot about her, I would always have another chance, some other opportunity to give it to her. Even when she had walked out on me, her usually cheerful face marred by tears, telling me that she couldn't take it anymore, I had always assumed that it would be temporary, that the right time would still present itself. And then I had received the invitation in the mail.

Standing on the bridge, examining the ring, a strangely tight feeling in my chest, I wondered if it even mattered, if the right time would have ever come, if she would have even said yes. I wondered what it would have been like to be the man who escorted her down the aisle and into the limousine.

I looked again at the sun setting across the river, fighting the burning in my eyes and swallowing the lump in my throat. I took one last glance down at the ring in my hand, watching it sparkle in the dying light. I closed my fist, drew my arm back, and let it fly. I trailed the glint of the metal tumbling through the air, and in less time than it took the first tear to trail down my face, the ring went under, sinking into the oblivion of the rushing water.

I stood there, tears falling, eyes glued to the spot where it had disappeared, gone forever. I could feel myself sinking with it. As the rain finally began to fall, I trudged back to my car, wiping my eyes and steeling my soul. At least now I knew. I knew that the right time would never come. I didn't have to wonder anymore.


A/N: Another one-shot, this one much shorter than my others. This was based on a Garth Brooks song of the same name (which I don't own). I am not usually a fan of country music, but I heard the song and thought it would be a good opportunity to practice writing from the first person perspective again.

Honestly, though, I don't really care for this story. It's definitely my least favorite of what I have written so far. I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's too short, kinda cheesy, too melodramatic, or just poorly written? I don't know. I just don't like it much. Since I did take the time to write it, though, I suppose I might as well post it and get a more objective opinion.

Thanks for taking the time to read, especially to those that review. I am very curious to see what others think of this. I will be sure and reply to all reviews.

Coeus