The Vegas Aftermath

Raina

I woke up to the sour, acidic taste of bile rising in the back of my throat. Pure panic seized my chest. My legs kicked the heavy silk blankets off the mattress before my sleep-addled brain could even process the emergency. I rushed barefoot across the sprawling bedroom, my toes curling against the freezing hardwood floor. I sprinted into the pristine marble bathroom and collapsed onto my hands and knees. My fingers gripped the edge of the toilet bowl just in time to heave with sickening force into the water. My stomach cramped with agonizing pain. My abdominal muscles clenched tight, twisting in on themselves like a wet rag being wrung out to dry. I gasped for air, spitting bitter fluid from my cracked lips.

It was the third morning in a row this had happened. No, a wave of dizzy realization washed over me as I rested my sweaty forehead against the cool porcelain. It was the fifth morning. Ever since I returned from that terrifying, blurred weekend in Las Vegas, my body had turned against me in the worst possible way. Every day started the exact same way. Cold sweats, crippling nausea, and a sickening dread settling deep in my bones. I tried to steady my erratic breathing, but the world kept spinning.

Sharp, impatient footsteps echoed loudly on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom suite. The rhythmic click of my mother’s expensive heels sounded like a ticking time bomb. She did not bother to knock. She marched right into my private space, tracking me straight into the bathroom. Evelyn stood in the doorway like a prison sentry. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, pulling her silk robe taut. Her makeup was already a flawless mask of morning perfection, framing a self-righteous, judgmental scowl she seemed to reserve only for me.

"It has been exactly two weeks since you came back from Las Vegas." She muttered the words with icy precision.

Her narrowed eyes locked onto my pale, sweating reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked at me not with a mother's concern, but with profound disdain. I pressed my lips together, fighting back another rising wave of nausea. I lacked the energy to defend myself against her daily interrogations.

She did not wait for my response. She turned her head toward the hallway. "Arthur! Get in here right now!"

Moments later, the sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps approached the suite. My dad, Arthur, appeared in the doorway. He wore his faded morning robe, his graying hair a mess, clutching a rolled-up morning newspaper in his right hand. He rubbed his tired eyes, looking utterly confused by the sudden commotion interrupting his quiet morning routine. He glanced between my mother’s rigid posture and my trembling form on the floor.

"Your daughter is pregnant." Evelyn announced the news with dramatic, cruel flair.

She pointed an accusatory finger directly at my hunched shoulders. The rolled-up newspaper slipped from my dad’s grip and hit the marble floor with a soft thud.

"Evelyn, what are you talking about? What do you mean? Our daughter is only twenty years old. How can she be pregnant?" He asked, his voice blooming with a desperate, pathetic hope.

He refused to believe the worst of me. He took a slow step into the bathroom, reaching out a hesitant hand toward my shoulder.

"Raina, why? Baby, tell me you just ate something bad. Please tell me this is just a terrible stomach bug." He pleaded with me, his eyes begging for a lie he could cling to.

I gagged again, vomiting a thin stream of bile into the bowl. I wanted to tell him he was right. I wanted to wrap myself in his blind optimism and pretend my life was not unraveling at the seams.

"Stop it, Arthur." Mom snapped with vicious intent.

She intercepted his sympathy, stepping between us like a brick wall. She reached into her pocket and shoved a crinkling plastic pharmacy bag into my shaking hands. She pulled a small cardboard box from the plastic bag.

"Go inside that stall and pee on this stick. Right now."

I stared at the pregnancy test box in her hand. My heart thumped so hard against my ribs I thought it would crack my sternum open in two. I took the box from her grip. My fingers trembled so much I could barely hold the lightweight cardboard. I pushed myself off the floor, my knees wobbling like jelly, and retreated behind the glass shower partition to use the toilet.

I complied with her demand. The silence in the room pressed down on my shoulders like a physical weight. Before I could even pull my pants up properly and stand on my own two feet, she reached around the glass partition and snatched the plastic stick right out of my wet hands.

She backed away, holding the small digital window up to the harsh vanity lights. I leaned back against the cold tile wall, shivering in my thin sleepwear. The two minutes of waiting felt like a suffocating eternity. The ticking clock in my head counted down the seconds to my doom. I traced the grout lines on the wall with my eyes, praying to any god that would listen for a single line on that screen. I just needed a miracle to erase the terrifying blackout.

A piercing scream shattered the quiet bathroom.

"I told you! She is pregnant!" Evelyn yelled the words like a victorious battle cry.

She thrust the test into the air. My dad sank heavy onto the velvet bathroom couch in absolute shock. He dropped his head into his hands, letting out a muffled groan of despair that shattered my heart into pieces.

Mom instantly turned her full, unbridled wrath onto me. Her face turned an ugly shade of crimson. The veins in her neck strained against her pale skin.

"Who is responsible for this?" she yelled.

I stood there, paralyzed by a cold, gripping fear. My vocal cords refused to work. I could not form a single word to save my life. How could I tell her the truth? I did not know the father's name. I did not know his face. I had blacked out in a penthouse and woken up with nothing but a pounding headache and a missing memory.

She took my silence as a direct insult. She lunged forward, closing the distance between us in a fraction of a second. She raised her hand and slapped me across the cheek so hard my head jerked sideways. The explosive crack echoed off the marble walls. A high-pitched whine erupted in my left ear. My skin burned as if she had branded me with a hot iron. I tasted copper as my teeth cut into my inner lip.

"I asked you a question, you fucking slut!" She screamed the insult inches from my face.

I broke down. Hot tears streamed down my stinging cheeks. I raised my hands up in a futile defense, trying to shield my face from her incoming blows. I braced my body for another strike.

That was when the bright bathroom light caught the heavy metal on my left hand. A brilliant glare flashed across the room, demanding attention. Her narrowed eyes locked onto the jewelry shining on my finger. Her entire rigid body went deathly still. The intense anger radiating from her paused, replaced by a sudden, chilling shock.

She stared at the intricate silver band. It was set with a deep, blood-red gem that seemed to burn with its own internal light. The craftsmanship was flawless, screaming of a forgotten era. It was an unmistakable antique that whispered heavily of old money and immense power. It looked like a royal heirloom, heavy, ancient, and permanent. The horrifying truth settled over the room like a thick fog. I did not just get knocked up in a Vegas hotel room. I also legally got married to a ghost.

Mom stared at the ring for a long moment. Her chest heaved up and down in rapid breaths. A low chuckle rumbled in her throat before it broke into a manic, high-pitched laugh. The twisted sound sent jagged chills racing down my spine. It was the sound of a woman watching her perfectly curated world catch fire.

"Who gave you this ring?" She shrieked the question, stepping forward to shake the positive pregnancy test right in my face like a damning death certificate.

I backed away until my shoulders hit the cold mirror behind the sink.

"You want to play grown-up, Raina? Well, welcome to grown-up consequences! Who gave you that ring?" She punctuated every word with a harsh jab of the plastic stick.

My dad lifted his head from his hands. He tried to stand up from the velvet couch to intervene and de-escalate the situation. Her hand shot out to stop him in his tracks. She cut him off with a vicious glare that pinned him to the cushions.

"Do not defend her, Arthur. Look at her. She has no idea what she has done to us."

"I know exactly what I have done. It was a mistake." I forced the words out, my voice sounding raw, broken, and scraped down to the bone.

Her face twisted in pure, unfiltered disgust. She did not look at me like a daughter in trouble. She looked at me like a failed investment. I was supposed to be the golden ticket she planned to trade for higher social status and wealth. My impending arranged betrothal was her crowning achievement. Now, I had ruined her grand plans with a single blackout night. I was no longer a valuable asset. I was a worthless liability.

She spat the words out like a venomous curse. "And now you are going to ruin your life. You have thrown it all away."

A freezing coldness settled deep in my chest. The paralyzing terror morphed into a cold, heart-wrenching sense of betrayal. The woman who birthed me only cared about the leverage I provided. She did not care about the terrifying reality I was facing alone. I stared right back into her furious eyes.

"You act like my life was ever mine to begin with." I fired back, my tone dropping to a dead whisper.

That sentence shut her up for a mere second. Her eyes widened slightly in shock at my defiance. Then, her features hardened into a mask of pure, unforgiving ice. Her voice turned razor-sharp and sickeningly final.

"You are not staying here."

"Evelyn, please." My dad pleaded, looking horrified by her sudden decree.

She pointed fiercely at the hallway door, snapping the final command. "No. She made her choice. Let her figure it out."