Rayne's Revenge

My reflection in the boutique mirror mocked me. The emerald dress, the one that supposedly accentuated my perfect curves felt a little too provocative for an "Engagement party dress.”

Elliot stood a few feet away, his designer suit as stiff as his posture. His gaze was fixed on his phone, not even a single interest in the woman he was supposedly going to marry.

"You look… green," he observed finally, without looking up.

He finally acknowledged my existence with a bored glance. I just wished he could look at me differently. “I could get another one if you want?”

"Let's just fucking get this over with," he sighed, his voice far from any warmth.

Elliot Levin, my childhood crush, the boy whom I worshiped the ground he walked on, hated me. It wasn't a secret. He'd never looked my way in high school, and here we were, engaged to be married.  Except, our "engagement" was a carefully crafted publicity stunt for Star-Struck, my father’s entertainment agency.

We exited the boutique.  "So," I started, testing the waters, "any ideas for the party?" Elliot raised an eyebrow, annoyance crossing his features.

"Isn't that your department, darling?" he said, the sarcasm dripping from his every word. 

Was this even about the show anymore? Or was this about him taking every opportunity to belittle me. So I forced a smile.

"Right," I said tightly, "I’m gonna brainstorm some ideas then." The next hour, I went back-and-forth with ideas for the party. He shot down every suggestion I made, his disdain evident in every dismissive comment.

Finally, defeated, I threw my hands up. "Look, Elliot," I said, "This is supposed to be a celebration. Can't you try to pretend you're at least a little happy about it?"

He finally met my gaze, his eyes cold. "Happy?" he repeated, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Rayne, this whole thing is a joke. The only reason I'm doing this is for Star Struck."

The truth, brutal and raw, hit me like a physical blow. Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. He stared at me for a long moment, his facial expression was painted with evident annoyance. “You know what? I’m outta here.” He said, leaving me alone to brainstorm ideas for our engagement party. 

String lights, white tablecloths, a strategically placed ice sculpture shaped like a goddamn swan – I surveyed the scene with a little content. I was exhausted, but there was no room for sleep tonight. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. Again. He was probably off at some late-night poker game, leaving me to handle every last detail. Tomorrow was my engagement party, and regardless of the situation at hand, it had to be a memorable one.

"Long day?" A voice laced with amusement, cut through. Zia, my  stepsister, emerged from beside me with a glass of champagne in hand.

"You have no fucking idea," I sighed. "This entire thing feels like a production Elliot's starring in, and I'm just the overworked stagehand."

Zia chuckled. "That's putting it mildly. Did he even bother showing up for the table linen selection meeting?"

"Apparently, clubbing and poker nights are a more pressing engagement." 

“You look exhausted though," Zia observed.

"Just a little last-minute tweaking," I said, straightening a stray tablecloth. "You know, the joys of party planning."

“Speaking of joys," Zia said, "Planning a wedding solo isn’t so glamorous, is it?”

My smile disappeared. "Of course. But I can handle it." I said. 

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure you can. But wouldn't it be easier with a fiancé who, you know, actually wanted to be here?"

We both knew the truth. “Why are you even here, Zia?"

She settled down on a chair, setting the champagne flute down on a nearby table. "Just wanted to offer some… moral support," she said. "Besides," she added, leaning in, "wouldn't you be curious what's in this?"

I was unease. "What's in what?" I asked, eyeing the untouched champagne.

Zia's smile widened. "Just a little something to help you loosen up."

I abruptly declined her offer. "Zia, no."

"Come on, Rayne," she pleaded. "You deserve better than Elliot. This whole engagement is a sham. This drink might just help you see that."

I stared at the glass, the golden liquid swirling hypnotically. Maybe Zia was right. Maybe a little loosening up was exactly what I needed. Taking a deep breath, I reached for the glass and took in a large gulp. It left a bitter taste in my mouth but it worked, at least I thought. 

The champagne offered little relief. My head ached like a drum solo gone wrong, and the room seemed to tilt like it was ready to fall with every beat of my heart.

"Zia," I called out weakly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'm going to be fucking sick."

She appeared beside me instantly, concern creasing her brow – a concern I wasn't entirely convinced was genuine. "Here," she said, rummaging through her purse. "Take these." She popped a couple of pills into my hand. "Go get some rest. You look like you're about to faint."

Clutching the pills and feeling woozy, I stumbled towards the elevators. "My room is…" My voice trailed off, I wasn’t myself.

"312," Zia supplied helpfully. "Here, take this." She pressed a plastic keycard into my palm. "Just get some sleep."

With a mumbled thanks, I squeezed the cool plastic and stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, and I leaned against the mirrored wall, fighting the urge to close my eyes. Everything seemed to shine slightly, the world taking on a dreamlike quality. Stupid wooziness, I thought, stumbling out into the hallway. Room 312 must be on another floor.

Reaching my designated floor, I held the keycard with my sweaty hands. But as I stepped out of the elevator, my hand went limp. The keycard slipped from my grasp, back in the elevator shaft. I began to panic. I was locked out of my room.

With a groan, I pressed the call button repeatedly, willing the elevator to return. But it seemed to have gotten to the last floor with someone already in it.

Defeated, I decided to take the stairs down one floor. Maybe the keycard would be waiting for me there. But by the time I reached the floor below, exhaustion had taken hold. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before me.

Spotting an open door a few steps ahead, I stumbled towards it. Maybe someone was still awake, someone who could help.

“Hello?" I called out, the silence was heavy. There was no answer. Assuming it was unoccupied, I stumbled towards the bed, collapsing onto the plush mattress with a sigh. The coolness of the sheets felt heavenly against my skin. Sleep, a dark and welcome abyss, called me.