R O L L I N G R E D •H.S•

❦57 • w h i t e t r a s h p a r t y

• M O L L Y •

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I never thought Liz would let me be so out in the open like this. Sure, she allowed me to come to Vegas to help with this fundraiser, but only because of the lie I've been telling her. As far as she knows, I'm not pregnant. I'm mourning. I'm mourning a loss that 'I never even had to begin with,' though, I am pregnant and it is something that I will have to accept sooner or later. She said I would have fun, that we can do what we used to do, and have fun and get drunk.

Thankfully, she hasn't paid me much notice since she's been downing every ounce of alcohol that she can. Most of the night, I've been tossing the drinks over my shoulders, or simply switching shot glasses with her and point to her cup for her to take it. She thinks she just forgot to do it with me, she's that messed up right now. And sure, I could easily escape this hostage she has on me right now. I can stand up from my spot in the booth while she's dancing with some guy in the crowd of drunken hoodies, but I have no idea where I am.

I don't know who anyone is here, just her. And this far along, I doubt she'll harm me. But, if I leave and do something to disobey her wishes, I wouldn't put it part her to hurt me. Which would only end up hurting my baby. And I will not let that happen. I didn't realize that I could love something...someone...so much—without even meeting them. Isn't that crazy? There is a life inside of me as I sit here and think about all of my problems and about my life.

I'm so thankful that I was able to sneak into the drug store while Liz went into the bank today, because I was able to call Harry. I didn't even know I knew his number by heart until he picked up the phone. I just started dialing, and at first, I was going to hang up and accept my fate. This is my life now, isn't it? Sure, sooner or later Liz will catch on once she notices my stomach getting bigger, and she'd probably beg me to tell Harry. But I could easily pull the 'he's done nothing but lie to me,' card. And maybe that would work, or maybe it wouldn't. Who knows. I was willing to take that chance though.

Raising a baby with Liz wasn't on my to do list any time soon, though, I always knew I wanted her to be in my kids life and they'd know her as 'Auntie Liz.'

Though, I don't believe we'll ever get back to that stage in our life's where we were once so close. Attached to the hip. I'll never be able to get there with her again knowing there's no trust. It was all based off of trust and honesty; but there has never been either of those. Not from her side at least.

"Pretty gown, my grandma wears those."

I look over to see a group of girls laughing at me as they pass by with drinks in their hands.

I don't know why Liz won't let me wear normal fucking clothes. She's had me cooped up in these white gowns, some of them are thin and almost like an elegant nightgown, something sexy but classy. And then she has these: the gowns that are extremely thick and crawl around my shoulders and hug my neck. It leaves nothing but what you can think of to your imagination, and they are ugly. It's what I would picture woman wearing if they were in a church cult.

Not to mention, my feet are super warm inside of these fuzzy ass slippers. Why she has me dressed like a grandma inside of her nursing home—I don't know.

The music is super loud, and to be quite honest, it's starting to give me a headache. My head is throbbing and that nauseous feeling I've grown to be so familiar with is back. The bile rises up my throat but I quickly swallow it down. I scrunch my face up and cough a bit. That taste is always so horrible, it's worse than taking shots without a chaser.

I stand up from my spot and walk up to Liz.

"I'm tired...plus, I think I want to run a bath tonight."

Her eyes go wide, but she doesn't question me. She just nods and pulls out her phone and goes to her app to get us an uber back to our hotel.

"It'll be here in a couple of minutes." Her words are sloppy and slurred, slurred enough that you'd think she was drooling when she spoke. She sways in her spot but she keeps herself upright. After waiting for ten minutes or so, we head outside to crawl into the car. The uber driver doesn't speak, he's an old man and he looks like someone forces him to drive people around.

Once we get back to the hotel, I am quick to strip down and dip my feet into the warm bath. Liz watches me intently, making me wrap my arms around my lower half. It feels almost like I'm protecting my baby from her stare.

"You haven't had a bath since-"

"I know. I just thought showers would be more relaxing. I guess I was wrong," I shrug my shoulders and slump down into the tub. A satisfied hum leaves my lips, and I close my eyes to relax.

"Since you last wrote in your journal." She finishes the sentence she didn't get to get out before I had interrupted her. My eyes snap open, but I don't look at her. I keep my eyes trained on the faucet that's leaking small drips of water.

"I felt like I was suffering more by writing what I felt down everyday," I lie. She thinks I haven't written in my journal since I took a pregnancy test in that old, beaten down drug store. Little does she know, I have. I just wait until she's out of sight and then rip up the pages and stuff them into the hole in the wall near the bed in my room.

That was until I found another journal in a box under my bed, and I found a stapler inside the box as well, so I stapled all of the pages together that I've torn out of the last journal and attached them to the new one. I hide it under the bed inside of that old box, and I write every single day. Maybe it does actually make me feel like I'm suffering more, because let's be honest, I am. Instead of having the will to say what I feel out loud—to the person who I want to hear it most, I can't. I settle for an old journal that has missing pages that have been ripped out before. But, I use it and spill down my every thought.

I didn't pack a bag, Liz packed one for me before we left to Vegas. In order to hide my journal, I had to stuff it inside of my socks pocket in the suitcase. She opened it when we first arrived, I was quick to say I didn't feel well and needed to rest. Jet leg was a good excuse. She closed my suitcase and let me lay down in piece. When she stepped outside to make a call, I quickly shot up from my spot on the bed and grabbed the journal and pen. I hid it under the bed.

After I finish washing myself up, I get dressed and lay down. Thankfully, she got a room that has two beds, allowing me to have some personal space. I don't need much light in here to see the pages, it's bright enough in here thanks to the streetlights that shine through the window of the hotel room.

I write for some time, longer than I thought I would. But I think I got the point across. I think, for once, I haven't looked before I have done, and I feel satisfied with every word that I have written down. Within the span of an entire month, I have written down so many words, I am sure it's more than a series. Longer the Twilight series, and that's a lot if you ask me.

I close the journal before sliding the pen in between the weak papers and put it under my pillow before laying my head down to rest. I thank God that Liz packed a lot of the thin, sexy but elegant gowns, because I did not want to sleep in one of the big, thick, floaty ones that fall to my ankles. It's really hot in the hotel room, and I'm feeling nauseous again. I ignore the feeling of needing to throw up, and close my eyes. I count to ten over and again until eventually, I drift off. My last thought before my brain settles into its own sleep is that I see Harry tomorrow. Tomorrow is the parade and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. Nervous for everything. Anything that is about to go down. My only wish is that Harry knows that I love him with my entire being, but, I love this baby more. And I will choose them over him. Every. Single. Time.