***An American woman discovers she is the secret child of Prince Charles, making her the heir to the British throne.***
Victoria Clewell is disabled and can't work, so she has plenty of time to indulge in her favorite hobby: following the British Ro...
Victoria Clewell stumbled toward the door, gritting her teeth as her vision blurred. Just get to the car, she murmured to herself. Just get to the car.
"Vic!" Someone clapped her on the shoulder, sending her tumbling into a table. "Had a bit too much to drink?"
Victoria turned toward him. Eric. One of her friends from college who she hadn't talked to in years, would never even have thought of if not for his occasional Facebook updates. "Actually, I didn't have anything to drink."
"You didn't?" he exclaimed. "Are you crazy? It's an open bar! Come on, I'll get you something."
"Thanks, but I can't," she said, sighing. Oh, please, don't make me give the whole explanation all over again. "It might interact with my medications."
"Oh, right," Eric said vaguely. "What do you have again?"
"Headaches. All day, every day. I can't really leave the house except for doctor appointments."
He scrunched up his face, then waved at the room, the couples still dancing, the remains of the four-tiered wedding cake in the corner. "But you're here."
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"Yeah, but I'm going to be really sick after." Extremely sick, as in multiple Sumatriptan shots so painful they made her scream. As in curling up in a ball in her dark motel room wondering if she should go to the emergency room for a powerful IV medication or just stay here and tough it out. As in crying with pain on airplanes as she flew from Philadelphia back home to Montana.
"You know, my sister has migraines," Eric said. "She cut out carbs and goes to acupuncture. It really helps."
Victoria smiled faintly. "Tried it. Tried everything, basically. And my headaches aren't true migraines. They're not sure what they are..." Then she stopped. What was the point? No one ever understood. Her case was complex. Twenty-one doctors (and counting) hadn't been able to solve it.
"Weird. Do they know what's causing them?"
This was the part of these conversations she hated the most. Maybe, she could say. It might be from a disease called POTS, which messes with how your blood flows through your brain, as well as a lot of other things. It might be from her anxiety, which is sometimes so intense she could hardly breathe.
And then there was her Bipolar. That was the real elephant in the room. People tended to freak out when you tell them you're Bipolar. It's like they suddenly mark you as different, even dangerous. She sometimes explained about the Bipolar maybe causing the headaches because she felt compelled to please people. She hated to explain her disability, but at the same time she hated holding back and being impolite when someone asked her a question. Remember you don't have to tell him. He doesn't need to know your personal medical information.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I really need to go. I'm not feeling well."
"Oh!" said Eric. "Sure. Hey, it was nice seeing you!"
"You, too," said Victoria. She would have said goodbye to the bride - her old friend Becca, who she also hadn't been in contact with for years - but she needed to get out of this room before she vomited. Staggering forward once more, she reached the door and pushed it open, shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight.
Little did she know, that was the last time she would see her friends while she was Victoria Clewell. She couldn't have imagined who she was about to become.
