Catanya moans as she is pulled from the bliss of her sweet dreams. A soft breeze glides over her face, and she smilingly opens up her eyes.

Lying on her right side, she vaguely registers that she is facing one side of some room. A snowy-white curtain is drawn in front of the window, but is swaying around, flying up with every rush of wind underneath. Mesmerized, she stares at the curtain’s dance, allowing the whole of her being to wake up, before she finally decides to stir.

Yawning as she sits up straight, her feet are swung off of the bed. Her left hand covering her mouth, she doesn’t realize the change, until her slender fingers are pulled away again. Her sight freezes upon the unwelcome sight of adornment on her fourth finger.

The silver twists intricately around her finger, bits of strong strands joining each other as they curve around the soft piece of flesh. She notices the twisted strands joining each other around three diamonds. First, the smaller, outer ones are circled and passed, before the beautiful ring comes to an end, focusing her attention on the middle, and much larger, diamond.

The room closes in around her as she continues staring at the ring. Her mind trips and whirls around, trying to conjure up some reasons, but no plausible explanations appear. Her breath hitches and her heart rate picks up as she panics.

Her feet hitting the ground, she races over to the window, tearing the curtain away. The oh-so-familiar sight of Las Vegas meets her gaze.

Blankly, she stares at the scene. She has no idea what day it is, nor the reason for her being in Vegas. In truth, she doesn’t even know why she’s there, what has happened in the previous few days, nor...

Five minutes pass in perturbed contemplation. Finally, something comes to mind. She has a cousin...Corinne, Catherine, or Calantha...Somebody. And this cousin was going to have...her wedding in Vegas!

Some of the puzzles pieces in her mind clear up as they piece themselves together.

But...She bites down on her right index finger’s nail. I don’t recall anything other than...reaching the airport.

Her breath hitching again and her heart racing faster once more, she anxiously bites a dent into her nail.

A deep-throated moan is suddenly uttered from behind her. Swinging around, she realizes that she has not been alone in the room this whole time.

Her eyes dilate into two pools of sapphire, her heart breaks its own speed record, and her lips stay partly open, captured in a shade of ghost-like white.

Sheets are torn from a body, and feet are swung over the side of the bed. He sits up, facing away from her. For a moment, her fear is forgotten and she sucks in a deep breath, her heart coming to a screeching halt.

If the gods are said to have been handsome, then he would’ve taken the prize a million times over, flies through her barely-functioning mind. That is, he would if he looks as good from up front as from behind.

His biceps bulge as his hands reach behind his neck and seems to massage the muscles in that area. She stares at this action, her eyes frozen on his hands making quick work of the tired muscles. Shivers run down her spine; she can imagine the sensation of two such hands getting rid of all the pressure in-

Her attention is then captured by his curly, black mess of hair being plowed through with his right hand. He suddenly freezes, his hand poised mid-air. Letting it fall, he slowly rises from the bed and turns around, his eyes latching onto her.

Though he is standing on the other side of the bed, and she is still stationary at the window, she immediately notices, or rather senses, the green mischief in his eyes, the twinkle in them. The slight curve around his lips shoot more shivers down her spine, and her fear is set on fire again. Inside her mind, the sirens are loudly blaring out ‘Danger!’, over and over again.

Self-consciously, her hands fold around her lower ribcage area, as if she is trying to shield herself. She becomes aware of being only dressed in a satin nightgown and though her eyes dilate even more with fear, she feels a little heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” His deep, rumbling voice hits her. The increasing mischief in his eyes and the growing smirk around his lips send chills through her whole body, and she steps back, her ankle hitting the wall with a painful thud.

“Wh-who a-a-are you?” She asks shakily, evoking a frown from him. They eye each other, until he answers her, his voice steady but laced with a slight tinge of concern.

“Your husband.”

All color draining from her face, she tumbles down to the ground. Without any hesitation, he jumps onto the bed and over it, skidding to his knees behind her. He disentangles her from her uncomfortable position, and holds her face in his lap.

“Catanya, please, no. Hold on, gorgeous. I still need you. We’re not done yet. You can’t give in now.”

in hypotheticals, you wake up,

in the hotel, above the casino,

like some Elvis, like Sinatra,

beneath you, in the lower floors, people gamble, drink,

cry and scream,

an extasy of tackiness,

and fan-dancers.

and beside you,

wearing a matching ring,

is the hypothetical,

gold-digger/lost soul.

oh, your mouth is a parched desert,

you are desperate for a cold glass,

of clear water.

but water does not hold,

in liquid state in this environment,

unless it is mixed in,

to water down ,

the booze

in despair you turn over,

not leaving the unbridgable,

chasm that lies by the king-size.

luckily, the spiders thought hard on this, and included a mini-fridge, where a night stand should be.

inside, you find a poor substitue,

soda water, with a sharp tab to pull,

and a price tag,

attached with a hot glue gun.

you drink the carbonated atrocity,

still impaled upon the sheets,

the gold digger, your new dependent,

is encrusted with shame ,

bismirched with glitter,

smeared with cream.

you hope the cake was good,

not some vanilla cheapness.

this is not happening, you think,

this is not reality, but a dream,

a fevered expression of the everyday,

in all its shams.

the ring is perfect proof , again,

of this surreal moment.

the metal circle is inwardly serrated,

made from a rusty pipe fitting,

it bites into the flesh,

and you know if this was true,

a tetenus shot would be required.

the betrothed, the hitched, now stirrs,

a dragon of carnality,

this beast knew them all,

all who visit , in these regions,

give her same-such jewelry, as tribute,

a trilobite, a satin-covered fossil,

of parched ravines.

her language is unknown to you,

or perhaps,

it is just an prolonged clearing of the apparatus, that said once ‘i do’.

quick, you think, hold still,

this lawfully-wed bewilderment,

has eyes, true.

but their vision,

is based on movement.

The Be-wed,

the grendel to your Beowolfe,

slowly snakes,

she knows well,

the finger-like cliffs, that.surround the unwalled honeymoon suite.

those clifs now stretch long sharp fingers of shadow,

upon the desert sands,

as the sun makes,

its merciless rising,

casting all beneath,

with radiating pain.

you spot a hidden pathway,

spiraling down the bed,

disappearing in the jagged rocks.

but your escape is not to be,

the posseser of the ring,

spots you at last,

flashing burning eyes.

opening the jaws saliva drips,

along with plastic 5$ chips,

that were uncashed.

you now remember,

the drunken pick-up,

the placing of said chips,

in the unfamiliar curvature.

and you then know,

what hopelessness is.

cause Las Vegas does not exist.

it is, but it isn't.

just like this newly-pronounced contract.