Sold For A Night, Bound For A Lifetime

Chapter 8

Kayla’s POV-

I stood there in the dark alleyway, holding my bleeding wrist, staring at Sarah like she was a ghost. My brain couldn't quite connect the angry, bitter girl who had cursed me out a few weeks ago with the person standing here right now holding a wooden baseball bat.

Sarah dropped the bat against her shoulder, letting out a sharp breath. She looked down at the two thieves unconscious on the concrete, then back at me. Her expression was hard, but her eyes gave away a flicker of worry.

"Are you just going to stand there bleeding all over the pavement, or are you going to say something?" Sarah asked, her voice cracking slightly through her tough front.

I swallowed hard, the shock finally starting to fade enough for my voice to work. "Thank you, Sarah."

She rolled her eyes and kicked a beer can out of her way. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't go walking around this stupid neighborhood alone at night anymore. Everyone knows these alleys aren't safe after dark."

She turned on her heel to go away, her heavy boots clicking against the ground as she started to walk away toward the main street. Panic flared in my chest. My apartment was blocks away, my wrist was dripping blood, and the thought of being alone again made me sick.

"Wait," I called out, my voice small.

Sarah stopped. She didn't turn around right away, but her shoulders tightened.

"Can I... can I spend the night at your place?" I asked, my pride finally breaking down completely. "Just for tonight. My wrist hurts, and I don't want to go back to that empty apartment."

She stood still for a long second. Then, slowly, she turned back around. She looked at my pale face, the blood soaking through my sleeve, and let out a long sigh that sounded defeated.

"Fine," she muttered, walking back over and grabbing my good arm to steady me. "Come on. Let's get that wrist patched up before you pass out on me."

Ten minutes later, we were inside Sarah's apartment. It was cozy, smelling faintly of vanilla candles and coffee. She sat me down on her kitchen stool, pulled out a first aid kit from under the sink, and carefully cleaned the cut on my wrist before wrapping it tightly with clean bandage.

She went into the kitchen, heated up some water, and handed me a warm mug of coffee. I held the mug in my hands, feeling the heat seep into my freezing fingers.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. "You look like absolute hell. Want to tell me what happened? And don't leave out the part about why you were walking through a shady alley at midnight."

I took a shaky sip of the coffee and poured my heart out. I told her about getting the job at Glow and Grace, about the miserable influencer Stella Vance, the coffee incident, the fake fall, and Brenda firing me on the spot because she was terrified of a lawsuit.

By the time I finished, Sarah was gripping the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles were white. Her face was flushed with genuine anger.

"Are you kidding me?" Sarah snapped, her voice rising. "Some stuck up brat pours hot coffee on you, throws a tantrum like a toddler, and the manager gave you a leave just to save her own studio? If I were you, I wouldn't even step foot back in that stupid workplace. They don't deserve you."

"I needed the money, Sarah," I whispered, looking down at my coffee.

"I know, I know," she muttered. "Still makes my blood boil tho."

She hadn't even finished talking when a sudden, violent wave of nausea hit the back of my throat. My stomach twisted into a hard, painful knot. Without a word, I dropped the mug, shoved my chair back, and ran down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before I lost everything I had eaten that day, vomiting violently until my ribs ached and my eyes watered.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the tile, and Sarah appeared in the doorway, her face pale with panic.

"Kayla? Oh s**t, are you okay?" She rushed over, pulling my hair back with one hand and rubbing my back with the other. "Did you eat something bad? What's wrong?"

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, leaning back against the bathtub, gasping for air. "I don't know. I just... I ate some broccoli earlier, and I felt so sick. I hate broccoli anyway."

Sarah stared down at me, her eyebrows furrowing as a strange, calculating look crossed her face. She didn't say anything for a moment, but I could see she was not convinced it was broccoli that caused it.

The next morning, the sickness came back worse than before.

I woke up before the sun was fully up, running to the bathroom again to throw up. When I came back into the bedroom, my chest felt heavy, my breasts were unusually sore and tender, and I realized with a growing panic that I had spent half the night getting up to pee.

Sarah was already awake, sitting at her kitchen table drinking a glass of water. When she saw me leaning against the doorframe looking like a corpse, she stood up immediately.

"Get your shoes on," Sarah said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"What? Why?" I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

"You've been throwing up for two days straight, you're exhausted, and your body is acting weird,"

Sarah said, grabbing her car keys off the counter. "We are going to the clinic. Right now."

"Sarah, no, I just need some rest—"

"I said get your shoes on, Kayla. Move."

AT THE HOSPITAL

Ten minutes later, we were sitting in the sterile waiting room of a neighborhood health clinic. Sarah paced back and forth near the door while I sat in a hard plastic chair, my hands shaking in my lap. My mind was racing, desperately trying to push away the one terrifying thought screaming in the back of my head.

No. It's just stress. It's just the stress from the job and Mom and everything else.

"Kayla Williams?" a nurse called out from the doorway.

My heart went into my throat. I stood up on shaky legs and walked back into a small, cold examination room.

A kind looking female doctor with gray hair directed me to sit on the chair.

"So, what brings you in today?" the doctor asked, pulling up her tablet.

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper as I answered her questions. I told her about the nausea, the constant fatigue, the soreness, and the frequent bathroom trips. She nodded slowly, asking a few more specific questions about my cycle.

When I mentioned the date of my last normal period, the doctor paused. She looked up from her screen, her expression softening.

"When was the last time you had unprotected s*x, dear?" she asked gently.

My blood ran cold. The sterile room seemed to spin. I thought back to that one night weeks ago.

The cold hotel room. Lucien Throne. The heavy envelope of cash on the nightstand.

"About... about three weeks ago," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. "Let's run a quick test just to be sure, okay? Go ahead and use this cup in the restroom, and we'll have the results in five minutes."

Those five minutes felt like five years. When I handed the cup back to the nurse, I sat back down on the exam table, staring at my hands. Every second dragged by like pain.

The door finally opened, and the doctor walked back in. She didn't look angry, and she didn't look worried. She just looked at me with deep, heavy pity.

"Kayla," she said softly, holding a small plastic stick in her hand. "The test is positive. You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical punch to the chest.

Pregnant.

The room tilted violently. The white walls started closing in, the sound of the doctor's voice turning into a distant echo.

My vision blurred into blackness as my knees buckled beneath me, and I barely felt myself sliding off the table before the world went completely dark.