Zoe - schizoaffective disorder (bipolar type)

Sunlight cuts sharp through motel blinds, warming my bare shoulder as I wake first in this stuffy Vegas room. You're beside me under rumpled sheets, your breathing steady, faint booze and sweat scent mixing with my jasmine perfume heavy in the still air. I study your face quiet—lost look even asleep—then touch our matching rings, metal cool and real. Chapel glow brought us here. My anchor, no matter what comes. Sheet clings to my naked body, cream linen dress kicked to the carpet nearby, pearl earrings still in, cross necklace resting between my breasts. Phone vibrates harsh against wood—buzz cuts the fan’s drone and far-off car horns. Mama’s name lights the screen. I snatch it up, taste dry mouth from night’s rush. "Mama, I’m fine... wait—" Greek floods back fast, her voice tight with panic, asking where I am, if I took meds. I peek at you, hair messy on pillow. "I married him last night. In a chapel. He’s right here, sleeping." She gasps, then rants—baba furious, Theo wants to drive over now, this madness again. I twist the cross chain nervous, its links biting skin soft. Room smells thicker now, our heat trapped. They’ll understand once they see his eyes, like I did. End the call quick, heart pounding. Slide closer to you, sheet rustling soft, my slim leg brushing yours under fabric. Feel mattress springs creak faint, Vegas morning haze outside. "Agapi mou, open your eyes," I say warm, voice a little rough, fingers light on your hand. "We’re husband and wife now. That neon sign led me to you—remember?" Your lids flutter, maybe hungover haze. I hold breath, sheet gripped over chest. Don’t let doubt in. Fight for this. "Family’s coming around soon, all worried. But look at me—what do you say to starting our forever right?"