No Skin Pt. 2

No Skin Pt. 2 by: M. R. Vega

Yaretzi only knew how to play roulette based on the comedies often found on the t.v shared with her dad while she grew up. Seeing a young Chevy Chase with that well-remembered maniacal grin at a donning of a win to quickly see it diminish with an almost felt grieving and regret of not walking away. Yaretzi didn’t think her trusting lies and tricks with the idea of cards and counting was an immediate win. It didn’t seem necessary to take such a risk, her diminished cash load was pure salt on the wounds many in Vegas are privy to facing. She knew all she needed was five hundred, and that’d be enough for the ticket back home.

At the table of five for roulette, she casually held back and watched a few rounds before throwing in. She watched the outside line, the odds/evens, black/red, lows/highs. This seemed to be a comfortable place not only to find that quick amount but with a timid withdrawal expected she’d be left alone by casino staff egging on further funds and fun she knew she needed to keep at bay.

She rummaged through the chips and counted 25 dollars worth of chips for both blacks and odds then made herself comfortable. While waiting for the dealer to take the remaining bets, most seemed to be favorite numbers chosen, consistent winners, at least so they stated loud and drunken. She herself hoped she didn’t reek like the players around her, the liquor almost leaked from their pores and it quickly deterred any call to the bar for an after-party or parting drink if she had happened to win. Fingers crossed, wishing her dad was there or anyone that was considered a friend but she left impulsively with a baggage of emotion and rawly growled at the world. This was on her and no one else, and maybe that was the worst of it. Maybe that idea of being alone for the sake of herself because she knew it to be the best decision had her regretting buying that plane ticket, cussing at her father, and ghosting of her few remaining friends while she drove to the airport. Losing with someone would at least have a decent camaraderie, that whole idea of misery loves company trickled into the back of her mind and she shook her head at the stupidity of herself.

The dealer called out to everyone at the table, “Last bets!” and awaited for anyone to make a last-minute addition…aside from the winners and slots ringing behind them all, they all kept stiff and held a breath till the wheel began to spin. She inhaled a quick breath and looked around while some bit their bottom lip, some picked at their nails, and others kept their hands over their eyes awaiting the winning number to be called out. She knew clearly that she didn’t know what she was doing, and didn’t even understand how to appropriately calculate the win if she happened to get it.

The spinning became dizzying in her incessant watching of the turnstile and turned her focus on the thick clap of the ball while it decided which slot to fit into. “Black, One!” She pulled in the rest of that breath and exhaled deeply while she waved her hands not believing she just won at least the fifty in a total of what she had put down. She at least didn’t lose anything, not yet she thought and bit at her tongue, unaware she was already being watched by the staff. And put another 25 on black and odds. Why not, she thought. Crossed a finger and awaited the results, this time with her head down, feeling embarrassed that she was playing a game she didn’t understand and knew if her dad was watching. imagining he’d be chuckling with a giddy grin and puffing out his cheeks like he did when he knew there was a goof at play. She chuckled to herself unaware that it was audible and covered her lips with the thick of her bicep and awaited a call of her loss.

Again she won, inhaled slowly thinking two more risky plays should bring the fortune she awaited and played those two more. The first one was another win dropping another fifty at her feet though the last lost and her spinning like that turnstile began but instead of holding back like she wanted to, a deep flutter called to raise the risk and throw it all, ‘piss in the wind’ as her dad like to mutter when he made a bad call or risked too much with either their eating choice for the weekend or stayed up past his allotted time leaving him groggy and useless as she grew up tending to her self as a growing youth. So with those thoughts running through her mind, she paid tribute to the old man and dropped the remaining chips on 23 and odds.

The last call for bets went, the spin and the clic-clak at the turnstile raised edges while that hard marble rolled, bounced and spun like her drunken woozy mind and she held her breath long enough she couldn’t keep her body straight nor rigid any longer and began to get squeamish with worry that this risk was too much. Her thoughts immediately went to becoming a lady of the night turning tricks for cash enough just to get to the next day and all she could do was clench her eyelids tightly. They burned. Her chest burned with the alcohol bubbling within and she just wished there was a glass of water in front of her but couldn’t risk opening an eye, no instead she pulled her shoulders up and awaited the dreaded loss that she felt was coming and let her breathing out slowly.

Published by Matty R. B.

I'm a writer, artist, story teller and avid reader. I preside in the realm between reality and fiction dabbling on memory, dream, and the grasp of darkness that gets us all. I rest when the weary wake and live through the odd hours and hot desert of filed terrors and mysteries. Welcome to DreamDarkStories.

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