Tangled

162

162

162 Ava: Mom (II)

As we enter the hospital, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the hushed whispers of staff and visitors envelop us. Selene, ever attuned to my emotions, presses against my leg, offering her silent support. I reac

A few steps in, a security guard takes notice of Selene and frowns. "I'm sorry, but dogs aren't allowed inside the hospital premises."

Vanessa steps forward, her voice calm and authoritative. "This is a service dog. She's with us."

The guard glances at me, then at our bodyguards-

dressed in suits, with sunglasses, and essentially a walking cliche. His expression turns guarded and he waves us on. "Of course, my apologies. Please go ahead."

Relieved, I glance down at Selene, only to find her prancing alongside me, head high. Hey, you know service dogs aren't supposed to strut like show dogs, right?

She huffs, but stops her front-leg flicking prance.

Vanessa seems to know where to go as she navigates the maze of

corridors and several random sets of elevators.

With each step, the knot in my stomach tightens, anticipation and dread intertwined. Grateful for Vanessa's presence, I follow behind, digging my fingers into Selene's fur for comfort. Remember, she can't do anything to you, Selene whispers in my head.

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1 G

182 Ava Momin

The door to my mother's room is as mundane as any other. Brown. Silver handle. A note on the door asking to contact the nurse

before drawing labs.

Nothing that says a terrible person resides within and to beware of your heart.

My hand hovers over the handle as my heart beats loudly in my ears. Vanessa places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Remember, Ava," she murmurs into my ear, "you are in control now. Your mother's power over you exists only in the past. You are stronger than you know."

Inod without glancing at her, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep, slow breath..

and ache from the amount of oxygen I take in and I hold it for

I can do this.

Vanessa, I

room is dimly lit, the beeping of machines and a faint hiss coming from somewhere behind

drawn. The sight of her,

be as warm as a summer lake or as frigid as a winter sky, watch me with

she's

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The Mom

close behind, her presence a constant comfort. I reach out and take my

and lifeless

whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. "It's me,

recognition. I swallow hard, fighting

I hate her.

I hate this woman.

yet I love her with the

wonder if it would hurt this much.

fighting for her life from the wolfsbane, was so

It's okay

chair up to the side of my mother's hospital bed. Plastic scrapes against the linoleum floor, harsh in the stillness of

how far

intensity. Despite the dullness in her gaze, there's a flicker of something there-a spark of recognition, perhaps, or

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316

fierce

me to come? 1sk, my voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in

my mother says nothing. She simply stares at me, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she lifts a hand from the bed, the movement

reaches out towards my face. It's a surreal moment, one that seems to stretch

A

from her touch, but another part-the part that still yearns for a

Her fingers draw closer.

this it? Is this the moment I've craved

a single, shining moment, I allow myself to believe that this is it. That my mother is finally going to show me the affection

left in the past, and in

brush against my cheek, and I lean into the touch, my eyes fluttering closed. But then, in a sudden, jarring motion, she slaps

power of a healthy person, but the impact is no less devastating.

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in shock, my check stinging more