Tangled

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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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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..

take in and I hold it for ten seconds before letting

I can do this.

final glance at Selene and Vanessa, I push open the door

and a faint hiss

of her, so vulnerable and fragile, sends a pang

blue eyes, which can be as warm as a summer lake or as frigid as a winter sky, watch me with little

she's dead

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The Mom

presence a

lifeless

voice cracking with

is no response, no flicker of recognition. I swallow hard, fighting back the tears

I hate her.

I hate this woman.

love her with

and I wonder if it would hurt this much. had I been informed she had

her existence, ignoring the fact that she was fighting for her life from the wolfsbane, was so much easier

It's okay to

side of my mother's hospital bed. Plastic scrapes against the

see how far

dullness in her gaze, there's a flicker of something

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316

the fierce woman

voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air between us,

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

her emaciated hand reaches out towards my face. It's a surreal

A

of me wants to recoil, to pull away from her touch, but another part-the part that still yearns

Her fingers draw closer.

this the moment I've craved for so

shining moment, I allow myself to believe that

is left in the past, and in the future

fingertips brush against my cheek, and I lean into the touch, my eyes

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

17.56

check stinging more from the