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..

from the amount of oxygen I take in and I hold

I can do this.

and Vanessa,

beeping of machines and a faint hiss coming from somewhere behind her

and drawn. The sight of her,

can be as warm as a summer lake or as frigid as a winter

like she's dead

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The Mom

presence a constant comfort.

and lifeless it

whisper, my voice cracking with

flicker of recognition. I swallow hard, fighting back

I hate her.

I hate this woman.

with the fierceness

I wonder if it would

for her

Ava. It's okay to

bed. Plastic scrapes against the linoleum floor, harsh

to see how far her anger

me, tracking my movements with an unsettling intensity. Despite the dullness

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316

fierce

did you want me to come? 1sk, my voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our fractured

me, her expression

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

A

wants to recoil, to pull away from her touch, but another part-the part that

Her fingers draw closer.

it? Is this the moment I've

longing, and a desperate, aching need for acceptance. For a single, shining moment, I allow myself to believe that this is it. That

is left in the past, and in the future lies

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

weak slap, lacking the force and power of a healthy person, but the

17.56

stinging more from the emotional