Chapter 5 The Loss of One Night
Anne-Marie’s P.O.V
“Mom? Mom? Mom?!” I gasp, crying my eyes out and running barefoot with the medical team as my mom is rushed on a gurney into the hospital. Her eyes are closed in unconsciousness, her face is ashen, and blood covers her head and clothes.
I called my mom back, only to find out from a man who picked up that her accident happened close to the hotel where I was getting fu–ed, instead of answering her calls and responding to the message she sent several hours ago while I was still at the club:
Mom: {Your sister needs you. She’s gone into labor. Come to the hospital as soon as you can.}
I feel so sick. My head is droning with noise. Exhaustion clings to me like a disease. We get to the ER, and the medical team transfers my mom to a bed as a doctor comes rushing toward us. I’m suddenly butted out before a blue cubicle curtain closes around the team.
“No!” I yell, lunging for the curtain.
Nurses get in my way. Strong arms grab me from behind, and my feet leave the ground.
“Let go of me!” An agonizing wail tears out of my throat as I desperately flail my bloody hands. “Mom! Mom! Mom?!”
“She’s getting the attention she needs.” The stranger holding me mutters firmly. He’s the one who answered my call and called 911. But I know what I saw—the scene of the accident. I recognize the looming knot twisting so painfully in my chest, just like when we lost Dad to a strange ailment.
“No! No! No!” I keep fighting to see her, even if it’s one more time. Tears blur my vision. My sister’s puffy face plays in my head as she rubs her big belly. Mary. My one and only sibling. The realization that when I finally see her again, it’s going to be her lifeless body shoves a knife through my heart.
Tears leak out uncontrollably from my eyes. Drained of every strength, my bloody hands fall; I crumble to pieces, and a blackness yanks me from this world, pulling me into oblivion.
— — — —
~Two weeks ago~
“What are you going to name your baby?” I asked Mary as we snacked on cheesecake and binge-watched videos of figure skaters together on her phone. She was trying to make me feel better after a long day of overworking and harassment from Mr. Dawson. He’d snuck up on me and grabbed my ass twice today.
“If he’s a boy, Lucas. After Dad. If she’s a girl, Anne or Marie. After you.”
I turned to look at her, surprised she’d name her baby after me. “Why?”
She shrugged. “You keep sacrificing your dreams for us… If I could, I’d build a statue in your honor.”
I had no words. I just stared at her as she stuffed her face with the cheesecake I picked up on my way back from work because she was craving it.
Dad died a decade ago—two weeks after getting fired and falling sick so suddenly. He sadly left us with piling debts.
One year into my break from college, I was already helping out at home with several part-time jobs because Mom was always sick due to her immunodeficiency, creditors wouldn’t let her breathe, rent was due all the time, and Mary had her part-time jobs and a rigorous Engineering Physics major to pursue. It was her dream, even though it cost her two years behind me. She was a freshman while I was already done with junior year. I had my scholarship, so thankfully, dropping out wasn’t an option.
A kind female customer I regularly served at my job as a barista took an interest in me and asked about my credentials; I was an A student, a top figure skater (before my injury), which requires grit and hard work, and I had just one year left before graduation, so I qualified for an entry-level role. That’s how I got the job at the logistics company. Things looked promising for a moment until Mary got herself knocked up by a douchebag who ran away and cut all contact with her.
To our mom’s greatest horror, she dropped out of college immediately to earn more money before bringing her baby into this world—she’s always wanted to be a mom—but was too sick to even function.
So, everything fell on my shoulders. I was repaying debts I knew nothing about that doubled if I so much as dozed off. I was putting food on the table, buying regular medications for Mom and my sister, paying for Mary’s check-ups, cravings, wardrobe, and a nursery set-up because I love her so much and will do anything for her, even if it means not having any money left to spend on a nice pair of skates, even if it means not having any savings put toward my final year in college because two gap years mean I lose my scholarship.
Yet she called, and I didn’t answer. I would have heard her voice one last time; I would have seen her alive one last time; I would have called her… ‘Chubby and cute’ one last time; I would have held her hands when she needed me the most… But I was living recklessly for once, drinking and giving myself away to a stranger instead of being by her side, instead of holding my mom together so she wouldn’t lose her mind and run into the highway.
I regret all of it.
Tears leak out of my eyes before I even open them, running down my temples.
An instant wave of darkness latches onto me—body and soul—as I stare at the white ceiling. A painful lump solidifies in my throat, and I swallow it as if prepping for all the tragedy I know is coming.
“Anne-Marie?”
Slowly, I turn my head on a pillow to see Beatrice and Diana staring at me with bloody-red, swollen eyes.
My lips break apart with a whimper as my heart drops.
“She wants to see you,” Beatrice croaks with tears pouring down her face.
No.
Shaking my head, I put a hand over my eyes to cry. It’s hard to breathe properly. Slowly, I touch the bed, about to prop myself up, but they put their hands around me, helping me up. I sluggishly step into slides, dreading what the world outside this tiny hospital room holds.
It’s an excruciatingly painful walk. Beatrice and Diana hold me together as I crumble every few seconds. I press a button together on the varsity jacket and clutch it to my chest.
“How is she?” I ask them, but they choose silence and tears.
The minute I see my mom on the bed, my knees buckle under my weight. I sink onto the floor out of their grips. They drag me right up, pulling me toward her bed in the ER. Her bleeding head has been wrapped; tubes and machines are already connected to her. She breathes through a mask. She’s always been weak. But this— this is brutal.
She wriggles her weak fingers on the bed, bidding me closer.
“Mom?” I sob painfully as I rush toward her bed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She slowly shakes her head. Tears stream out of her eyes. I take her frail hand and squeeze it, then throw my head back. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
She squeezes back, though weak. I lean closer, taking in her weathered features, etching them to memory as my tears drop onto her. With her other hand, she touches the mask.
“No, Mom. Leave it on, leave it on, leave it on.” I blabber desperately, hoping it keeps her with me for longer. Or forever.
The mask clouds as she exhales. But she manages to pull it off, and her voice cracks, “Promise me—”
“No,” I’m crushed to pieces, getting blinded by tears and shaking my head. “Please, please, please…”
“Promise me…”
“Mom, please stay with me. I beg you. I promise, I’ll always answer when you call. Immediately. I’ll leave everything and run to you. Please, give me one more chance—”
“Take care of your sister’s baby…”
My head drops as I weep bitterly.
“Pro–mise… me…”
“I promise,” I choke, squeezing her hand and putting my face before hers. “I promise. I promise.”
“You’ve got to finish college… make something out of your life, and not be a dropout like your sister and me…”
“My sister is awesome. You’re awesome…”
“Finish college. Do it for me.”
I nod eagerly and wipe my eyes. “I love you. I love you so much, Mom. I love you. I love Mary. I loved… I loved… Mary…”
She forces a smile and sluggishly lifts her fingers to my face, wiping my tears. I press her hand to my cheek, unable to stop my tears and the tightening of my chest.
“I love you, Anne-Marie, my special, wonderful daughter… I lied. You were my favorite.”
And she’s taken from me.
With a guttural, heart-wrenching cry, I shut my eyes and drop myself on her.
At the NICU, I glimpse my tiny niece in an incubator before going to see my sister getting prepped for the morgue. She’s already so pale and lifeless. I fall to my knees, suffocating and wailing in harrowing pain as Beatrice and Diana try to pull me up.
I can’t go on after this. Life is no longer worth living.
I regret it all. I wish I had never gone to the club. I wish I had never met him.
