Bound To The Seduction

Chapter 8: You Are A Terrible Liar

She arrived at the hospital panicking. A middle-aged nurse in a blue uniform sat at the front desk with a phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear.

The nurse flipped through the many files on the table while speaking on the phone. Many people sat on the waiting benches on the opposite side of the front desk. One group was patients waiting for their turn, while the rest were either friends and relatives accompanying the patients or waiting to visit their loved ones.

Sarah stood anxiously at the front desk, waiting to talk to the nurse who seemed to take forever on the call. "Hello, ma'am," she interrupted. "May I know where room 809 is? My mother is admitted there and I'm here to see her."

"Wait a minute," the nurse said to the other person on the line and then spared a glance at Sarah. She wheelchair her swivel chair closer to the running computer on the desk. "Erin Miller?" Sarah nodded, and the nurse passed a green counter book to Sarah without even looking at her. "Sign your name on that book, then take the stairs to the fourth floor and turn left. The room number is written on each door."

"Thanks." Sarah signed her name and rushed up a flight of stairs. She was out of breath by the time she made it to a long corridor on the fourth floor. Nurses and orderlies walked by, rubber shoes squeaking on the tiles. Finally, she found the room at the farthest corner of the long, quiet corridor and barged into the door.

Her mother lay on the bed, her eyes closed, perhaps asleep or unconscious. Her face was a little pale, and her lips were chapped. God, Mom hated chapped lips. Oxygen tubing was inserted into her nose, the other end disappearing behind her ears. A small white gadget with a red light was attached to her middle finger. Her mother's hair was tied with a blue hairnet and did not scatter over the bed.

 An old broken telephone sat on a small table, a tad too close to the emergency button on the wall beside it—hopefully that works. Four other beds occupied the room, but only the furthest bed at the corner had a patient. On that table was an aqua-colored water bottle with a bent straw and a half-eaten tray of food with a big metallic cover on the plate. The window had a mini-blind on it, and one could see the roof of an adjoining room.

Closer to her mother's bed, a boy in his late teens squatted on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers. He was still in his sports uniform—a white tracksuit with three black stripes along the sides.

"Mom," Sarah called out, her voice shaky, as she made hesitant steps towards the bed. "Glen, how's Mom?"

"Sis, you are finally here." He stopped fidgeting with his hands and sprang up to his feet.

"Of course, I'm here!" Sarah snapped, "Where else would I be? I'm asking you, how's Mom?" Her head started throbbing again, and she was more irritable than usual. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you." She raked the hair out of her face, and her sleeve slipped, exposing the bruises on her arm.

Glen suddenly gripped her arm and pulled her aside. He scrunched up her sleeves to her shoulder as he examined her arm. "Sis, what happened to you?" He frowned. "Also, what's with the glasses? You never wear them." He snatched off her glasses and gasped at her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

Sarah pulled her sleeves down and avoided his face. "That... um... it was a small accident." She let out a small nervous laugh, "Definitely an accident. Let's focus on Mom for now." She turned around as soon as she finished speaking, desperate to escape her brother's grasp, but Glen yanked her back.

"Sis, you are terrible at lying." The pull caught her unprepared, and she crashed onto his chest. Glen caught the alcohol in her breath, and his expression turned serious. "Sarah, did you drink?" He asked, his voice cold, still hushed, afraid Mom would overhear them.