Holly [On Hold]

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

A beeping sounded, loud and obnoxious as he opened his eyes. A soft sob was being torn out from the person beside his bed. His brown hair had become oily, since he hadn’t exactly showered in the bath, his gray eyes were tired and the beeping only added to his headache. His olive skin looked as if it was tightened over his face and it was a whole lot paler than usual and the stubble he’d been too lazy to shave in the morning had grown a centimeter or two, making his face itchy.

The smell of anesthesia and hand sanitizer, the pale paint on the walls, and quite dull and sad colours in the room told him he was in a hospital. His pale gray eyes peered to the right, to where the sobbing was coming from. His tired gray eyes looked at the person sobbing beside his bed. She had an athletic build but she was a slightly pump looking woman, in her mid-40’s, her hair still held the coppery red tone, while her roots were gray. She was in her bakery uniform, having no time to change, the smell of baked goods lingered around her. Her aging blue eyes shedding tear after tear and body racking with sobs and hiccups escaping her throat.  

“Mom,” he whispered, hoarsely. His heart broke, as the ear-splitting sobs ran into his ear. She immediately stopped sobbing. The sobs he’d heard when he woke up were nightmarish and created goosebumps along his tan skin, not the good kind. He frowned as he realized that it was his fault and it made his stomach clench and twist in ways he never thought were possible. It made him feel worse than horrible.

The window, on the other side of his bed, displayed the dark clouds and the indigo night painting the sky, creating the snow-littered city to appear darker and colder. “Damon?” she whispered hoarsely. She looked up from the veil her hands had created. Tears bore pathways down her face, taking with them mascara, and leaving them in their tracks while the tear drops dried, and others took their place. The pain that he’d caused. He realized something more: nothing in this world could hurt more than seeing his mother, the woman who brought him up, cry like that. He never wanted to hurt his mother, even if it meant bearing the pain he felt every day. He’d walk on broken glass for his mother, if that’s what it took to make her happy. She may not be his blood, but she was always his mother. Even if his blood mother ever came back for him, he’d never leave his adoptive mother. She’d done too much for him.

“Sorry, mom,” he whispered, his eyes closed as tears slid down his face. His throaty, deep voice cracked. His mother saw his pain, his vulnerability. She knew he was in pain from everything, from the small things to the big. She was only glad he was given a second chance to live. She knew happiness will soon flourish into his life, she felt it in her gut. “I’m so sorry mom,” She had no one, he knew that, why had he decided to hurt her? He never even thought of his mother, under all of this pain, he forgot that his mother was alone in the world. So alone. She only had him.

She closed her eyes as she hugged him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I-I’ve never been there for you,” she wiped away his tears. “I’m so sorry,”

He shook his head. “No, Mom, that’s fine,” he whispered. “It’s not you at all,” his voice cracked.

“Then what?” she asked desperately.

“It’s everything, Mom,” as more tears trailed down. “It’s my life, it’s the filthy blood running through my veins, it’s Lily, it’s everyone, there’s something wrong with me,” he said truthfully. There was something wrong with him. There were days he’d sleep all day, all night. Times he’d be awake but immobile staring off into nothing. He was hurting and all he knew was he needed help, especially after what had just happened.

“Oh baby, no, it’s nothing, just calm down,” she soothed, pushing his hair out of his face and patted his head softly, brushing away tears. “I’m sorry, baby,” she hiccupped.