Without A Choice // The Maze Runner [Book 1]

SIX - FLASHBACK

"Mom, I'm back," I called as I closed the door behind me and set the paper bags on the kitchen table. I had been able to get a decent amount of groceries from the store today. The owner passed away a few days ago and his son had taken over his position. 

"That's great, dear," I heard my mother respond before she burst out into a set of coughs. I rushed to her bedside and lifted her from the stiff pillows to sit her up straighter. 

I squatted down next to her and grabbed her hand. "How was Adam? Did you speak to him?" she asked. Adam was the previous owner of the store. 

"Mom, he passed away six days ago, remember?" I said softly. 

"Oh, right," she mumbled almost inaudibly. 

"He suggested I'd bring you chicken soup. He thought you would like that," I spoke up several minutes later after listening to the wind howling outside. 

"I would but only if you have some too," she said kindly. I smiled softly.

"Of course, mom." I stood up to bring her a fresh glass of water. I set it down on her nightstand and felt her forehead. It was still warm, but not alarmingly high. I wiped away some stray drops of sweats with a cold cloth. 

I went back to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. I put away the tin cans filled with several kinds of vegetables and meats and hid the slightly mouldy bread. I'd have to cut off the green and white mould when we'd get around to eating it. 

"Leah?" I heard my mother call. 

"Yes, mom?" I received no response so I walked to the bedroom where I found my mother lying on her bed, tears in her eyes as her chest was covered in a pale greenish liquid that I immediately recognized as vomit. 

I quickly rushed to her side and sat her up straight so I could help her get up. "You have to help me with this one, mom," I muttered as I wrapped her arm around my neck. She rose to her feet and took a few unsteady steps to the bathroom. 

I sat her down in the bathtub where she rid herself of the dirty shirt. I turned on the shower and waited until the water had warmed up slightly to the point that it was acceptable. 

I cleaned her body by letting the water flow over her skin. She looked into the distance with hollow eyes. "I'm sorry, Leah, I know you'd rather be doing something completely else," she softly said. 

"I already told you, it's not a problem. I like taking care of you," I reassured her like I had to do every other day. 

"No, it's not okay. I know how much you love to be outside and I'm keeping you from doing so. You should just leave me here, I'll b-" she started but I cut her off.

"Not a chance, I'm not leaving you." I quickly finished up cleaning her before lifting her from the bath and putting on clean clothes without saying another word to her.

I brought her back to her bed and returned to the bath to clean the shirt that had vomit on it. I rubbed the fabric together harshly under the stream of water and thought about her words. Even though I hated to admit it, she was right. I would much rather be doing something completely else, but ever since my mother got sick, I had been taking care of her. 

I had to feed her, bathe her, be a nurse to her when the situation worsened and I did all the cleaning and groceries. We lived in a tiny apartment we had found about two years ago when we had to move out of our old one because the disease that had killed most of the world's population got infested in the water supply of the apartment building. That's how my mother had gotten sick. 

The building we were living in right now had an old man as the owner who just wanted to provide free shelter to those in need and since my father had left me and my mother when I was just two years old. We were immediately let in when we knocked on his door in the middle of the night. 

We never found out where my father went, some said he was infected and didn't want to put us in danger, others said he joined WCKD. I didn't miss him, simply because I had never got the chance to properly know him. 

My mother, on the other hand, I heard her muster out his name sometimes in her sleep, or she'd ask me during the day where my father was, that she wanted to talk to him. I'd have to tell her that he left over a decade ago and I would have to endure her heartbreaking expression as she muttered out a tiny, "Oh." 

Life was okay, I suppose. My days were the same every day. I got up early to make breakfast for me and mom and to prepare her medicines. Then I did the cleaning and the laundry and after lunch, I got out of the house to do the grocery shopping. Then we had dinner and I would go out for a stroll. 

I would only leave the house after I had made sure my mother was provided with everything she needed. I would leave a big glass of water and a freshly made sandwich on her nightstand and made sure her pillows were as fluffy as possible. 

I'd walk down the streets, feeling the brisk air on my face and inhaling the clean air. I'd find a small pebble and kick it ahead of me until it landed somewhere unreachable. 

I'd return after about an hour when I started worrying about my mother, but I'd find her again, exactly how I left her. I would spend the rest of the night either reading her stories or drawing in my sketchpad. 

"Leah, did I take my medicine today?" my mother asked. I looked up from my sketchpad. 

"You did, after lunch, remember?" 

"Right, right..." she muttered. "And did I go to the toilet before bed?" 

I looked at her with frowned eyebrows. "Yes, five minutes ago." 

She'd usually forget things after a few hours, not this soon. 

"Oh, okay." 

My stomach tied into knots. Her situation was worsening.