"Don't make promises you can't keep."
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Noah Reed is lost. Fed up with his constant attitude and need for self-destruction, his mother sends him to live out the rest of the year with his father in hop...
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"What do you mean I can't see her?" I snap at the nurse standing in front of me.
"I mean you can't go in there," she retorts, glaring at me with her dark brown eyes as she gestures to my mother's hospital room.
"I'm her son," I hiss. "You don't think you can make an exception this one time?"
"If I make an exception for you," she snaps, "then I'm going to have to make an exception for everyone in that waiting room, because they'll all bombard me about how unfair it is of me to let you past this door and not do the same for them! Besides, your mother is being prepared for surgery, and I was given specific orders not to let any visitors in."
"My mother might die," I mutter. "This might be the last time I ever see her, and you're refusing to let me past a goddamn door?"
For a moment, the nurse's gaze softens. Then she blinks, looking at me with her you're not getting past me expression, as if I couldn't just pick her up and move her out of my way if I wanted to.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she says, adding, "but I can't let you past this door. You're free to wait in the waiting room if you'd like, or I can update you when she goes in and out of surgery."
I exhale sharply, opening my mouth to tell this girl off right as a voice down the hall cries, "Kiana! I need you help in 22A!"
The nurse in front of me—Kiana, I'm assuming—gives me a skeptical glance, as if she thinks I'm about to cause a scene or something. Pointing an accusing finger at me, she hisses, "Don't go in that room, got it?"
Rolling my eyes, I shoot her my best smirk, trying to get on her nerves the way she's gotten on mine. "Wouldn't even think of it," I retort. Kiana narrows her dark eyes at me before slowly heading off in the direction she was called to. I watch her go until she's slipped down the hall, then I hurriedly rush to open the door in front of me. I enter the room quickly, silently closing the door behind me. I take a deep breath as I turn around slowly, unsure of what I'll be left to face.
The second I lay eyes on my mother, I forget how to breathe. A sound between a gasp and a choke escapes me.
Mom's dark hair is sprawled out across her pillow, matted and caked with a substance that looks a lot like dried blood. A thin gash runs along her forehead, fresh blood coating the wound. Her eyes are closed, though my mother looks anything but peaceful. A purple bruise decorates her right temple and there a scratch marks down her cheeks. Her lip is busted, cut in the corner, her mouth slightly open as she lays completely still.
Next to my mother a machine beeps steadily, signifying her heartbeat. I notice that, although the machine beeps rather slowly, it's still beeping. Her heart is still beating. As of right now, my mother is hanging on, and I find this reassuring.
Looking down at my mother, I suddenly realize how exhausted I am. I'm running on maybe three hours of sleep, and the panic and grief and fear and guilt I feel has been eating at me and nearly drained me of all my energy.
