Chapter 1 - Malia (2)

"Call him, Mal. Or I'll call him for you," Heather shouts from her side of the room. She doesn't like Bryce very much. She said he was nice when they met but after we became official, Heather said there was something off about him that she can't place.

I thought Bryce was okay. He's hot, nice to me, and he's…normal. Normal, like…he comes from a law-abiding middle-class family. He's exactly what I need: a regular guy who doesn't have family drama or anything. He's perfect because he's safe.

Sighing, I decide to call him. But just before I can tap my phone to do that, my screen flashes, an unknown number calling me. Heather watches from an arm's length while she combs her hair. Wondering who it is, I hesitate. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Malia Rose, daughter of Jennifer Rose?" an older female asks. From her end of the line, I can hear noise and what sounds like a hospital announcement through a speaker. I sit up in bed, my heart thundering in my chest.

"Yes…"

"This is Nurse Shu from the Emergency…" the rest of her words sound like a muffled noise. She's still talking, telling me how my mother was brought to the ER after fainting on the sidewalk, and I'm already climbing down my bed, frantically grabbing my stuff so I can rush to the hospital. I'm told to go there before the nurse ends the call.

I stumble on my words as I tell Heather what the nurse told me while my heart sinks to my stomach and I panic. I head to the door in a hurry but Heather stops me by my shoulders.

"Woah, woah, babe. Hang on. Calm down."

"I have to go to the hospital!" I yell as she spins me around. Why is she stopping me? I need to leave. Now!

"I know, but you can't go out like that. At least wear some pants and shoes." She pointedly looks at my bottom half and I follow her stare.

I'm wearing my gray college t-shirt and a pair of skimpy sleep shorts and no shoes. In my haste, I didn't even think about clothes. I just wanted to get to my mother. I hurry to my closet, grab the first pants I see, and put them on.

"Slow down, Mal, we'll get there. I'll drive you. Just calm down, okay?"

"You're coming with me?" I ask, tears already brimming my eyes.

"Of course, I am. Come on."

🖤🖤🖤

We leave the campus fast and I spend the drive to the hospital biting my nails and worrying about my mother. The nurse didn't tell me any details–just that she had fainted. I don't know what's wrong now. I hope it's nothing serious. Her surgery months ago was a success, so everything should be fine. What's wrong now?

As soon as we get to the hospital, I rush inside, my nose wrinkling at the smell of antiseptic. I maneuver my way around the nurses and doctors in white and people milling about to get to the information booth. The speaker in the ER makes an announcement, paging a doctor, and drowning out my voice as I ask the one on duty where my mother is.

They won't let me see her yet. She's still being examined. Heather and I wait for god knows how long. My butt hurts from sitting down so I pace in the waiting room. When the doctor finally comes, she invites me back to her office. I don't want to go there alone, so I bring Heather with me.

It's there that my whole world collapses.

"The MRI shows that she has an intracranial epidermoid cyst," the doctor says.

My brows draw together, completely confused. What is she talking about? "A cyst? But she already had surgery in February to remove the cyst. It's been four months. You must be mistaken. The surgery was successful. They already removed it. She recovered."

"Intracranial epidermoid cysts are slow-growing tumors. They're rare and can have gradual tumor regrowth. Your mother's case is unique in that the recurrence of the tumor is rapid. She needs another surgery. And she needs it as soon as possible."

I don't remember what happened next. I see her mouth move but I don't hear a word. It's later when we leave her office that Heather tells me what else the doctor said. The surgery is in two days. A nurse brings us to where my mother is. And I break down when I see her in bed with wires attached to her body.

She hasn't regained consciousness yet. Her hand is cold as I clutch it in mine. I feel so helpless looking at her, wishing I'm in her place instead. Why is she sick? What could she possibly have done to anger God and put her in this situation? She's been nothing but kind and loving to me and the people around her. She doesn't deserve this.

She was abused and maltreated. Wasn't that enough? Why does my mother have to suffer? It's as if my chest is being squeezed dry at the thought of losing her. "Mom…" I call in a trembling voice. I can't help my quivering chin. Heather sits on the arm of my chair, holding me and rubbing my back while I cry my eyes out.