4: On One Condition

Mum is… dead?!

The intense cold that runs down my spine has me breathless for a moment. It feels like my heart has stopped beating and I’m turning into a ghost.

My hand can barely hold the phone to my ear.

A wave of confusion and pain, and everything bad cripples me.

“No…” I break out with hysterical laughter. “A prank, right? This is a prank.”

It has to be.

“I… I think mum is dead.”

“You think? You know?” I'm panicking. “What are you saying?!” My voice roars like thunder, it feels suffocating.

“Just come to the hospital, okay?!” She matches my energy, her tone sounds angry.

Then she ends the call.

I guess I deserve it. If I were attentive to my ringing phone and not my sick moan while I finger myself, just maybe things would be different.

In a flash, I put on my clothes, and dash out of the studio.

One minute, I’m standing on the lonely street and waving down a cab, the next, I'm in the hospital. It's like I teleported. I had to pay the driver extra bucks to match the gear.

“Sophie!” I call after her and run in her direction.

She’s pacing to and fro, nervous. Her slim frame seems exhausted. She turns to face me and breaks into a loud sob.

I can't hold back my tears.

We meet halfway and I swallow her in a mama-bear hug, kissing her, cuddling her, easing out her anxiety even though I need attention too.

“It’s okay…” My shaky hands cup her moon-shaped face, looking into her baby's deep eyes, a darker shade than mine, so is her blonde hair.

I’m thicker, a calm elder sister with a black heart, longer and fuller hair, and full lips. Sophie looks more like mum than me.

“Where’s mum?”

“In there.” She points at the ER and sniffles. “She just collapsed… I don't know why, no one is talking to me.”

“Which means she’s not been certified dead?” My knuckles go pale. I try to stay strong for her, but I’m losing it.

Sophie shakes her head.

I want to scold her for scaring the shit out of me, but I don't. If for anything, this is a relief.

“What happened? I could swear mum was okay.”

Sophie pulls away from my arms and sighs. She starts walking away from the hallway. “She and dad had a fight.”

What. The. Heck?!

The rush of anger that runs through me is insane.

My hands clench in a fist, muscles twitch.

I don't have to hear all of it to be pissed at my dad. If he’s not getting drunk, he’s not returning home, or even cheating with the third bitch for the night.

A doctor in blue scrubs shows up behind Sophie. I sprint, putting away the need to confront my dad.

“Doctor, how is my mother?” I demand. Sophie spins to face the doctor, agitated as well.

The doctor motions for me to relax. “Elena?”

I gulp dryly and nod, hoping nothing is wrong. I do my quick behavior profiling. She doesn't look blank or sad… just tensed.

It's a good sign I guess.

“Your mum had a heart attack, good thing we got to her on time. Sadly, she’s having uh…” She pauses as if the next reveal is too heavy. “A severe heart failure and needs surgery. Urgently.”

My heart drops.

Oh, god.

“Go ahead,” I say as if giving my consent is all it takes. “Do your thing. Please, just save my mother…”

“It doesn't take mere words, else we would have. Trust me.” She steps back from the chaos. “Her insurance doesn't cover the cost of her surgery. We’re doing all it takes to save her but it's only… temporal.”

“How much?” I hit the nail. “How much are we talking about?”

“Roughly $100k.”

Wait… what?!

“Can it—um…”

She shakes her head as if knowing what I’m about to say. “We can only accept half a deposit for a start.” She excuses herself.

I stay still, broken.

Sophie holds my hand, sobbing. “Will Mum die?”

“No,” I say, more confident than my bank account can afford. I cup her cheek, something I find impulsive. “I’ll do all it takes to save mum. Okay?”

She nods, and tears roll down her cheeks.

“Now, I want you to stay with mum. I need to be somewhere.”

She nods nonstop.

I peck her forehead before dashing out to the house.

On arrival, my dad is lounging on the couch, body recklessly sprawled like he did nothing. The scattered living room reeks of alcohol.

Cheap alcohol.

He doesn't even realize when I stepped in.

“We need to talk.” My tone is cold, hands are trembling beside me.

I can't bear to call him dad.

He groans as if I interrupted his peaceful sleep. His lean sweaty body folds as he turns to face me. The sun rays streaking through the window cause him to block his vision.

“You don't have to be loud.” He hisses. “What do you want?”

The casualty of his tone irritates me. How is he so nonchalant?

“How dare you?” The words leave me before I can hold them back.

His brows furrow. He frowns.

“You know mum is terribly sick and you just had to pick a fight with her.”

“Tone, young lady.” He scolds.

I stay pissed, tapping my foot on the ground.

“Can’t say she doesn't deserve it.” He struggles to stand up, staggering with each step.

“You know, it’d mean so much if you can at least afford anything around the house.”

He moves so fast, slapping me flat across the face.

I gasp, my hands palm my face to nurse my aching jaw.

“Don't you ever, raise your voice at me.” He looks aggressive. “Ever again.”

I storm upstairs and lock myself in the confinement of my small room.

With my hands still on my face, I cry my eyes out.

I've been in shitty situations a million times to know I have literally no one on my contact list to run to. Riley is a sweetheart but she’s equally broke.

The only person I can run to is Lady Zee, my anonymous client. When I first drew the perverted image of Dominic and posted it on a faceless T*****r page, she contacted me immediately. She gave me a good contract that comfortably paid my mum’s medical bills in and out of the hospital, including her drugs, Sophie’s fees, groceries… our basics.

After my fifth breakup and the night I met Blake, I had cut her off.

Even though I hate to admit it, Dominic contributed to all my breakups.

I was done.

I needed my dream wedding, the fairytale I can only imagine.

And now… I’m forced to call her.

“Look who we have here,” her steel voice beams from the phone’s speaker. “Thought you exiled.”

“I just needed time.” I try to sound normal.

“Let me guess…” she hums. “You need money?”

I scoff. “Lots of it, I’m afraid.” My shaky hands run through my hair. “I’d need about ten gigs.”

She chuckles. “One. I've only got one.”

Damn it.

One can only afford her drugs.

“But I’ll pay five times the price of one…” She makes me sit up, active. “And I’ll have half the amount wired to you as soon as we conclude.” She pauses. “Besides, you're owing me a portrait.”

Now, something feels off.

“What’s…” I gulp dryly. “What’s the theme?”

“Darling,” she scoffs. “If I were you, I wouldn't be worried about the theme.” She waits a beat. “His fans want something hot to rave about, not his usual abs and cock… they’re over that now.”

I pause, waiting.

“They want to see his face.”