In a world of blur

“I’m sorry, Miss Hayes. The results confirm it is cancer.”

It was loud in the kind of way that gets into your teeth and sinks deep into your cranium. Every moment fades into oblivion, which seems more like the effect of the drink, but I know better.

The bar was packed, not shoulder-to-shoulder, but thick enough that the air was hot and heavy, soaked in the smell of sweat, spilled beer, cheap cologne, and that lemony disinfectant they swiped across the counter every hour like it made a difference. It just never did. Or maybe it was me.

Neon signs buzzed above me, radiating everything in sick blues and reds. A jukebox fought a losing battle with the crowd noise, blaring out some old rock song no one was listening to.

The laughter became the music and the pleasure, the rhythm. Oh, I hate this place…

I was hunched at the far end of the bar, where the light didn’t quite reach and no one bothered to look too long. My stool wobbled every time I shifted, but I didn’t care. The wood under my arms was sticky. I didn’t care about that, either.

I didn’t know how many drinks I had. Enough to make the corners of everything a little soft. Enough that my lips felt loose and my hands heavy. My glass was nearly empty, something dark and sharp that had gone down easier than it should have. Bourbon? Whiskey? I couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter.

I raised the glass, tilted it back, swallowed the last of it. It burned, but not enough.

“Another shot,” I said, not looking up. “Tequila.”

The bartender, tall, tired eyes, maybe in his thirties, definitely the type who’d seen a hundred women like me come and go, glanced at me. I felt it. That hesitation. Like maybe he’d say something. Like maybe I’d reached some invisible limit. Because I am a god-damned woman who didn't look like the type to drown her shits in the solace of drinking. Like I am the kind who’s all so innocent to avoid this kind of world. A world of rougues and bitches.

But he didn’t. He just reached for the bottle.

Guess he knew better than to argue with a woman who looked like she was trying not to come undone.

“You sure?” he asked anyway, out of habit more than concern.

And I nodded.

The inside of my skull felt warm. Floaty. The voices in the bar all crashed together in one big wave, laughing, shouting, a glass breaking somewhere behind me. But I didn’t flinch.

He poured. I watched the tequila glow gold under the light. For a second, I thought it was beautiful.

I took the shot in one go. No lime. No salt. No flinch. Perhaps because this was approximately the fifteenth time I drained the shots? Or maybe more. I lost count.

It hit the back of my throat like heat, and slid down to join the rest of it like a slow, simmering fire I couldn’t put out.

Maybe it was the tequila.

Maybe it was the tumor.

Didn’t matter. I just wanted the noise in my head to match the noise out here.

And maybe, for a second, they did.

The sudden vibration then illumination of my phone indicating a familiar caller ID, my best friend Sophia, interrupted my world of haze. Perhaps not my world. A world I had to borrow to celebrate my misery.

Most times, people drink to commemorate, and other times, they drink to express their pain. But not me. I drank in hope to eradicate those words that seized every given breath in my lungs and scorched my head without permission.

In summary, to disappear from reality.

Even with my blurry sight, I slid the icon to the right, and expected a sharp ultimatum blazing through my speaker, almost… almost knocking my senses off but got silence at first.

Was I wrong?

“Olivia-fucking-Hayes,” Okay, this sounded like a silent eruption. I pushed the phone closer to my ears and blocked my left ear due to the blaring music. “Where the fuck are you- Wait a minute... What’s that noise?!” And here we go.

Urgh… I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the pang of headache that shot right up. Gods… I’m going to get a hangover. Either as a result of the drink’s effect or my best friend’s outbreak.

“At Sentia- BELCH- gio’s,” I huccuped after. I could swear her hands were curled in a fist at that moment and I shivered at her reaction. Guess I’ve always been a bad liar after all.

“Have you been drinking?!” God… my head was gonna explode.

Whoever thought the quiet-harmless-Sophia Vale was indeed quiet as she seemed to be, needs to get a fucking therapy session from me.

I sighed, dropping my left hand and rubbing my temples. There was this look the bartender gave me, and I could swear it was pity, like he confirmed his thought. I wasn't born in a world like this. Just a borrower for the time being.

I lowered my phone, finding the speaker icon turned on. Although my vision was blurry as fuck, I could still notice the slight changes.

I must’ve tapped it on by mistake. My face warmed in embarrassment and I gave what was supposed to be an apology look at him, and he smiled, leaving to attend to others.

I focused on the human in the other world once more. Or maybe… slightly focused because I lost what she said next.

Yeah, just great.

“-come home right now!” It shot through every depth of my brain and I jerked at the intensity. Heck, I was going to explode any minute. It wouldn't be surprising that Dr. Josh’s apologetic face would be the first to greet me the next morning.

And talking about the hospital…

“-your mom. You need to get home. Right now.” That was the only ticket that got right past my barrier of laziness. And a world of drunkenness.

“M-my mom?” I stammered, the first complete words falling off my lips. My mom…?

“Where are you?” She asked, softly this time, and my mind drifted away. The drink was meant to distract my thoughts yet it surfaced them.

I was only 7 when she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. At that time, it wasn't serious, just sought symptoms. She never told me anything concerning her health, always took care of me, and provided everything I ever wanted.

After my dad left us, according to my mom who I had to find out the hardest way, she became my only source of support. My provider. And at that point, I forgot about her supposed health condition. I believed she did too.

I never yearned for fatherly support because my mom was my father. The rock. My shield and someone I counted on every moment of my life. She made my difficulties hers and helped me navigate them at a young age. It was perfect. My life was perfect.

But not until her memories slowly dissipated. It all started with a few minor encounters. There was a time she forgot she left the microwave on. If not that I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, the house would’ve caught flames. And another time when she forgot where she left her documents. It was one of her office’s most important documents. She worked as a secretary there and as a result of her misplacement, she got fired.

Life became a bit tough for us but she made it look easy. Simple. And gave me the life she always said I deserved. I never got the idea of how bad our finances were because she provided everything I ever wanted.

But not until one day when she was supposed to attend one of my school events involving all parents. It was an art presentation. I was 12 then. I remembered that day clearly like the back of my hand.

I watched all the students tag along with their parents as they walked to their various seats and I stood at the door, hopefully waiting for my mom to show up. But she didn't. She never did.

I was given my award as the overall best student concerning my well-written essay, however needed to present at least one of my family members or a guardian. I waited for my mom to show up, but it was already getting late. I remembered my art teacher’s soft voice when she said, “What of your dad dear?”

I didn't get the award but was promised it only if I brought someone with me. A guardian at least. The cheerful voices of my classmates filled the air, and the images of their parents soared high in the air at their recognition. I didn't let it get into me because I believed Mama would come. It must’ve been the traffic… little me thought.

That day, my class teacher had to drop me off at home, because my mother didn't show up. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. My sadness could be felt in the air, and even the weather seemed to reciprocate the same feeling.

I didn't know what to think. Was Mama still stuck in traffic?

I only got home to find my mom lying on the couch, empty bottles buried on the ground before her and the TV screen blaring with her favorite show. The house was a mess but was she drinking all this while I waited for her in school?

Instead of walking away, I strided towards her. She moaned when she felt my presence. Her skin was pale, her lips a bit purplish, and her eyes sunken deep. It was the first time I’ve ever seen her that way. Sick. And I frowned.

“Mama?” Little me called, watching her stir in her sleep until she woke up. But the recognition was far gone in her eyes. She looked at me with shock. Fear. Like someone she’s never known.

“W-who are you?” She jerked away, clutching her blanket closer. I was confused then. I tried to convince her it was me, but it never worked. And at a point, she started screaming, until it eventually alerted the neighbours.

I saw them restrain her. I was so scared. I tried to jerk free away from their grip and stopped them from doing what they did but they held me tight, whispering the words I never wanted to hear. What was going on? Why was Mama restrained? And why was she behaving weirdly?

My questions still lingered until I saw a group of people in white coats appear in our house. They did something to Mama and the next moment, she went silent. As if she were dead.

I jerked harder, trying to rush away from the unyielding grip never matching my strength until I had to bite down on the arm of the person who held me and his grip faltered a bit. I charged with that opportunity, rushing to my mom until I was caught in the arms of another.

It was the worst day of my life. I was shaken. I thought Mama was dead.

I had no one, no family to call my own. Only mama. She was the only family I had. For the first time, I met a lady who introduced herself to me as Gabrielle. She was my mom’s sister. My aunt. She took me somewhere else, away from our house, and told me Mama would be back. That she was only a little sick.

She said a few other things but said I needed to stay in her house only for a little moment. That mama needed time to heal. But Mama would never leave me. Never let me go. What changed?

It would visit Mama in the hospital and all those times, she was either asleep, or she acted like she never recognized me. My heart was broken. It was at that moment that Gabrielle suggested I remain at home until Mama gets better.

She explained that Mama was sick and was responding to the treatments well and it was only a matter of time before she got well. But mama didn't look fine to me. Each day, she looked worse. Whatever they were doing to her, I didn't like it.

But I didn't say. Several years passed, and I begged Gabrielle to take me to Mama but she always said Mama needed time to get better, and it was only a matter of time before she came home. And each time she convinces me, she gifts me. Bought things I would trade just to see mama.

When I begged her occasionally, she would become frustrated and threatened not to let Mama see me when she returned. I’d get scared and remain silent. I knew Mama loved me, but each day that passes by reminds me of the ‘what ifs’.

The Doctor said the only way I could take my mother away was when I turned 18 and had the full rights of a citizen. Then I’ll take full control of the medical bills too. I never knew what determination was until a few more years passed and I clocked 18.

I was finally legal to take my mother away.

But I needed the funds. I worked harder, did more than three shifts per day just to raise a tangible sum to prove I can be in better control of finances than Gabrielle. I was 19 when I raised a good amount of money but still not enough, however, I was able to get full control over my mom’s treatment and took her to a better hospital.

But the time I did, her condition had already deteriorated badly. I struggled and struggled and struggled to raise enough funds. I applied for jobs and every one of them rejected me. Perhaps because I couldn't give them what they wanted.

A world filled with rogues and bitches.

And now, in my most difficult condition, I have just been diagnosed with stage IV carcinoma. I have cancer. And not just that, the advanced stage.

Just fucking great.

I picked up my glass and drained the liquid. It was supposed to burn my throat, however, it only added to my pain.

Wasn't this supposed to make one feel better?!

“Olivia…” Fuck, I forgot I still had Sophia on call. It seemed she noticed my silence stretched longer than it ever did, and I couldn't blame her.

“I’m coming to get you. Stay right there...” There was firmness in her tone, one the effect of the amount of drink I’d taken couldn't blur away. But it blurred her next sentence.

I dropped my hand at the sudden weight, causing my phone to slip off.

Shit.

The world tilted just a little when I stood up.

Not all at once, just enough to remind me I wasn’t as steady as I felt. My knees were traitors, my head full of fuzz and fire, and I had to blink twice before my gaze fell on my phone doubling before me.

I staggered, before dropping on my knees, then grabbed it. I tried getting back on my feet, but my legs betrayed me and I fell.

God…

My face flushed bright red in embarrassment and I tried pulling myself together. Thank goodness the light wasn't focused here and people were as hell as focused in their world as to worry about a drunk human just diagnosed with cancer.

The words suddenly felt like my new mantra, haunting me for the rest of my night and probably, the rest of my evening.

I sighed when I got on my feet. Heck, it felt like an exercise. I had to blink more than twice before my gaze at the door of the bar stopped doubling itself. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, searching for my keys, and stepped out into the night.

The parking lot was half-lit and damp, the slick that made the pavement look like oil. My breath fogged in front of me, curling like smoke.

I found my car near the edge of the lot or thought I did. Same shape. Same dull gray. Same general tired look that matched mine.

I pressed the key fob.

Nothing.

I frowned, clicked it again.

Still nothing. I moved closer and tried the handle. What is wrong? But it was locked. I tried the fob again, harder this time, like maybe the signal needed a little conviction.

I tried the handle once again, dragging it with more than a little force. But it wasn't bulging.

“What are you doing?”