Page 2 of Hawk

“He only said he wanted the Sinclair bitch.” He takes a step closer to me, wrapping his hand around my waist, tugging me to his body. Dragging his nose up my neck, my body breaks out in chills. I close my eyes when I feel the wet of his tongue touch my skin.

“I say Prez can have the Sinclair bitch, and we’ll take this one.”

“Yeah,” another one sneers, “We can have our own little party.”

“Hell yeah, let’s fuck her.”

My eyes snap open as I sit up, gasping for air. My body is clammy from the sweat of my nightmare. It’s been years since I’ve had that dream. Since I felt the way, his breath snaked along my skin. The feel of his hands, no their hands as they slithered across my body, taking everything from me. Taking a deep breath, I calm myself. It doesn’t do me any good to dwell on the past. What’s done is done.

I’m stronger now.

I will not be broken.

Concentrate on the present, on my life, on my responsibilities.

On my future.

* * *

“Hey, Tessa,” Martha, the charge nurse, greets me as I enter through the swinging doors. My cart, full of cleaning supplies, barely moves beneath its weight.

“Hey, Martha,” I grit as I push.

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. “I don’t know why you insist on overloading that cart, honey. One of these days you’re gonna pull something and end up as a patient and not a housekeeper.”

I stop at the nurses’ station that she’s currently sitting behind and adjust the messy knot on the top of my head. “The faster I can make it through my rounds, the sooner I can get home.”

“Yeah, baby. I get it. But there’s only one of you, and you can’t afford to be laid up because you think you’re superwoman.”

“I know. Thanks for looking out for me.” I start the task of pushing the cart towards the rooms I need to clean.

“Oh, Tessa, wait a second.” Her words make me stop, pulling at my cart in the process. “We’ve got a new resident in room nine. Her name’s Rose Calhoon. She was just transferred from the county–severe acute alcohol poisoning and chronic alcohol abuse.”

My steps stutter with apprehension, turning towards Martha. “Is it all right if I go in? Is it safe?”

“Yeah, sweetie, she’s been sedated since she was transferred.”

I turn back around to carry on with my shift. Making my way down the hallway, I walk into the common room to grab a soda. Most of the patients here are capable of getting around on their own, and this is the place where they can get together and play games, watch television, or visit with family. It’s also that place that houses the best vending machines.

In the corner of the room, out of the way of everyone else, sits a woman and her daughter. Sandy has been here for a couple of years now. When she first arrived, she was in the beginning stages of dementia. Now, unable to move on her own, she’s towards the end of her life.

I take in the moment between Sandy and her daughter, Nora. Sandy sits in her wheelchair, mouth slightly open, staring out onto the grounds of the home while her daughter sits next to her, moving her hand, lovingly down the woman’s hair while she talks to her with a smile on her face. Nora is here, every day, without fail. I’ve seen her bring her kids with her, and sometimes her husband and every single one of them dote on Sandy even though most the time Sandy has no clue who they are. Not all of the days are pleasant like this. Some days the woman screams to leave her alone, and other days are spent with both of them in tears. But no matter how hard it gets, the daughter always comes back.

My chest clenches at the loving bond between this mother and daughter. I’m envious of it. I don’t have that bond with my mother. For the past seven years, I haven’t had a mother. Not because of death, but because she chose to turn her back on me when I needed her most. Mothers don’t do that. They don’t turn their backs on their children. They don’t tell them they’re no longer their child. They don’t make it so the child has no other option, but to run.

As a child, my mother taught me a lot of things, but most importantly, as an adult, she taught me to never be like her.

Tessa

“Mom!” I hear his voice as soon as I close the door behind me. The stomping of his tennis shoes echo down the hardwood floors of our apartment. “You’re home!” he squeals as he races towards me. Before he gets a chance to wrap his arms around my waist, I drop to my knees so I can get the full force of his hug.

“Hi, baby,” I say as I bury my face into his hair.

He giggles. “I’m not a baby. I’m six!” He squirms as he tries to get out of my hold.

“How was your morning?” I ask as I pull him back to inspect his face. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“He did right after breakfast,” Sarah, my neighbor, says as she comes from the kitchen. “I made soup, it’s on the stove.” She gives me a smile as she grabs her jacket from the couch.