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enters a room. The other rooms surrounding it are empty. No nurses or doctors are on guard.

Trent stands near my mother’s bed. He doesn’t see me, nor does he see the fist that strikes out and punches him in the jaw. “Fuck you!”

My knuckles throb and pain shoots through my wrist, but it doesn’t stop me. Everything is a blur. My hands hit again and again. Trent slaps me across the face, yanks at my hair, and I cry out when a knee hammers my stomach.

He tosses me like a rag doll and air slams out of my lungs when I crash into the wall.

I try to refocus and go after him again. If I give him enough time he’ll hit me and I’ll go down. On the floor with Trent is a bad place to be. He prefers to kick. I hear a smack followed by the sight of Trent stumbling across the floor.

“Elisabeth, are you okay?” Scott keeps his back to me. He holds his arms slightly out to his sides waiting for retaliation. “Elisabeth!”

“Yeah.” I shake away the stupor. “I’m fine.”

Blood seeps from Trent’s nose. Good for

Scott. He broke it. Trent glares at me, causing Scott to step toward him. “Touch my niece again and I’ll kill you.”

Trent ignores Scott and the bald asshole

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keeps staring at me. “I know you’re trying to take what’s mine. Put those thoughts in her head again and the paramedics won’t be able to save her next time.”

“You fucking son-of-a-bitch.” I leap toward him and Scott wraps his arms around my waist, practically lifting me off the ground to prevent me from mauling Trent. “I should have hit you with that bat when I had the chance.” I wish I had taken the swing. “I wish you were dead.”

“Get out of here before I call security!”

Scott yells at Trent.

Trent’s eyes go flat and he half smiles as he walks past. Scott tightens his hold as I try to go after him again. Trent won’t forgive me for trying to run away with Mom. He’ll want

revenge and if he can’t extract his revenge on me then he’ll use Mom as payment.

Scott releases me and blocks the doorway.

“What the fuck is going on?”

My hand snaps out and points into the

hallway. “He hits her. He hits me. He’s a fucking drug dealer who uses my mom and if it weren’t for you and your stupid rules and your stupid blackmail she wouldn’t be here because I would have been there to protect her.”

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A nurse appears in the doorway and I

turn from both of them.

“Is there a problem here?” she asks quietly, quickly, and in a tone that indicates she knows everyone in this room is fucked up.

“Everything is fine,” Scott says.

He talks some more, but his voice and the nurse’s become muffled as I stare at the

pathetic creature on the bed. A few hours ago, my entire world was right. Ryan held me in his arms and I convinced myself that everything was going to be okay. This is what happens when you believe in hope. Karma comes

around to destroy it.

I sit on the bed and touch Mom’s cold

fingers. This is what death feels like. “Did she die?”

The chatter behind me stops.

“She stopped breathing,” says the nurse.

“But the paramedics gave her naloxone and it counteracted the affects of the heroin.”

Heroin. My heart stops and my lungs ache.

Heroin.

My fingers follow the line of her IV, but I purposely skip the track marks that dot her arms. “How long has she been using?”

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The blood pressure cuff swooshes as it

releases. The nurse clears her throat. “We don’t know.”

“When can she go home?”

“She’s asleep now. The doctor will check her when she wakes and as long as she’s still fine, they’ll let her go.” She whispers something to Scott. Scott whispers back.

“Elisabeth,” he says. “I’m going to go fill out some paperwork.”

Meaning he’ll pay her bills. For now. How could I have not noticed the marks on her arm before? “Okay.”

The room becomes very still except for the steady beat of Mom’s heart monitor. From the moment my aunt Shirley called Scott, I’ve felt like I’ve been spinning in the Gravitron from the fair. If I could, I’d crawl right into oblivion and disappear. I’m tired and all I want is to get off this damn ride.

“Which one of you punched Trent?” Shirley asks behind me.

“Both of us. Nice job taking care of your sister.” I knot my fingers with Mom’s. Does she know I’m here? Probably not. Mom

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somewhat coherent. “Where have you

been?”

“Smoke break.” Shirley hacks her smoker’s cough and Mom flinches in her sleep. “Who do you think found your mom and dragged her ass into the alley before I called nine-one-one? If the police went into your mom’s apartment we’d be in a bigger shit pile than we are now.”

Mom stirs and I wish she’d wake up and tell me she’s sorry. “Thanks for calling Scott.”

“He’s got money. Make sure he uses it to

pay the bills.” Shirley’s light footsteps come closer to the bed and she rests a hand on my shoulder. I keep my eyes on Mom, terrified if I glance away she’ll disappear.

“Two days ago your mom told me a funny

story. It was the type that could start with once upon a time,” says Shirley. “She said you were coming soon to take her away. Sad part was she also told the whole bar and someone there told Trent. He got a little pissed.”

A little pissed? Fresh bruises cover the right side of Mom’s face. Knowing her, she took the heroin to forget the beating, to relieve the pain.

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have found a way to leave weeks ago. This is my fault.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Because I

would have paid to see that one.”

I jerk my head to look at her.

“Cash,” says Shirley. “She’s not going to last much longer the way she’s been going. The decision is yours. She’s your responsibility.”

Shirley walks out of the room. I try to

inhale, but it’s virtually impossible with the burden weighing me down. Ever since I was eight years old, the responsibility of my mother has been on me. I’ve taken care of her. Moved her. Fed her. Made sure she went to work or helped her find jobs. But right now, what I want more than anything is for my mom to

take care of me. I’m done being the grown-up.

For a few minutes I want to be the kid. I want my mom. I just want my mom.

A light touch moves across my hand. “Don’t be sad, Elisabeth,” my mother mumbles.

I sniff. “I’m not sad.”

“I dreamed of you. You and your daddy. I

miss him.” Her fingers lightly grasp my wrist.

“I miss you. You were a beautiful baby.”

“Why?” A tangle of anger and sadness and

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happiness weaves around my soul and

strangles the scream fighting to leave my throat. She’s alive, but she almost died. “Why do you have to make everything so fucking hard?”

“Come here. I like you better sad. I hate it when you’re angry.” She tugs on my wrist and ignores my question. “I want to hold my baby.”

I feel like I’m five as I crawl on the bed and rest my head between the crook of her arm and her chest. Her fingers weakly pick at my hair.

“You were born on a Tuesday.”

I close my eyes and will the hurt to leave, but it doesn’t go away. It stabs at me over and over again. I’m so tired. So damned tired. I don’t want to think about Trent or heroin or running away or about the responsibility I thought I could abandon.

“It was an awfully hot day. You were so

beautiful, but so tiny. The doctor wouldn’t let me hold you for three weeks because you were early. Your daddy loved you then. He came by the hospital twice before your grandma