Chapter 11- Lucien
The slam of the doors behind me seemed to jar me from my thoughts. I hated hospitals. I hated the way they smelled but lately, I'd been coming here a lot. It had to be done.
Checking my watch, I noticed that Gabriel was late. Not that that was unusual. We needed to have a fucking talk if he couldn't find himself being on time for anything other than a party. I had worked too hard to get myself Knighted into the Safaryan Brotherhood, too hard for him to just fuck everything up. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and approached the desk to sign in.
"Mr. Petrovich, how good to see you again," the nurse at the sign-in station said.
I said nothing and gave a quiet head nod. Very few people knew my true last name. Ever since immigrating to America, my family had been going by the last name Peterson. It was more American...less Russian. Less of a chance that my father's enemies of old would show up and kill us in our sleep.
The white tiles underneath my feet seemed to glow. With every step that I took, I felt the weight of what it meant to be my mother's son. To have watched her deteriorate to the point that she needed private hospital care; it made me feel extremely vulnerable and useless. As I was leaving a young nurse was coming out of her room. I stopped her. The white of her uniform seemed to be blindingly white and the stethoscope around her neck looked well used. I often failed to read the nurses' name tags but today I did so.
Carson.
"How is she today?" I asked.
"Your mother is very weak, Mr. Petrovich," Carson said.
She had kind brown eyes.
"Will the doctor be speaking with us today?"
Carson peered around me and I realized that I was still alone.
"My brother will be along shortly," I said.
Carson offered another kind smile, "He will be around soon. He's making his rounds and checking on a few other patients."
"Thank you," I replied.
She nodded and headed off to tend to other patients, I supposed. My hand hovered over the metal doorknob that had been sculpted into the golden oak door. Pushing the door aside, I came in to find my mother looking much as I had left her before. The wires from the oxygen tank ran wild and surrounded her before connecting to her nose. She took small breaths, her hair had gone white and was braided to one side. The machinery seemed to tick and beep away.
"Mamushka," I whispered and dropped a kiss on her cool head.
She didn't stir, so I parted the curtains a bit to allow her more light into the room. Then I sat down and pulled out the book that I had been to her for a long while now, nearly half a year. The Hunger Games. It was strange but we never seemed to make it through the book. Some days when she was awake and lucid, we would discuss my life. Discuss why I was apart of the Bratva; she had worked so hard to keep me from that but ultimately my Uncle's Stiva's influence had won out.
I began to read from the fifth chapter of The Hunger Games, my voice filling the quietness. I was nearly towards the end of a chapter when Gabriel entered. The suit he wore was in disarray and his eyes looked bloodshot.
"About time," I spoke quietly.
He straightened himself, "I got here when I could."
"Bullshit," I hissed. "You had one thing to do today, brother. You need to get your shit together. She's dying or can't you see that?"
Our mother began to cough, and her eyes opened. "Dying, but not quite dead. I can still hear the two of you."
Gabriel smiled and went to her, placing his head nearby so that she could run her fingers through his hair. "I'm here."
I rolled my eyes and began pouring her a cup of water. When just enough was poured, I eased down beside her to get her to drink.
"Oh Andre," my mother began to speak.
My father's name rolled around in my head. She thought I was him and I wouldn't do anything to make her think differently. I didn't want to upset her.
"Yes," I replied.
"The sky is so blue today," she peered over my shoulder, before taking the cup of water. "When can I go home?"
"Soon," I replied.
