Pressing start on my timer, I slip inside the space, shutting the door behind me.
Every fucking part of my body immediately screamswrong wrong wrong, begging me to climb out of the dark, closed space. The familiar panic sets in. I find myself curling into a small ball on the floor, burying my face in my knees.
My brain is not the enemy; it’s just confused.
I repeat the sentence over and over like a desperate prayer in an empty church. The sense of doom never stops, stretching across the minutes like a tear in time.
When the timer finally goes off, I stumble out of the doors like my ass is on fire, crawling away to the safety of my bed.
It takes a few minutes to calm down, but once my mind stops racing, a proud smile curves my lips. Next time will be even better.
Mikhail
The usual stringent smell assaults my senses as I navigate the clinical-white hallway. Everything about this place has always irritated me. The shade of calming green they painted each door. The eucalyptus scent that swirls with the stench of bleach, forming some noxious compound that burns into the soft corners of your nostrils. Most of all, the nauseatingly smiley staff that I payroll to flit here and there with packs of sedatives, greeting me with strained effort each time they pass by.
Yet, for some reason, none of it bothers me today. This time, the doors’ hue is soft and peaceful, pleasing in the streams of morning light. The staff’s enthusiasm feels genuine, rather than forced. Even the smell is tolerable. The sharp, herbal note reminds me a bit of the lavender I’ve grown so fond of in the past few weeks.
Either I’ve somehow developed a sunny disposition, or it all has something to do with the small brunette walking by my side, curls bouncing along her back. My fingers itch to reach over and feel the soft coils.
I could tell Cass was startled when I asked her to meet my mother last week on the phone. To be fair, it’s a strange thing to ask anyone.I know you don’t forgive me yet, but would you like to come visit my traumatized, borderline-catatonic mother in her care home next week?Yeah, I definitely sounded insane. Especially since the last time I was here, it ended with 20K worth of window damage and a full syringe of sedative. But I have to find ways to start letting her into my life if I have any hope of keeping her.
I have to show her how much she means to me.
When we finally reach the door to the sunroom, my steps slow, hand hesitating on the door handle.
A touch, gentle and supportive, brushes my arm. When I look down, I find Cassandra’s hand extended towards me, eyes wide and steady. I take the offering, sliding my fingers around hers. The unfamiliar comfort is immediate, and grounding warmth floods my body as I push open the door.
My mother is exactly where I expect her to be: bathed in the morning sun, a deck of cards maneuvering in her nimble fingers. Her blonde hair swishes as she cranes her head in our direction.
“Mikhail!”
I was somewhat relieved when the staff told me she was having one of her good days, but I wasn’t sure how much to believe them. My mother’s temperament flips on a dime with the slightest gust of wind, and I don’t want to scare Cassandra. That’s not what today’s for.
She starts towards me, a smile growing on her face, but then her progress suddenly freezes. The smile grows lax, flattening into a soft gape.
I step slightly in front of Cassandra, eyes subtly searching for another object that could be thrown in her reach.
But my mother’s gaze lowers, narrowing somewhere between us.
A gasp cuts through the air.
I look down, realizing what must’ve caused such an extreme reaction.
Cassandra’s small hand still rests on my own, her fingers pressing into my palm with silent concern. I’ve grown so used to my unusual acceptance of her touch that it barely even crosses my mind these days, but my mother has never seen me willingly touch another person in my entire life.
To her credit, she recovers quickly, straightening her posture into the practiced elegance she wore during my father’s business dinners.
“Mikhail, who’s this you’ve brought me?” Her question comes out even, despite the shock that still blooms behind her gaze.
“This is Cassandra. Cass, this is my mother, Alina Solokov.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Solokov,” Cass offers sweetly, a smile on her face.
Then My mother rushes the poor girl.
Within seconds, Cass is pulled from my grip, my mother engulfing her in a warm hug.
“Please. Call me Alina. Mikhail has never let me meet any of the women in his life before. I’m not even sure he’s ever had a girlfriend for me to meet!”
