Page 57 of The Unravelings

My mom licks her lips again and shakes her head. “I said I’m not hungry.” Her teeth grit and her fingers curl into fists, turning white from the force she’s using. Anger clouds her eyes as she stares at Liz, and I know it’s only going to get worse if we continue to push her so hard to eat.

“Mom,” I sigh, taking out a snickerdoodle from the basket and unwrapping it. Cinnamon and sugar immediately fall off the delicious-smelling cookie, and instead of my mom’s stomach growling, mine does. “Try a bite of this?”

My mom sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and reluctantly opens her mouth, biting down into the soft cookie. “It’s so good, Jackson,” she mutters, spitting crumbs everywhere. After that, she enthusiastically eats two snickerdoodle cookies and drinks a heaping glass of milk. It’s not the best nutrition for a snack, but it’s all we can get her to eat some days if she eats anything at all.

Liz carefully cares for my mother after she’s eaten and taken a few drinks, carefully tucking her into bed and staying until my mother’s soft snores fill the room. Slowly, we exit together, leaving the door ajar as we stand outside it.

Liz sighs. “That’s the first time I’ve seen her eat today,” she mutters, shaking her head. “But don’t you worry. She’s swallowing okay and⁠—”

“This is a part of the process, right?” I ask, looking over my shoulder as my mother’s chest rises and falls, her eyes squeezed shut.

It’s a phrase I’ve heard over and over again with my mother’s care. Everything is just a part of the process now.

Liz puts a hand on my arm and gently squeezes. “It is. Our next step is to ensure she sees the doctor to confirm she’s swallowing properly. We’ll supplement with Ensure to make sure she’s getting all her vitamins, and we’re working on a new menu for her, filled with her favorite soft foods to encourage her to eat. If we need further intervention, we’ll schedule a meeting and proceed from there, okay? We got her. You don’t have to worry.” She offers me a much-needed, soft, motherly smile.

“Thanks, Liz,” I mumble, shaking my head. “And you’re sure no one has come to visit her?”

“No,” Liz says quickly, shaking her head. “You’re her only visitor. We’ve got surveillance cameras in every hall. We see who comes and goes, and there’s nobody but you.”

Her only visitor.

The only person who seems to care about Alicia Morgan.

Pathetic.

Liz’s words ring in my mind as I make my way out of the building and into my car. The cigarette behind my ear calls my name, begging me to light it up now that we’re out of the situation. My fingers twitch. Temptation gnaws at my insides.

But I don’t give in.

Instead, I focus on the other person in my life who seems to need twenty-four-hour surveillance. In fact, I think he’s worse than the woman trapped in the facility until her last breath. Fuck. Maybe I should lock him inside with her. Then, I’d know exactly what he does day in and day out. With my luck, he’d find a way to squeeze out a window and cause chaos through town—more than he already does.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone and open the tracking app I have installed for Malic’s sake. A second one, since the sneaky bastard was able to disable the first. The man can’t sit still or stay put, and something has him more on edge than usual. Even with Meredith still missing and every lead coming up short—I’m missing something. Thankfully, Malic appears to be at home, doing God knows what.

Right now? I have class to get to.

But first, I’m stopping for a much-needed treat at the café on campus.

17

Wilder

My heart is in my throat the moment I walk into the small café, situated on campus. The visit with my mom hangs over me. Like it always does. For days, she’ll be on my mind until the guilt disappears, and then it’s time to do it all over again.

It’s a vicious cycle of bullshit I don’t quite understand. Why should I feel guilty? Have a heavy heart? Is it because the woman who gave birth to me is slowly losing her own reality and stuck in a fancy prison until she takes her last breath?

Yes? No?

Fuck. I don’t know.

Being a mother wasn’t in her wheelhouse when I was a kid. Boyfriends came and went. Drugs heavily sedated her and changed who she was as a person. Going from a loving mother who worked hard to care for her two boys to the woman who couldn’t lift her head off the couch until she needed a fix.

Her give-a-damn button was fucking busted and never got fixed.

She didn’t care about me. Or Mack. We starved and practically froze. Yet, when the opportunity for me to leave came, I took one look at her slumped on the couch and knew I couldn’t. She needed someone to make sure she kept breathing and eating and surviving.

So, that’s what I’ve done all these years. I joined the Shades to fucking support her as she continued to deteriorate.

I rub at my chest as a heavy pressure weighs on me, like a boulder resting there and threatening to suffocate me. School. My boss. Taking care of Malic and my mother. It all swirls together in a shit-load of responsibility that is slowly crushing my existence.