Mating With the Second Chance

took a deep breath, closed my eyes and reopened them, then began walking. As I walked through the revolving doors of the hospital, the stark white colour of the hospital threatened to blind my eyes and the smeel, that thick heavily medicated hospital smell came clawing into my throat. Every breath I took felt like a punch to my gut. Everywhere I looked seemed to have a sliver of memory attached to it from my last time in this hospital. The huge medical logo of a snake wrapped around a rod reminded him of the time his mother explained what it meant to him. She always answered his questions with so much detail. I ripped my eyes away from the logo and turned towards the reception desk. “Hello. I’m here for Clara Manito. What’s her room number?,” I state as I stopped in front of a receptionist busy on her computer. The lady looked up from her screen and immediately she saw me, her face broke into a flirty smile and she batted her eyelids seductively. “Hello. What’s your relationship with the patient?” I almost sigh in frustration. I am used to this getting this reaction from ladies but this time, I have the perfect rebuttal to put her off. “I’m her fiance.” My lie didn’t fail to get me the reaction I wanted and I almost laughed out loud at her disappointment. “Oh.” She said simply and turned back to her screen. “She’s in Room 402. General ward.” “Thank you.” I wink with a small laugh before pushing back from the edge of the reception desk where I was leaning his elbows on and moved toward the elevator. I press the button for the fourth floor. I enter the room which she is sharing with one other patient. The intermittent beeps of the machines monitoring Clara’s heartbeat brings back the most painful of all memories I have had to dig up thus far; the relentless rhythm of my mother's failing heart. As I look toward the bed, in Clara’s place, I can picture my mother in my last memory of her. Her head formerly full of hair now covered by a beanie to hide how much hair has fallen off. The flimsy hospital gown hanging off her emaciating frame and pale skin, her bones almost jutting out her skin. Her warm, gentle eyes filled with pain have forever etched themselves into my mind. The memory of her frail hand clutching mine, her voice rasping as she told me, "You're strong, Adrian. Don't let anyone dim your light, not even your own father. No matter how condescending he might be to you." Her words, all through when she was alive, were a shield against the emotional and physical abuse I had done my best to endure for years. Despite my father's anger, she would comfort me after every bout of argument with him. Her death was the catalyst for him to finally change his attitude and cloak myself with the perception of a cold and unreceptive playboy. That way, no one would take advantage of me as easily as they always tried. I have always been angry at myself for not being able to do anything to help my mother, even though cancer was not something I could have cured. I still wish I could have done something more or at the least, spent more time with her. Whenever I hear people describe me as ‘cold and ruthless’, my heart breaks because I know deep down, I’m not like that. It’s just a personality I had to adapt to to protect myself. And so far, it has worked. Until I met Clara. Clara whose innocent-looking eyes had captured me in them at first sight. Clara who had lost her memory. I’ve shared a kiss and a bed with her already but I have a feeling she is still not in love with me the way I am with her. Sure, she might be lusting after me but I crave when she finally sees me for who I am and feels genuine affection for me. Ever since the day she turned up at my family house, I’ve done my best to protect her and now, Clara had ended up in the same position as my mother had. Clara doesn’t have cancer but she was abducted and harmed because my protection wasn’t enough. I stare at Clara as she lay on the bed asleep. Her fragile, beautiful face didn’t have the smile she had. It had been stolen away like a flickering flame. My eyes look over the bruises and wounds on her arms and face and I tighten my jaw in anger and squeeze my fist tighter. When I had received the frantic call from Gael, his voice choked with fear, informing me of Clara's disappearance, it opened a raw, festering wound of helplessness I thought had long healed. I can’t lose another woman I care about within these hospital walls. Not here. Not ever again. She is asleep on a stark white bed, her face pale against the stark linen. I tiptoe closer so as not to wake either her or the patient next to her, watching her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. A strand of hair is curled across her cheek, and I resist the urge to brush it away. A silent vow escapes my lips, "No one will hurt you ever again, Clara. I promise." Sitting on a hard plastic chair beside her bed, a wave of anger suddenly crashed over him. At himself, for not being there for Clara. At everyone else at the house for not keeping her from leaving the house. But most of all, at Aaron who had dared to touch her. He swore silently, "Whoever did this, they will pay." He sat and stared at her, waiting for the rise and fall of her chest to assure him that she was still alive. After some minutes, exhaustion finally claimed him and dragged him into a restless slumber.