"Your mother's condition is stable, but we haven't seen any significant improvement in the last few years." The doctor stated. "I know this isn't the news you were hoping for, but we are still monitoring her closely and are doing everything we can to ensure her comfort." He added.
"Thank you, Doctor," I said with a sigh. The doctor gave me a light squeeze on my shoulder before turning and walking away.
I glanced at my mother, her face obscured by a clear plastic mask that covered her mouth and nose. The mask was connected to a machine that was keeping her alive, and a thin tube ran from the mask to the machine. I was struck by how small and fragile she looked, lying there in the hospital bed. The mask made it hard to see her face, and I found myself wishing I could just see her smile one more time. I reached out and gently touched her hand, feeling the cold plastic of the IV tube that ran from her arm to a bag of fluid hanging above the bed.
"Mother," I called, gritting my teeth, keeping my emotions in check, still, I could feel my eyes stung with the tears that threatened to drop out of my green eyes.
It's been three years since the day she learned that her dad's friend did that act to me. I know that she's been thinking about me constantly since then, and I believe it was that stress that distracted her from the road and led to the car accident. The fact that her injuries were so severe only made the situation even more tragic. I always think about her every day, hoping that she'll recover, but the doctors are saying that it's unlikely. It's hard to accept that I may never see her smile again, that she might never wake up again.
The thought struck me so hard that I couldn't help but cry.
My mother was always a woman with a radiant smile, full of love and warmth. She was the kind of person who could light up a room with her presence. I could always count on her for a hug and a kind word, no matter what I was going through. It's hard to imagine that she'll never be that person again.
I'm willing to go as far as Sicily to save her.
I wiped off my tears and placed a soft kiss on my mother's forehead before walking out of the ward.
"Micah!" Ricky called to follow me out of the hospital.
"Yo? What's up?" I called back to my smiling and feisty self.
"Will you really go to Sicily? At such short notice." Ricky mentioned concern.
"Bro, chill," I say, walking to my car. "It's just a two-month thing," I assured him, just as my crazy father had done the night before.
He had informed me about going to Italy, and I dared not argue, but when I asked why I was going there, he only told me it's a two-month thing, and I should just obey.
Which I always end up doing.
"And Adam?" Ricky asked as I entered my car.
"Inform him about it," I say, igniting the car. "I might as well settle there if I find someone with whom I can do selling drugs." I sped off.
*
*
I climbed out of the airplane, dragging my luggage and breathing in the fresh air of a European country.
It's dawn here with people speaking English more than Italians.
I made my way to the terminal, and soon I was out of the airport.
"Miss Taylor?" An Italian-looking guy asked.
"Yes. And you are?" I asked back.
"Welcome to Sicily." The guy said, making a finger order at some men dressed in black who walked to me, and I looked awkwardly at them. "What's going on here?" I frowned, raising my brows furiously at this man dressed in black all looking like a gangster.
"Weren't you informed?" The guy who ordered the men in black asked, and I gave another questioning frown. "You were auctioned off by Mr. Taylor, and we won the bid." He replied.
As I stood there, speechless and in shock, the words finally registered in my brain. "I was auctioned off?" I asked, still not quite believing what he had just said, and he nodded, and I could feel my head spin, but first I needed to get out of this mess. "Huh... I think you got the wrong person." I tried to fake a smile. "As a matter of fact, I'm not Micah Taylor. I'm just an imposter." I lied, trying to get away from these thug-looking men.
"Well, we will see about that." The guy made a finger command again, and I ended up on one of the men's shoulders.
"What are you doing? Let me go!" I screamed, beating the burly man who was carrying me, but I was the one feeling the pain. "Who the hell is Micah Taylor?" I shouted, unable to wrap my head around what had just happened.
The burly man tossed me into the back of the car, slamming the trunk shut with a loud bang. I felt the dark space closing in around me, and panic started to set in. I pounded my fists against the trunk door, shouting, "Help! Help!" My voice was muffled by the metal of the car, and I knew no one could hear me.
But the realization that my father had put me up for sale like a piece of property had me crying.
