Perhaps you notice how the denial is so often the preface to the justification.

Christopher Hitchens

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The abuse dies in a day, but the denial slays the life of the people, and entombs the hope of the race.

Charles Bradlaugh

All I can notice are the white lights above me, refraining me from opening my eyes completely. My cheek hurts. Why does my cheek hurt ? I try to lift my finger , that feels heavier than usual, but its clamped down.

Is kipp biting my finger again ?

My legs wiggle, an attempt to get a feel on what I'm lying on. This doesn't feel like Dalaric.

Muffled voices in the background irregularly zone into my hearing.

"When can she be released ?" That doesn't sound like Dalaric.

"We're not sure yet, the wound will need some healing so a few days or so, depending on how fast she recovers."

Recover ? Wound ?

And suddenly, its only then the memories come back to me. They don't come back gradually, like the slow bike rides dada and I used to take to the park. No, they come back so sharply, so painfully that I groan, my eyes opening with a stinging pain.

It hits me, like a train derailed at high speeds, and a sob escapes my lips.

Mama. The police. Rafael. Dalaric.

Dalaric.

My vision unclogs and I look around frantically, my throat feeling choked by a name I want to call out. Two hands grab my shoulders, slightly warm and comforting but not as comforting as the hands I desperately want in my own.

"Hey, hey, hey...breathe, munchkin. Breathe, c'mon." I listen to their orders, taking deep breaths as my mind tries to sequence the events that brought me here.

In a hospital.

I don't realize how much I'm panicking until I stop. Fatima pulls me into her arms and rubs my back, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

"W-wher-where's mama ?" She hands me a glass of water which I gulp down greedily, my eyes finally taking in the plain, gray hospital room. Its small and compact, with an IV monitor perched next to me and a flower vase next to the door which is painted a light blue.

"How about you just take some rest, alright ? I'll be back in-"

"Where's mama ?"My voice comes out as a pathetic whisper, the pain on my cheek amplifying as I say it.

"The psych ward."

No.

No.

Not my mama.

"W-why ? B-but she didn't do anything- please, where is she ?" Tears fall freely as I try and remember what she did. Fatima had dropped me off after the mall and I hadn't expected mama to be home. She's never home so early. But she was. And she was panicking, stuffing a suitcase with most of her belongings. I tried stopping her, and that was my mistake.

It's always more painful when she's angry.

She hit me twice, but it was only because she wasn't in a right state of mind. She didn't mean to do sp. She doesn't deserve to be taken away. She's not mental. She isn't.

I can't let my mama leave me.

"I-I want to see her."

Fatima looks at me with a wary expression, sighing to herself before stuffing her hands into her grey tracksuit and leaving the room.

A few minutes of anxious looks at the door later, she returns with a wheelchair. Even more tears fall down my face as she helps me off the hospital bed. My face burns as I scrunch my face up, my body feeling sore.

"T-thank you." Fatima smiles, rather sadly, before taking us out of the room.

My sniffles don't quiet down until after a few minutes, when we stop in front of a grey door. Fatima knocks twice, a curt 'Come in' sounding out from inside. Before we enter, she crouches down next to me.

"Are you sure you're ready, Mayi ?" I nod, eager to see my mama.

"Can we go in, please ?" I ask, trying to hint that I want nothing more than to see her safe and sound, to see my only family alive. The door opens with a creak and my eyes try and adjust to the bright setting.

"M-mama ?" A sigh of relief escapes my lips. My mama's safe.

"Are you family ?" My gaze shifts to the woman with a clipboard in her hands. She's wearing a white coat with thick black glasses that sit on the bridge of her slightly crooked nose.

"Yes, I'm-I'm Maya. She's my mama." I tell her, my eyes stick on the body laying on the hospital bed, a thin blanket on top of my mama's frail body. Tears drop, silently, as I watch her instinctively pull on the constraints keeping her stuck to the bed, her eyes shut tight.

"C-can I ?" I gesture to the side of the bed, closer to my mama. The lady nods and Fatima pushes me forward.

Mama looks cleaner. Her hair looks brighter, a few golden strands reflecting the white light of the room. Her cheekbones are sickeningly apparent, as if the life has been sucked out of her.

She's still my mother. She's still the woman who raised me and love-loved me.

There's a eerie silence that echoes in the room, once both the lady and Fatima leave me alone. I go a bit closer, wanting to see my mama incase this is the last time I get to do so.

"M-mama ?" Please wake up.

Blue eyes penetrate mine and I instinctively cower back, something I've perfected over the years.

"It's me. Maya. Mama ?" She looks straight through me, her thin lips unmoving as he pale skin reddens.

"You."

"Yes, mama. Me, it's Maya."

"Maya." She tests my name on her lips and I smile, is she okay now ? Finally ?

Her eyes gaze into mine once again, as she lifts one of her fingers. I nod, encouragingly, for her to point to me or recognize me in someway- for her to finally see me as the daughter I want to be.

"You....you killed him and now...now you killed me." I cower back, my throat no longer being able to swallow from the pain that envelops my heart.

"W-what ?" Mama, no-" I worry as I notice the constraints moving, my mother's body shaking as she tries to break free.

"You-you're the reason your mother's here. You made me like this, remember that Maya. Remember !" Her voice gets louder with each word until she starts screaming frantically, all the words said escaping my consciousness as I shake my head.

I didn't kill her. No, she's still alive.

But I put her here.

How can you call yourself a daughter ? I ask myself, before two arms grasp my own and pull me away from the bed where Mama is violently thrashing around, her eyes glaring daggers into the ceiling.

Fatima pulls me out of the room, the wheelchair long forgotten as three or more doctors rush towards her and hold her down.

My whisper is subtle, each word laced with grief of losing the only parent I have left, as I catch a peek of my mother- or what's left of her- through the slightly open door.

"Bye bye, mama."

Fatims looks at me in concern, letting me lean on her as we walk back to my hospital room. I hope I have insurance.

There's shouting at the end of the hallway, where my room is, and I recognize a voice that's all too familiar.

Him.

My eyes try to hold in as many tears as possible when I notice a few doctors surrounding one, tall, dark and handsome man who has angered expression.

Just as I think that, my heart feels heavy when I remember what he did. How he lied to me. How he took her away from me.

"The fuck you mean I'm not allowed in ?"

"Excuse me, Sir ! You cannot go in there- it's family only! Sir- Someone call security !" Loud noise fills my ears and I cover them with both my hands, something I haven't had to do with him by my side.

But he's not by my side anymore.

"Let me the fuck in. My girl's-" He cuts himself off.

"Mayella ?"

I know I shouldn't have looked back, especially when all I could feel was a burning rage that unleashed itself in the form of unsolicited teardrops. I'm just so angry. Angry at myself. Angry for not having anyone. Angry for ever thinking someone wouldn't lie to me. Angry at how I seem to fail in doing anything- even being a daughter.

"Honey, you can go in if you want, okay ? I'll talk to Ricky." I nod, rushing into the room before I can look into the eyes that I'm utterly consumed by. I'll probably ruin him too.

"Mayella- the fuck ? Mayella!" His voice is loud but not angry- even when he's in a panic, he's still concerned and gentle. He makes it so hard.

The door shuts with a click and I lean against it, my back, clad in the thin hospital gown, shivering from the cold door's touch. I want to touch him so bad. I just want to bury my face in his shirt and hug him. I want to be with him.

But I know that every time I'd do so, all I would see is the disappointed face of my mother who would be ashamed that her daughter is with the very same man who put her in such a position. A position of pain.

I don't want to be disappointing.

Not again. I already disappointed my father.

Not again.

A knock sounds on the door and I clench my eyes and bite my lip in order to stifle any potential sobs- sobs of desperation.

"Mayella."

I clench my eyes shut, hating how I remember the way he told me he wouldn't tell.

"Please don't tell anyone." I say softly, afraid that Mama would get hurt. My fingers try to smoothen out a wrinkle on his black office shirt, that he has in a drawer of his kitchen for emergency purposes. He's weird like that. Just how rich is he ?

"I won't." I sigh in relief, I trust him.

I still trust him. I shouldn't.

My body subconsciously lifts itself off the floor, my back leaving the cold door. I won't leave him knocking, he deserves much more than that. He deserves the entire world. But I can't be that, nor can I give it to him.

My fingers, unusually dry, grasp the handle of the door and pulls it open. Before I can even take in his appearance, I'm pulled into two arms and mushed into a warm chest that weirdly smells like me.

"Thank God. Thank God." Dalaric repeats those words, murmuring it as he leaves kisses on my head.

My eyes get ready to water again, for the fourth or fifth time- I lost count- as I pull apart my body from his. It's like trying to pry open two pieces of paper that are super-glued together. It stings. My heart stings. My eyes stings. Everything hurts.

Especially the look in his eyes.

"Don-Don't touch me, please." You're making this harder. You lied to me.

"You lied to me."

"Lied ? The fuck ? About what?" The look in his eyes screams impatience, his hands clenching into fists consistently, his left finger twitching.

"You put her here. You-You told them. I know you work in the federal-I'm not sure what the B stands for- investigation thing but you said you wouldn't and you did and now-"

I take a gulp of air in, only now realizing that I've been violently rubbing at my eyes and heart, simultaneously wiping away the tears and trying to ease the pain my constricted chest feels.

"Bab- Mayella, breathe. Please." He steps forward, shutting the door behind him. But I step back. And he stops moving, both fists clenching in what seems like pain or the yearn to touch me. I don't want it to be the latter.

He looks perfect. He's wearing the hoodie with some sweats and his hair is left open, some strands behind his pierced ears. Those stormy eyes hold pure worry and concern. I hate doing this to him.

He shouldn't have lied then, my inner, sometimes rational, voice sounds in my head.

"I don't have-I don't have parents now, Dalaric." My legs buckle from underneath and I brace myself using the wall, my eyes telling him to stop when he takes a few steps forward. I play with my fingers as I sit cross legged, not bothered about how he can see the ugly, unlovable scars on my thighs.

He's leaving me anyways.

"I did it to keep you safe, Mayella. You fucking know this."

"My mama kept me safe. She didn't hit- do all that because she was a bad person. She was just- just upset because of Dada's death."

"I'm not going to apologize." He states, bluntly.

"That makes me upset." My sniffles die down, the reality of the situation seeping in. That hurts.

"I know, and I fucking hate it. She abused you-"

"Please don't say it like that." That's not abuse. It can't be abuse.

"She hit you. She cut you. She hurt her own daughter. I did it and I'll fucking do it again. I'll-" Dalaric takes a deep breath in, murmuring something to himself before exhaling and averting my favorite pair of eyes away from me.

"-I'll leave you alone if it means keeping you safe. If it means keeping you alive. I'm not fucking sorry."

His voice cracks and so does my heart. He makes sense. He makes too much sense for my pained mind to understand. Mothers don't do that. They love and protect, right ? Why is mine any different ? Why me ?

I stuff my face into my hands and cry silently, fully aware that he knows I think he's right. I don't want him to be right. Please, God, don't let him be right.

"Mayella, bab-"

"Yes officer, this man right here." A man in a lab coat barges in and Dalaric reluctantly shifts his eyes away from my shaking form. Another man, this time in a light blue cop uniform comes in and speaks into one of his little walkie talkies. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises. You've been warned thrice that non-family persons are not permitted to visit patient during this hour."

The hospital security puts a hand on Dalaric's shoulder who then elbows him in the stomach.

"Don't fucking touch me. You-" He glares at the doctor, who gulps in fear. "-do your fucking job right and make sure the wound gets treated." The older, much shorter and slightly bald man nods eagerly before walking towards me as I sit on the hospital bed, my legs dangling from the edge and my heart on the verge of completely shattering.

I can feel his long stare as he scans my form, before following the officer with a glare. My stupid, selfish heart hopes he doesn't hurt himself or anyone around him. Or the doctor who breathes a sigh of relief as Dalaric leaves the room.

He reapplies an ointment on the wound that I still haven't seen, before putting another thick bandage on top.

"Scary guy, eh ? Reminds me of the bullies in high school."

I shake my head, a sad smile on my face as I lay on the bed.

"He's the kindest person I know."

"Oh ?" The doctor in his mid-twenties asks, with a heap of surprise. "Definitely doesn't show it. That man has some serious anger issues, if you ask me. Judging from the two guards he threatened, I don't understand how you believe that." I'm not sure I have the energy to ask him to stop being judgmental about my man. I'm also not sure if I can call him that anymore. That hurts.

He sets up the monitor, a muffled regular beep sounding out. I pull up the cover to my neck, not feeling the usual comfort, before whispering just loud enough for the doctor to hear and widen his eyes in slight shock.

"That man is the love of my life."

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2692

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-.