The air in Room 406 is heavy with the scent of antiseptic and dying lilies. It’s a sharp, clinical smell that stings the back of my throat, a constant reminder that life here is measured in milliliters and heartbeats. It is a smell of disinfectants, hand sanitizer, drugs, agony, pain and everything in between. Through the window, the sprawling, neon veins of Los Angeles flicker like distant, uncaring diamonds. Right now, all I can see are double images, and it seems like my world is spiraling.
Tick ! Tick ! Tick !
The wall clock is a steady, rhythmic torture. I sit by the bed, my mahogany skin looking pale and ashen under the harsh fluorescent lights. I catch my reflection in the darkened window, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes now wet with exhaustion, and hair that falls in dark, lush waves over my shoulders. My father used to tuck a strand behind my ear and whisper, "You are my Dazzling Star, Jatavia, no one can dim your light." He’s been gone for years, his laughter a fading echo, and now the only light I have left is flickering out.
"Jatavia..." My mother’s voice is a dry rasp, a ghost of the vibrant woman who used to dance in our kitchen when the sun hit the tiles just right. Her fingers, now skinnier than I remember them being.
"I’m here, Mum. I’m right here." I reach for the plastic cup on the bedside table, my own hands shaking so violently that water sloshes over the rim, wetting the clinical sheets. I just want my mum here forever.
"Listen to me," she whispers, her grip suddenly tightening with a strength that terrifies me. She presses something hard, cool, and metallic into my palm. It’s the gold locket. My father’s locket. "The debt... Bel... you must stay away, Ja … Jata… Jatavia. Protect the star."
"Mum, don't talk … Don't talk at all, just drink." I lift the cup to her lips, my heart beating in a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My hands are shaking, like my world is about to crash. "Mum … Please, just stay with me."
"Protect... it..." Her eyes wander, losing focus, and then her head falls back against the pillow with a finality that stops my heart. My world pauses.
The steady beep of the monitor suddenly stretches into a flat, piercing scream.
The world tilts. The floor feels like it’s liquefying beneath my feet.
"Mum ? Mum ! No, no, no!" I grab her shoulders, shaking her, waiting for her to blink, to scold me, to breathe. But she’s heavy. She’s still. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth. The plastic cup slips from my hand, hitting the floor with a hollow thud, but the silence in her chest is louder.
Something inside me snaps. I feel my heart pounding, my teeth gnashing, my ribs cracking, my hands tightening into a fist. The taste of my tears burns, as it enters my mouth. The cup hitting the ground and all I can hear is my world shattering.
Crash.
The sound of shattering glass is a relief. I want everything to break. I want the world to feel as fractured as I am. I scream, a raw, jagged sound that tears through my throat and echoes off the cold tiles. I grab the vase of wilting lilies and smash it. I tear at the monitors, the trays, the IV stands, throwing them into the abyss of my grief. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches; sweat drips down my neck, mixing with the hot tears blurring my vision. The taste in my mouth is salty.
"You can't leave me!" I howl, my fists balled so tight my nails draw blood from my palms. "I have no one! Dad is gone, and now you … everyone leaves! Why does everyone leave?"
I am a storm of mahogany and rage, standing in a sea of broken glass and spilled water. I am shattering, crumbling into a thousand pieces of wasted hope.
The heavy double doors of the ward don't just open; they are thrown back with a force that hits the walls like a gunshot.
It isn't a doctor. It isn't a nurse. It’s the sound of boots, heavy, synchronized, and terrifying. Thump. Thump. Thump. A wall of men in dark, charcoal suits floods the room, their faces like masks of stone. An entourage. And then, the air in the room changes. The clinical smell of death is suddenly smothered by something intoxicating, sandalwood, rain, and a cologne so expensive it smells like power, elegance, and dominance.
A man steps through the center of the line.