Page 91 of Victorious Vice

We lie there, our bodies entwined, the sweat beginning to cool on our skin. Everything in me screams against the idea of letting her go, but I know I must. This is our reality—stolen moments in the darkness, whispers of love that will never see the light of day.

Reluctantly, I pull away from her and prop myself on my elbow to look at her face. Her eyes are still closed, lips slightly parted as she struggles to catch her breath. She appears blissful, a soft smile playing on her lips. It’s a sight that makes my heart ache with longing.

She falls asleep in my arms.

And for the rest of the night, I allow myself to hold her.

Until I untangle myself from her at the break of dawn, leaving her sleeping peacefully.

31

RAVEN

The dream starts the same way every time. I’m lying in that cold, sterile bed, staring up at the ceiling with its blinding fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic burning my nose. My body feels weak, so impossibly heavy. I try to move, but it’s like I’m trapped, frozen under the weight of it all.

I hear the beeping of machines, a steady reminder of how fragile I am. A nurse stands at the foot of my bed, her face masked but her eyes sad. I know what’s coming before she says anything. I’ve heard it before. “Your white blood cell count is not good. We’re going to start another round.”

My heart clenches. Another round. Another wave of poison coursing through my veins.

The room tilts, spinning in a way that makes me feel nauseated, but I’m stuck. I can’t get out of the bed. I can’t leave. I see my reflection in the window—pale, bald, with dark circles under my eyes like bruises.

I’m not me. I’m some shell of a person I used to know. My skin is gray, my lips cracked. I look like I’m already dead.

An instant later, I’m in the chair for chemo. The IV drips, and with every drop, I feel the toxin eating away at me. My hair falls out in clumps, and my bones ache like they’re breaking from the inside out. The taste of metal on my tongue, the sickening churn in my stomach. I want to scream, but no sound comes out. It never does.

Faces blur in and out—doctors, my mother, friends I haven’t seen in years. Their mouths move, but I can’t hear them. It’s like I’m underwater, drowning in silence, while they watch me fade away. My heart pounds, but it feels too slow, too heavy, like it could stop any second.

Any second now, it’s going to stop.

Then there’s the darkness.

It’s all black. Empty. And in that moment, I’m sure I’m dead. Gone. But something pulls me back, yanks me out of the void. The beeping returns, faster now, and I’m gasping, clawing at the air, trying to breathe, trying to fight for something—anything. My chest heaves, but my lungs feel like they’re filled with lead.

And then that crackly, female voice. “Remember…”

“What do I need to remember?” I try to call out, but my voice catches in my throat. Only a hoarse whisper comes out.

“Remember, Raven…”

A face. Blurred, hard to make out. But I can see gray hair tied up in a bun. It’s familiar, comforting… But I can’t figure out who it is.

I reach out to see if I can see the face more clearly, but I’m yanked back to the hospital room.

I feel a hand on mine, warm and gentle. My mother’s hand. I’m back in the hospital bed, but this time it’s different. This time, I hear the doctor’s voice.

“You’re in remission.”

The words echo, but instead of relief, fear washes over me. What if it comes back? What if this nightmare never ends?

And who is the woman with the blurry face? What does she want me to remember?

I wake up for real then, soaked in sweat, heart racing, and the darkness of my room closes in around me. It’s over. It’s done. I’m alive.

But the dream always finds me.

The sheets are soaked with my sweat.

Where am I?

---