Velli

A heart monitor beeps. A TV to watch hangs from the wall, and the bed that allows my mom to live without health issues rests in the middle of the room.

Something lies on its back under the covers. It’s not my mother. My mouth goes dry, and it feels like my heart forgets to pump. That thing beneath the blankets is too still. It’s too bumpy, and its heart… its disgusting heart is a moving lump under the white covers. It beats five times every second. I take two more slow steps to stand above it.

Ripping away the covers, I reveal four sets of pillows and a miniature fan in the middle. Behind me, something whizzes from the room just outside of my peripheral vision. I chase the thing through the door and into the hall.

It’s fast, human fast, not superhuman fast, and wearing some sort of hood made out of blankets. It only has two legs. Catchable. It’s quick, though, and moving in random zigzags, making shots to its back hard. I stop in my tracks and pull out my gun. Hard shot, not impossible. I choose to chase.

We zoom through the corridors, and frustration boils in me. My mother, the person in front of me took my mother. Visions of beating the robed figure senseless propel me forward. It runs through the back door. The fall sky and peppermint gate greet me again, but I focus on diving on my prey. Before I do, they collapse.

On the ground, unconscious, is the hooded figure. Then it all makes sense. I squat in front of her as my heart calms. Her face is on the ground. Slowly, I roll her over.

“Hey, Mom. Can you hear me?”

Her breathing isn’t good at all. Part of me thinks it could be over for her. It’s not, though. She’s a fighter—too much of a fighter.

“Take me to Amelia’s funeral,” she whispers, unable to say it with the authority she means.

“No, Mom, you need to stay in that bed. That’s keeping you healthy.”

“Take me to Amelia’s funeral,” she commands again.

I don’t move.

She stops commanding and starts begging. “Please, I need to see her off to the next life, please, Velli. Please, son.”

I hate that. I hate to hear her beg. “Mom, that bed’s keeping you alive.”

“I… I…” She gasps and repeats, gasp and repeats in a sad rhythm. “I made it this far.”

And look what happened to you is what I think, but I love her too much to say that. The bed gives relief while on it and a few minutes while off, essentially enough for a bathroom break.

I look for a subject change, a genuine compliment, something to be happy about. “A power outage and an escape past the security guards. Clever. How’d you manage that?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

She looks up at me, feigning disappointment.

Not feigning, she’s really sad.

No, her eye twinkles at her brilliance. “I’m not telling. You should be able to figure this out. You might need to do it one day. What do I always tell you?”

“You have to be a thinker.”

She nods. “You. Have. To. Be. A. Thinker. You have to be on your toes and have a plan. Until your powers come in.”

“Yeah.” I don’t bother correcting her about powers. They’re not coming.

Such great faith. Her belief in things working out or her ability to make things work out did a lot of good. Her faith kept her alive as she grew up through the roughest part of Division’s Hand, the Eighteen. It encouraged her to come up to my dad and ask him out despite her being powerless—I’ve never met or even heard of another unequally Powered couple to their extent—which let us live like royalty while he was alive. Her mindset taught me how to be clever and look for the third and fourth option. That’s saved my life on multiple occasions.

Her faith also brought her here. Gasping for breath, like a fish out of water, she makes me want to toss her into her proper element. Even now she refuses to go back. She crawls away from me, farther from that bed giving her life, and tries to get to her feet.

“Mom,” I whisper. This time, I can’t find my authoritative voice. “Mom, you need to lie down. I can put the funeral on your TV.”

“No.” She stands, shaking pitifully, every part of her body begging her to lie down. “Amelia was like a daughter to me, and if a mother loses a daughter, the mother should go to the funeral.” She doesn’t look at me now. She shuffles forward a centimeter at a time. “You made me miss Cid’s. You made me miss Nerves’s. You made me—” Her legs wobble and buckle.

You made her.

I grab Mom before she falls and scoop her into my arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m apologizing for because this was the right thing. Right? Keeping her here, alive, until we can get a healer.

She doesn’t say anything as I carry her and pull the door open to go back to her room. She does tug at my shirt, though, and motions for me to put her down. I don’t. I’m sure if I do, she’ll attempt to run right back outside.

“They’re all really gone?” Mom asks. “It’s just you and Dream left?”

“Yeah, just us two.”

“Can you marry her already?”

Hahahaha.

Okay, that actually is a little funny.

I close my eyes and smile. “Mom…”

“I know you’re waiting for your powers to get here, but you might need to go ahead and ask.”

“Mom…”

“I want grandchildren.”

“Mom…”

“I need one. Just one named after your grandfather. You’ll like raising kids. It’s the best experience someone can have. You were such a good time, even when you weren’t.”

“I think… I don’t think we’re going to work out.”

“If I could get your father, you can get Dream.”

“That’s different.” I take a deep breath to explain our situation. “Dating, mating, and sex are all about what you can offer, and currently, I can offer very little, unfortunately. Evolutionarily speaking, my genes have a chance to ruin our kids’ lives because I don’t have powers. Financially, I can never come close to those with powers. Socially, we’ve reentered a phase in society where we’re no longer starving for resources, where we’re competing for them, seeing who can collect the most. Without powers, I’ll always be outmatched.”

She grabs my lips and presses them together to shut me up. “Not a single word you said had a thing to do with love.”

Yes, because love isn’t real. It’s just brain chemistry and evolutionary necessities to bring us further as a species. It is a fickle thing and could be changed and manipulated with a lot of struggle but easier than the masses would think. My thoughts jumble together and attempt to find an argument that would convince her without hurting her feelings. Searching her face and dark-brown eyes, I get sad at the fact that her hair is gray, which means she only has so many years left with me. I stop breathing for a second because that reminds me of my dad dying and the hole in my heart where he should be that will never get filled.

She takes her hands from my lips, and I simply say, “You’re right.”

I set her in her bed, and we chat until she falls asleep again. I fall asleep as well until Fate interrupts my nap.