His to Claim, His to Ruin

Lana “You only have six months to live. I'm very sorry, Lana. The accident three years ago triggered it. I can't help you prolong your life anymore, other than putting you on medication to ease your burden a little bit.” The doctor's words were clear; he didn't stutter, but he was sympathizing with me instead. “But if you consider physical science…” My priorities and plans in life were clear. Study, finish college, earn my diploma, get a job from the top hospital in the country as a nurse, and support my mother's treatment. But only one dream came true. I support my mother's necessities, but not as a nurse working in a big hospital saving lives; instead, I am someone who wears tight midi dresses with a tray in my hands, serving countless jerks, getting sexually assaulted by douchebag customers, and throwing away the dreams I once had built. And having six months to live isn't on my bingo card. I stuttered, “W-what if I don't take the medication as prescribed?” The doctor took a deep breath and spoke. “The six months remaining will eventually be cut short. You might live for three months. Two months? A month? We're not sure. But one thing is certain—once you get surgery as soon as possible, I can guarantee you'll be fine.” No Lana. Your mom comes first. A mother who raised me since I was just a child, providing everything I needed despite the financial restraints we're facing, even if the whole world won't allow us to get our happy ending, she's still present. I left the hospital with the doctor’s prescription in my hands. Damn. My mother needs an urgent transplant. While me? I stand no chance of living. My life has already hit rock bottom. What else should I look forward to? I swabbed the tears falling down my cheeks as my feet redirected me to where Sage is. “How's the appointment with Dr. Morgan?” Sage asked, biting her lower lip alongside her fixated eyes. Seeing that I wasn't responding, Sage already nodded her head. Reading a room wasn't that hard. “I have six months to live, Sage. If I don't get this surgery and take the medication as prescribed…” And suddenly, my tears burst, flowing down my cheeks like an embankment. Sage pulled me into a tight hug, embracing me warmly, ensuring her comfort could touch my heart and somehow ease the burden I have. I wasn't wrong when I chose Sage, my close friend and a very special person to me. “Hush, Lana. You'll surpass the six months. I know you can do it. I can help you find—” I shook my head in an instant, cutting her off from speaking further. “My priority is my mother. I can set myself aside. As long as she's healthy, I'm good, Sage.” “Oh dear…” Eating strawberries to alleviate my mood won't isn't working anymore. Running away and having beach therapy as I usually do won't do either, as if none of these therapy methods I used to self-soothe will do me any good. I can't bear working all night serving drinks to our customers. My legs can’t bear to stand for hours in a row waiting for tables to be vacated, and my reality of being indigent booted in, shifting from being in a toxic environment where everything will start to crumble. Tears slid down my cheeks on my way home. My heart is shattered into pieces. I thought my sickness alone was enough to torment me, but God Almighty knew exactly how to make my life miserable when I found my mother lying on the floor the moment I entered our house, while my father was kneeling, pleading for their life. “Lana…” his trembling voice called when he saw me standing beside the door. “H-help me.” My eyes enlarged seeing my sick mother lying on the cold floor, coughing, whilst tears began pooling down her cheeks. I couldn't help my Dad because of the fear I carry towards these men who might hurt me too. “Mom!” I roared as I supported her to sit. What I hate the most is hurting my family when they didn't do anything wrong. Seeing my father, who got beaten up, is still in their hands enough to push my buttons further. Oh God. Not now. “Take your hands off my father!” I squirmed, helping my father off their grip. A bunch of goons is surrounding our household, all of them are armed, some are holding baseball bats, and they are the reason my father has a bruise in his voice. The blood on the floor might have come from him. Fuck. Dad spat blood because of these goons. As much as I want to unhook his hands from my father, the more he tries to push me away. “This is trespassing! You harassed my family! I can file a case against you if you don't leave!” A small, yet filthy smirk crept on the man's face. “Your father has a debt to pay. That should be my line.” I couldn’t utter a single word. His claim made me speechless. One of the six men inside laughed, his voice echoed in the room trying to prove I'm some sort of joke to him. “This girl has a nerve, doesn't she? Poor thing. Your father ran away from us, and he signed an agreement with my boss. If he can't pay the debts he owes, we will be taking you as a collateral.” Me? As collateral? No way! I endured so much, and now there are people in my house claiming Dad had huge debts he needs to pay. As far as I can remember, he does nothing but stay at home while taking care of my mom. The goon didn't let go of me. He was taller than my height, unwilling to settle in a calmest way. He hoisted his hand and grabbed my shirt from behind, a mere sign that I'm floating because he is gripping my clothes. “Go away!” I remarked, squealing as I tried to remove his hands from my arms. Fortunately, the goon heard my plea, and he immediately let go of me. My knees bumped the cold floor causing me to groan, the pain it caused is nothing to my burden yet he threw me as if I was a trash he can toss around whenever he wants. “I'll keep things straight,” the man approached. “Ymil Licciardi, we need to discuss the settlement. Right here, right now.” My father's trembling voice spoke. “I-I’m sorry...I’ll pay it back.” Something in my throat was stuck, perhaps a big stone refraining me to talk. “How much…does my father owe?” “Don’t act like you don't know any of it, girl.” The man said as he kicked me down the floor. “I’ve been watching you.”