A Heartbreaking Call
1398 Words
~Abigail's POV~
The first thing I was aware of when I woke up was the silence.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. The soft cotton sheets felt too luxurious, the faint scent of musk and cedarwood on the pillow too foreign. I blinked against the morning sunlight streaming in through the hotel room window, and that's when it hit me.
Genesis.
I jolted upright in bed, wincing as my body went through the vision of last night running through the battered frame it now was. My lips still tingled where his kisses touched, while my skin was in open flames as far and wide as his hands had wandered, scouring me within the remembrance of this mixture of shame and pleasure forever at war within my guts.
I glanced around the room. My heart sank even lower in my chest when he wasn't there. The other side of the bed was empty. Sheets are cold.
Of course he wasn't here. Someone like Genesis Donovan never stuck around.
Then my gaze landed on the bedside table and there, it was a pristine white envelope scrawled across my name in careless and cocky script sitting next to the check.
I was the first to reach for the envelope. My fingers were shaking—just a little—as I opened it. The note inside was curt, almost clinical:
"Thanks for a night to remember. Hope this helps with whatever you need.—Genesis Donovan"
I stared at the words, my chest tightening. Unforgettable. To him, maybe that was all it was a brief flicker of memory that he would discard. For me, it was more.
The check mocked me from its place on the table. I picked it up tentatively, and my breath caught at the sight of the amount: more money than I'd ever seen.
That was enough to pay several months rent and still leave a good chunk of change.
My first impulse was to tear it in half, if only to retract what we'd done in agreeing that the whole thing could be reduced to such a simple transaction. Pragmatism stayed in my hand. My mother was still in the hospital and her medical bills were mounting high. This would go some way to pay for them.
I gripped the check tightly and fought to make myself breathe. One night, that was all. A night where no one expects anything.
But sitting, a torrent of memories came through his touch:.
His palms slid up my waist to hold me tight, firm and purposeful, as if he was so scared that without holding me enough.
How he had touched every inch of my skin, leaving a burn in the trail of his mouth, a fire I hadn't realized blazed right under my ribs. The look in his gray eyes after had softened to something I did not name—still.
And now he was gone, leaving behind only this impersonal note and promises of money.
I gulped, stuffing the thoughts deep down. This was better for me. Whatever I'd thought I'd been feeling last night was null now. Genesis Donovan and I were of two different worlds. I will never see him again, and I must forget.
The weeks that followed were just a routine of an endless blur. My days had been split between working shifts at the bar and visiting the hospital, where my mother lay.
She has good days when her smile still had some warmth in it, though the bad days far outnumbered those on which even breathing seemed to cost her all she had.
On one of those bad days, the world came crashing down on top of me.
I was in the middle of a shift at work when I felt my phone buzzing against my hip. I drew the phone out, frowning at the number-unknown to me.
"Hello?"
"Miss Reynolds?" a voice said, all in a rush on the other end. "Dr. Mayer called from St. Francis Hospital. You must get here as fast as possible. It is concerning your mother."
My stomach dropped to my feet. "Right there, be right there."
I hung up and turned to Timothy, my voice shaking. "Timothy, I have to go to the hospital. It's Mom."
His face fell, but he didn't hesitate. "I'm coming with you."
We drove to the hospital, and with each passing minute, it felt in my mind's eye as if seconds were crawling by—unbearable, thinking of all the worst scenarios.
Then we arrived at the hospital, where white halls seemed colder than usual, and the fluorescent lights overhead seemed to glare down on us as we hurried to the doctor's office.
Dr. Mayer was standing in the doorway now, his face grim. "Miss Reynolds," he said quietly, "your mother has taken a turn for the worse. She needs surgery this minute, or—" He let his sentence drop, as one lets drop an unending weight. "Or she will die."
The effect was for all the world as if someone just pulled the carpet from under me.
My knees turned to jelly and Timothy caught me, just in time for him to drape an arm around me on my shoulders
"What kind of surgery? ".I croaked in a tightened throat.
He went on, explaining the procedure, but his voice blurred together with my mind running overtime. "How much will it cost?" I cut in, holding on to the faint hope that somehow I could manage.
“Ten Million.” And it was like a blow to the gut. That was more money than I would ever hope to make, even if I worked doubles every day for the next year.
I mashed my hands against my face in an attempt to pushthe tears back. "I don't have that kind of money," I whispered. "What am I supposed to do?"
Timothy squeezed my hand. "We'll figure it out," he said, cutting through a morass I'd sunk into. "I've got a little savings. It isn't much, but I'll get it to you now."
"Timothy, I don't want to ask you to do that—"
"You aren't asking," he said, hauling out his phone. "It's for Abigail, your mom. Of course, I'll do it.”
His gentleness only brought tears to my eyes. I buried my face in his shoulder and thanked him in a way which defied words, for being my source of strength.
Having transferred what little money he possessed into my account, Timothy took my hands between his. "It's still not enough," he said softly. "But perhaps Jacques can help."
I froze, dread pooling in my stomach. The owner of Sterling Bar wasn't exactly known for his generosity. Jacques was a businessman through and through, and he didn't part with his money easily.
"Abigail," Timothy said gently. "I know it's not ideal, but it's worth a shot. You can't do this alone."
I nodded reluctantly, wiping my eyes. "Okay. Let's go.".
The walk up to the bar felt like the longest journey of my life.
My desperation and fear had weighed me down, and every step I took, I just knew was going to be my last. Stopping in front of the front door, I clenched my fists beside my body.
"You can do this," said Timothy, his voice as even as his eyes, trying to calm me down. "You are stronger than you think."
I took a deep breath and nodded as I pushed the door open.
Jacque's office was every bit as intimidating as the man. Shelves of expensive liquor lined the walls; the air was stale with the scent of cigars. He sat behind his mahogany desk, his bright eyes narrowing as we entered.
"What do you want?" he growled, his tone curt.
I took a step forward, hands sweaty. "Jacques, I need to borrow money. My mum is in the hospital. She has to have an operation. It's urgent."
He sat back in his chair, face expressionless. "How much are we talking about?"
I told him. I could hardly hear myself; it came out just above a whisper.
Immediately, the effect was that Jacques brought his fists onto the desk, scrunched his face up in an inexpressible scowl,
"What?! Where would I see that kind of money?" he yelled at the voice, which justifiably made it ring on the walls.
- Writer
