The woman reels around, startling me. Her face is matted with blood. It takes me a moment to realize that, yes, this is my mother, and yes, she is in pain, and yes, her eyes are gone. Her eyes are gone. Empty sockets stare back at me, gnarled optic nerves dangling down her cheeks.

Her hands reach towards me. She holds small mangled orbs in her outstretched palms. Her eyes. She’s offering me her eyes. “It’s too much,” my mother says. “Too much.”

I back up, the light in the bathroom blinding me. My mother comes closer. I stumble back. No escape. I’m moving so slowly, like I’m running through water.

Run, Ange, run.

But I can’t. I can’t move. And that’s when I shoot up with a gasp. Sweating. Clutching my chest.

Oh, God. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m still in my bed and that it’s morning. Two sparrows chirp outside the window on a lone tree branch.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Catching my breath, my eyes drift over to the mesh-wire trashcan where I’ve abandoned my empty prescription bottle. Is this how it’s going to be? Are blood and death in my future? I pick up the photo of my mother. I never noticed it before, but there’s something disquieting about how she’s sitting. As if she’s performing for the picture taker, for my father. It’s her eyes. Her eyes are full of fear.

The realization that my mother is terrified in this photograph washes over me. My mother is afraid. She has no future. And I’m feeling more and more like her everyday. Maybe Jackson’s right. Maybe I do have to face my fears head-on. Prove once and for all that I’m my own person, and if not, if that doesn’t work, then take the money and run. I’ve taken care of a lot of my debt. If this elderly woman pays double our rate, my cut would last months. I could get out of here. Get away from Jackson. From home.

Rubbing my face, I try to erase the image of my mother’s eyes and how they looked like bloody golf balls. Inanimate things. The sun trickles through the window, soft and bright. I pull the covers off the bed. My bare feet touch the hard floor.

I nudge Jackson’s bedroom door open. Don’t do it, a small voice whispers inside of me. Turn back. But I push that voice down, burying it deep within me. Beth blinks awake and sees me standing there. She pulls the sheets over her naked chest.

“Babe…” she says, sleep in her voice.

“Huh?” Jackson yawns and wraps his arms around her. It’s only when he opens his eyes that he sees me standing in the doorway. No more fear. No more hiding.

“I’m in,” I say.

5

5