Chapter 2 Chapter Two
The hospital smelled of antiseptics and old flowers. Becky walked beside her mother, holding her steady as they entered the oncology wing. Her mother moved slowly, tired with every step, but still managed to give a faint smile to every nurse they passed.
They sat down in the consultation room. The doctor, a tall man with rimless glasses, came in with a folder. He didn’t waste time. He placed the test results on the desk and looked at the boh of them.
“Mrs. White, have you been taking your medications just as I prescribed?” His tone was calm, but his eyes pinned Becky.
Becky felt her chest tighten. She shifted in her seat, fidgeted with her sleeves and glanced at her phone as if an urgent message might pop up. Anything but having to look at him.
“Becky?” the doctor pressed.
Her mother’s eyes flickered to her, soft with confusion. Becky bit her lip and forced a small laugh. “Um…we’ve been, you know, keeping up. As best we can.”
The doctor leaned forward, folding his hands. “That wasn’t my question. Have you been taking them exactly as instructed?”
Silence stretched. The clock on the wall ticked like a hammer. Becky’s throat closed, but she finally exhaled.
“No.” she whispered. “We’ve been….stretching them out. Skipping doses some days. Just to make them last. The money’s not enough and—“Her voice cracked. “And the debts… the chemo…I can barely keep the lights on at home.”
Her mother looked down, her hands trembling in her lap.
The doctor’s voice softened, but it carried weight. “Becky, listen to me carefully. If your mother is to have any chance—any chance at all—you cannot play with her medication. It must be strict, consistent. Skipping doses isn’t an option. Chemo without medication is like fighting with no armor. Do you understand?”
Becky nodded quickly, tears burning her eyes. “I understand. I’m sorry. I’m just…worn out. I’m trying so hard.”
The doctor sighed, then slid the folder towards her. “I know you are. But time is not on your side. If you want her to survive this, you’ll need to find a way.”
The words hit harder than any slap. Find a way. As though there were a secret path she hadn’t yet destroyed herself looking for.
Later, in the corridor, her mother shuffled toward the ward while Becky trailed behind, phone clutched in her hand. Her screens till lit up with Red’s last message: you sure you’ll do anythinggg?
Becky’s thumb trembled, hovering over the keyboard. The doctor’s words echoed in her ears, slicing through the fog of exhaustion. Strict. Consistent. Money. Survival.
She typed: Yes. I’m ready to do anything.
The reply came fast.
Red: Good. We’ll talk tonight.
Becky slipped the phone back in her bag, heart pounding like she’d just signed a deal with the devil.
At home, dusk fell heavy. Becky stood in front of her cracked mirror, carefully putting on eyeliner. On the bed, lay a sequined bra, its glitter catching the orange light through the curtains. She hated how it reminded her of the things she had to do for money.
The door creaked open, her mother leaned against the frame, frail but curious. “Where are you going, baby?”
Becky froze. She turned with a practiced smile. “Work. The night shift at the hospital. You know how it is.”
Her mother’s lips curved faintly. “My daughter, my nurse. Always so hardworking.” She shuffled in and kissed Becky’s forehead. “Don’t stay out too late. And…be safe.”
“Always.” Becky lied. She held the smile until her mother left, then turned back to the mirror, watching her own reflection crumble.
The club was loud, neon lights bouncing off every surface, music thumbing like a second heartbeat. Bardi cornered Becky in the dressing room before she could head out.
“Girl, don’t tell me you texted Red back?” Bardi said, folding her arms. Her tone was sharps, eyes wide with worry.
Becky avoided her gaze, adjusting her wig.
“Becks. I know that look. You did, didn’t you?”
Becky’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have a choice, Bardi. You heard what the doctor said. It’s either I find money or I bury my mother. Tell me what I’m supposed to do?”
“You think Red’s hustle is the answer? That girl is into some deep shit. The kind of shit you don’t crawl out of.”
Becky turned, fire in her eyes. “I don’t care. If it keeps my mum alive, I’ll burn with it.”
Bardi flinched at her tone. For a moment, the music outside drowned everything. Finally, Bardi muttered. “You’re making a mistake, Henny. A big one.”
Becky grabbed her heels and headed for the stage, her heart weighed down with desperation.
Hours later, when the last show was done and the customers had left, Becky and Bardi walked down the quiet street, their shoes in hand. The air was humid, smelling of cigarettes and friend plantain from a vendor nearby.
Headlights flashed through the dark. A shiny convertible pulled up, engine smooth and low. Red sat in the driver’s seat, her hair shining under the street light, sunglasses on even though it was midnight. Two girls laughed in the back, their legs stretched over the seat.
The car slowed. Red leaned out, lips curling into a smile. “Henny! Get in. We got work to do.”
Becky stopped in her tracks. Her heart pounding. The promise of money. The threat of ruin.
Bardi grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare. Becky, don’t please.”
The convertible idled, impatient. Red drummed her nails on the wheel. “You coming or not?”
Becky’s feet felt rooted, but the weight of her of mother’s face—the pale skin, the trembling hands, the hope in her eyes when she called her nurse—pulled her forward.
Becky pulled free of Bardi’s grip and dropped into the passenger seat. The leather cold under her skin.
“Becks.” Bardi cried, voice breaking. “Don’t.”
The engine growled, drowning her out as the car shot forward, Bardi’s shout fading into the night. Wind tore through Becky’s hair, city lights smearing past. She gripped the door handle, heart hammering, one thought echoing in her head like a curse.