Christian tenderly rubs his cupped hand just above my knee as the long car ride continues. I shutter in pure disgust under his gentle touch. His presence makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Every once in a while, his hand would "accidentally" creep higher, which resulted in me squeezing my legs so hard, you'd think they were glued shut.

"How much longer?" I ask, keeping my tone one note.

"Not too much longer, Princess." His voice is low and soft as he uses his free hand to gently stroke my long blonde hair.

The way he says princess wasn't the same compared to when the wolf said it. When he said it, he meant it. His voice was strong and in control, and made me feel safe. He is a cozy blanket I want to wrap myself in when the days are unbearable and feel protected and loved when things go awry. But when Christian says it, it's not the same. In fact, it's the polar opposite.

My thoughts swing back to the wolf. I wondered what he was doing. I wish I could see him once more... that is, if I ever see him again. No matter how drunk I was, something in his eyes made me want to melt into his hands like butter on bread and give myself totally to him.

Finally, the goons pull into an empty ally, then park in front of a back door entrance. Christian popped out of the vehicle first before scurrying to my side and opening the door for me. He holds a hand out, gesturing for me to take it. I ease my hand onto his palm. I plan on using it as a stabilizer then immediately removing my hand, but Christian had other ideas. His hand firmly gripped on mine as he led us to the doorway.

Jason and Radon hover around us as we walk through the door and into a long, drawn hallway. The grey walls are bare and lifeless. With every step on the white tile floor, an anxious feeling builds in my stomach so fast, I feel as if I'm going to throw up. Fluorescent lights glare above us like the eyes of God as he guides me to an elevator.

He lifts his thumb and presses it against a small dark glass pad embedded in the wall. A thin blue light scans his thumb print, searching for identification, before shutting itself off. An automated voice calls out his name just before the elevator door begins to pry open.

He wastes no time. I'm dragged swiftly behind him into the enclosed space; his goons, steadfast on our trail. We pile into the futuristic, all white elevator as Christian presses 44, the top floor. I cower into the corner of the elevator, praying this is all an illusion, a daydream in which I will wake up sweating beads of fear. Unfortunately, the doors open and my hopes of a daydream are shattered.

As the mighty doors open, they reveal a stunning sight of the early morning city skyline. Skyscrapers and clouds collide in beautiful harmony to create an image so beautiful, Picasso couldn't even capture it with a single brush stroke. Birds fly in great flocks around the pink sky, adding delicate details to the painting. White wispy clouds hug onto the rough and sturdy buildings. Dark colors of purple add depth to the enormous and majestically morning sky.

"Whoa, nice view." I say breathlessly, in awe of the beautiful sight. I take a step over the elevators threshold—taking in the immaculate panoramic view—before I begin to notice the settings of the room.

A giant glass desk sits squarely in the middle of the naturally lit room. Perched on top of it is a thin, yet wide, Apple desktop monitor, along with a small wireless keyboard and mouse, a black pencil cup, and a stapler. Pushed underneath the pristine desk is a sleek, modern office chair with black leather and metal arm rests. There are two chairs similar to his office chair facing the desk as well. I assume they're for the pompous clients he has.

Against a wall is a full coffee barista. White styrofoam coffee cups are neatly stacked near a French press coffee maker. A small glass cup is filled with black stirrers, while a platter of deli fresh muffins rests nearby. The outer walls of the office are nothing but glass windows while the rest of the walls are simply painted white. No paintings. Nothing but blank walls.

"Welcome to my home away from home." Christian states proudly, welcoming me to his simplistic and modern office. He places a firm hand on my lower back while guiding me to a chair.

I sit before the king of greed. Anxiety pulses through my veins like small shockwaves. His beefed up goons hover next to me with an obvious prey versus predator mentality. Now that the big bad wolf is no where around, they can resume their appointed roles as the meanest, toughest bastards in the room.

"Now," Christian says, effortlessly sitting at his mega desk. "I have some news, regarding your mother."

"No shit Sherlock." I murmur, rolling my eyes at the condescending jerk before me.

A slow, deliberate sigh huffs out of Christian's nose. He casually rests his forearms on the edge of the transparent desk, clasps his hands together and gives me direct eye contact. I inspect those cold, pointed eyes for any emotion. I search for anything--trying to give him the benefit of the doubt--but all I find is a sturdy wall, guarding the passive aggressive, demonic beast inside of him.

"We all know you and your mom have been through a lot together. Your father's passing, etcetera. Your mothers drinking has clearly taken a toll on your relationship. I believe she has seen this now. So... with careful decisions..." He pauses dramatically, "Your mother will be checked into a rehab facility until further notice."

Mom's plastic smile doesn't match the endless whirlpool of emotions in her eyes as she spoke with the head nurse. Greene River Hillside Rehabilitation is the last place she wants to be, and it's evident. Her knuckles grow whiter and whiter as she grips hard onto the strap of her black and pink Victoria Secret's duffle bag. She shifts onto her hip as she begins to nervously chew on her lip. I see her fiddle with her fingers as she tries to listen to whatever the nurse is saying.

She doesn't look good. Her eyes droop with exhaustion. Deep, dark bags cling under her eyes, like she hasn't slept in months. The corner of my lips draw downward in a frown as I sit from afar. Even though she is a miserable alcoholic; even though, more often than not, she is incapable of being a mother... My heart drops to see her in her current state.

Christian stands next to her, his hands shoved into his deep pockets, nodding his head as if he knew a damn thing the head nurse was saying. His presence alone makes me want to gag. The Royal Slime Ball shakes her hand just before she disappears behind the front desk. I see Mom turn to Christian, a pleading twinkle dancing in her ocean eyes. They say something I can't quite decipher, but after a brief exchange, the shining twinkle disappears. She tries to plaster a small smile onto her lips, but she is transparent as she walks over to me.

"Well," Mom says before sitting in the connected seat next to mine, "The head nurse says she doesn't know how long it will be before I can leave, but you can visit whenever you want. Their facility is very nice. You can come visit, and we will go to the spa, maybe get a bite to eat at the cafeteria... Doesn't that sound nice?"

Those mirroring eyes slowly scan my face as she tries to detect the slightest bit of happiness. I inhale my bottom lip, fighting back the burning fumes of acidic tears forming in my waterline. I want to be happy that she is getting the right help. I want to give her a smile of reassurance that all will be well. However, a venomous feeling keeps gnawing in my guts and I can't shake it. I force a tight, quick smile as I nod my head.

The head nurse quietly walks over to us; a huge steel clipboard clutched in her arms. As she begins to speak, her voice is soft with understanding, yet firm with authority. "Mrs. Huntington, it's time to go."

A deep, tired sigh exhales out of moms nose as she reaches her arms out for a hug. I wrap my arms around her, holding her so tight in my grasp. Her warm, familiar embrace takes me back to my childhood. Astringent tears break through the barrier I tried so hard to keep in my waterline. They begin to roll down my cheeks like a small stream. The acidic tears burn my reddened cheeks as they fall from my eyes and puddle into her soft blonde locks. My heavy heart falls into the pits of my stomach, leaving my chest destitute. Quiet sobs vibrate through my body as we whisper our goodbyes into each other's ears.

"I love you so much Mom." My shaky voice cracks like glass as I spoke her name. Her rueful cries echo just as loud into my ears as she responds,

"I love you too. So, so much. I'm so sorry I've been a terrible mother to you these past few years." Dejected remorse fills her voice as she apologizes. I lightly pull away from her, cupping her sunken cheeks into my palm, and shake my head.

"No, Mom. You're a good mother. You just need help. That's all." I think back to before Dad's death; when everything seemed alright and the world didn't seem so dark. Even though Dad was devoid of compassion and respect for wolves, he was an all around amazing father. He pampered Mom and I. He did everything he could to provide a roof, clothes, utilities--everything. I had everything I needed and then some.

Mom never drank more than one glass of wine; and that was only on special occasions. She decked the halls for the holiday season. She attended PTA meetings, laughed at silly jokes, cooked lunches, hosted immaculate parties--she was the perfect wife and mother. Her spirit shined brighter than the stars in the darkest parts of the night sky. She was a refreshing drink of water on a summer's day; a reliable friend in the darkest part of your life... But the light, which once danced so happily in her soul, switched.

Her sobs grew louder as we both knew it was time to let go. I lift my eyes to meet her tear-filled ocean orbs. I softly whisper, "It's okay, Mom. It's time to go."

She nods her head vigorously in agreement before slumping down, flinging her duffle over her shoulder, and standing up. I watch her slowly walk with the nurse, knowing it could be the last time I ever see her.

"This is for the best." Christian says in an assertive tone. I slowly turn to him, daggers shooting left and right as my glare hardens.

"Fuck off." A low growl bellows from my lungs as my glare lingered on that pig headed baboon.

A/N

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone! I hope 2020 is out the door ASAP. Please let me know what you thought about this shorter chapter in the comments below.

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