The plane touched down at LAX airport at 10 a.m. As I close the door of a taxi that will take me straight to hospice care, my fingers inch up beneath the collar of my shirt that I wore specifically to cover the marks around my neck. Flashes of our time together flood to the surface without permission. It was... Hot and raw and it had set my soul on fucking fire. And my ass. My ass was on fire. It seems I forgot that the universe had blessed Dylan in the dick department when I decided to take a wild, rough ride on it.

But it felt like what I needed. I needed to hurt physically to kill the emotions eating me alive. And Dylan had given it. Enthusiastically. He'd done everything I demanded of him, even the choking. And now all I have left are sore muscles and a couple of fingerprint bruises. What will happen when it stops hurting?

Because when the pain goes away, there is nothing to distract me from how fucking miserable I feel about coming here and the unknown.

From the taxi, I watch LA pass by and listen to the chatter of the radio, trying to distract myself from the surreal feeling of being here, considering pinching myself to check if in fact I am somehow dreaming all this. Or did I dream of Alaska?

When I switch my phone back on and see a text from Dylan, I know I wasn't dreaming Alaska. Everything was so damn real and this pain I feel for being separated from my man is already too strong. My man.

The idea of not seeing him, even if it is simply in passing at work—causes an aching, crushing feeling in the center of my chest. But I try to put my thoughts about Dylan on the back burner, and try to remain in the moment, thinking about my mother. Because I know Dylan and I are good. More than good. I don't have to worry about that now and I can focus on my mom. He will be waiting for me and when I return back to him we will have an honest conversation about everything. I'm already imagining one of those moments from the movies, where he'd be waiting for me at the airport and I'd be running to his embrace and confess my love to him.

I keep my eyes glued to the world outside my backseat window, trying to predict where am I actually going. Being here just doesn't feel right. For as big as the city is, something about it feels claustrophobic, like I am always a moment away from running into the wrong person or ending up on the wrong side of the neighbourhood. I shouldn't feel fear here, I'm so far away from Ohio and my past life but it seems like I got used to that serenity Alaska offers and all the noise and the crowds and cars are making me twitchy.

After an hour-long trip to the outskirts of the city, the sign lets me know we have arrived at the hospice care facility, where the medical staff provide the necessary care for those diagnosed with a terminal illness. I give my name and identification to the woman behind the desk. She verifies that I'm on the visitor's list, and soon after I'm following a nurse through the hallways. My palms grow sweaty, my thoughts moving at lightning speed as we walk in silence towards the door.

There's an itching worry all over my skin as I step inside and see my mom sleeping on a hospital bed. She hasn't changed much. The same dark hair. The same slim, almost fragile build. The same hands. But somehow all I see is an old, frail woman. She clearly lost a considerable amount of weight and her skin is pale. I knew it wasn't possible for her to have suddenly aged dramatically overnight, so I had to assume that the reason was her lifestyle.

I quietly walk towards the chair placed by the bed but the moment I sit down, she turns her head and those familiar blue eyes are on me.

"You came to me..." she smiles softly.

"I wasn't so sure I'd do it."

"I understand that. Thank you. I think..." The sudden coughing stops her mid-sentence and she grabs the water bottle from her table taking a few sips. "Sorry. My immune system has gone to hell."

"What happened?"

"I'm an addict, Noah, I never really stopped. I ended up getting clean at one point but soon after I broke down again, and well... Buying drugs on the street now is a game of Russian roulette. Sometimes they contain life-threatening amounts of fentanyl, sometimes there's stuff nobody knows about. There was some type of laced drug going around and that destroyed my kidneys. I'm not a good candidate for a kidney transplant as you can tell." Her smile is the saddest thing I ever saw.

"But I don't want to talk about me. Tell me all about you. You look good, honey." I manage to shrug my shoulders and look down at my Converse that I never really had a chance to wear in Wake Forest. "Are you happy in Alaska? It surprised me when my cousin told me you were with Paul and Adel."

"I... I am. Uncle Paul helped me a lot. Got me a job. I live in his house. He's been great, both of them."

"I'm so sorry Noah. That should have been me. Taking care of you."

I sigh. "Yeah Mom, well I guess it's too late now."

"You need to know that I will never ask you to forgive me. I'm getting all that I deserve now, believe me, I just wanted us to have a chance to talk about some things. Maybe we could talk about Dad? I think you'd appreciate that."

I feel like I've been kicked in the chest.

"How about we talk about the day you left me with your parents? Or bullying in high school, huh? They wanted me out of the football team because I'm gay. Or grandma trying to set me up with the neighbor's daughter? Because people like me are the downfall of civilization and I need to be put on the right path."

"We can talk about many things Mom. I can even talk about me being all alone and homeless in a big city trying to find a job, or a bed to sleep in? How about we talk about that?"

I regret speaking the honest words the instant her pale face turns even more dull, like she's withering right here in front of me. But then, seeming to understand she isn't the only one entitled to pain, she slides her palm from under the blanket and takes my hand.

"I went looking for you when I found out you were in Ohio. You pushed me away. And I thought, well I thought you're better off without me at that point. I saw you working, you looked well-"

"Yeah no, that was from the outside. Inside I was probably full of coke and desperately needed my mom. You should've tried harder." I drop her hand, unable to focus with her cold skin touching mine.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I promise you that if I had a healthier mind I probably would be trying harder. I would!"

"I know you never wanted me. I heard you say that to Dad."

"Oh no. No no no. That's not true."

"You said you wanted to get an abortion."

"I can't even imagine how that sounds to a boy that young. But even though that is true and I wanted an abortion, very soon I changed my mind. Noah, baby, both your dad and I loved you so much. Your dad would kiss my belly, and call you silly nicknames and we would go shopping for tiny baby clothes with smiles on our faces. I was so young when I found out and it made my whole world crumble, I just wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility." She looks me straight in the eyes. "I know I wasn't the best person or best mother but please don't doubt this-I always loved you. I just didn't love myself enough."

She stares at me as if she doesn't know if I understand what she means to say, but there is hurt there, too. Hurt for me, for us both, and I hold on to it as I try to pull my shit together.

"It'll take some time... for me to... have a normal conversation with you. But time is what we don't have, do we?"

"They're giving me a few more weeks." She drops her gaze.

"Can't they do something? Isn't there a medication? Or a surgery that could fix it?"

"No. They've already done everything, but my body can't handle any more invasive treatments." She swallows thickly. "Death is coming for me. I feel it. No matter how much I smile and try to hide my physical pain. I see it in my dreams. I feel it waiting in my chest. But after today, death isn't the thing I'm most afraid of. I'm afraid of not getting the chance to convince you that you were loved, but I'm sorry anyway. I am so very sorry."

The nurse shows up at that moment, asking me to come at some other time because my mom needed some rest. And I gladly took the opportunity to get some air and clear my head. There are so many things still unsaid and I'm scared of my reaction to them all. Should I leave the past in the past? Should I speak my mind and not care about her excuses? All these years I was all alone but it seems she was alone too, unable to find her own way?

I'm hoping that the effects of my adrenaline surge and anger will fade when I come back later after I check into a hotel a few blocks away. But for now, I end up calling Dylan and my Aunt and Uncle to check in and tell them about my day.

The days tick by and I spend long afternoons with my mom slowly getting to know her better. I get the feeling how deeply sad her upbringing was so much that it caused irreparable harm to her mentally. She speaks of her marriage to Dad as something unexpected and rushed even though they were in love. She needed more time–they needed more time to just be together and suddenly there was a small baby to take care of as my dad's career was taking off.

On the fourth day of my being here, my mom looks so much better which is a good enough reason to take a walk in the small garden behind the hospice building. We talk about Dad a lot and it finally makes both of us smile after long days of being awkward and tongue-tied. The topic of finances is brought into the conversation and she explains all about the money she inherited after my dad passed away and that it was gone now due to her addiction but that I still have a trust fund that my dad set up just for me, I just need to visit dad's old lawyer in San Francisco to find out the details, as me being over twenty one now means I might be able to take over the account.

I'm unsure of what it all means for me. Suddenly I don't have to worry about money even though I plan to go back to my job at the construction site–I found that manual work and all that clear air did good for my health, almost like therapy.

As I exit the facility I'm excited to call Dylan. The emotions I get just from hearing his rough, serene voice over the line are so conflicting they make me elevate. It's like a shot of dopamine, the warmth and contentment immediately transporting me back to Alaska. We usually Face Time in the evening after visiting hours and after he's returned from work.

I realize it's much darker outside than I expected. I pull out my phone wanting to type a quick text to him, but movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. When I step out onto the sidewalk I turn away. Or at least, I start to. Before I can take more than a step, a dark SUV rolls by, silent and smooth. The back window is halfway down, and I see a man sitting in the back. But it's too dark for me to see clearly. My heart jumps in my chest, fueling the anxiety that pours through my system like flammable gas. Everything seems to happen too fast and too slow all at the same time.

But the car drives past me, nothing happens and I'm left in the middle of the street alone. But I'm not alone. In my bones I can feel it. There's a face of the past following my every step. And the last time I saw that face it was bloody.

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