~Tuesday, May 17th~

"Hold me closer, tiny dancer..."

"Count the headlights on the highway..."

"Lay me down in sheets of linen..."

"You had a busy day today..." I sing in the softest voice possible. One of my hands supports my head with my elbow on the arm of the chair as the other holds Noah's, gently playing with his fingers. "I promise not to tell you to shut up if you wake up and sing that for me now," I say with a soft smile.

"You know Noah, you really scared me the other day," I say after a moment of thinking. "I thought I lost you. But your aunt was right, you're a fighter."

"It was still scary though. I don't know how I would have ever recovered. I know I wouldn't be able to do Giselle. Even though it's all I've ever wanted. I don't know if I'd be able to go to Festival Ballet either, honestly."

"My dream is getting close, Noah, but it's not my dream if you aren't there with me." I swallow back tears - something I've gotten used to doing these past few days.

I let go of Noah's hand and sit up in the chair, reaching for my phone to check the time. I've been at the hospital for a little over an hour now, having come straight from school. After explaining the situation to Miss Marie, I was excused from dance classes to visit Noah. As much as I know I need to keep up my strength and endurance more now than ever with a week and a half until the show, I also know that I'd regret my decision if I didn't spend as much time as possible keeping Noah company. Miss Marie knows that I prioritize class, and that I wouldn't miss it if I didn't think it was entirely necessary.

I cover a yawn with my hand, then glance back over to Noah. I scan his face for any sign of change, and find the exact same expression I've been staring at the past few days. He doesn't quite look calm and happy, but he doesn't look like he's uncomfortable or in pain, and I'm satisfied with that.

I look back down at his hand closest to mine, but before I can fully reach for it, I freeze.

I blink my eyes forcefully. Obviously I'm starting to see things, the exhaustion must really be getting to me. Still, the hopeful side of me stays frozen, eyes trained on his fingertips.

It happens again.

His fingers twitch.

"Noah?" I say softly, looking back up to his face, though it is still unchanged. Now that I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining his moving, I let my hand find his again. I stare at his face as I wait to feel any kind of movement.

And there it is.

He squeezes my hand. Slight and weak as it may be, he does. I press the call button on his bed with no hesitation. Without letting go of his hand I stand out of the chair to be closer to his head.

"Noah, can you hear me? It's Teresina, I think you're waking up." A nurse opens the door with force, likely worried that his heart has stopped again. Though he calms down when he sees my face and that I'm not panicking. "I think he's waking up!" I tell the nurse.

"I'll go get his doctor," he says, and I'm glad that he believes my statement rather than passing me off as delusional. I really hope I'm not delusional.

"Noah?" I say again, hoping that calling him might somehow help him wake up. With my free hand I brush some of his hair off of his forehead, still being careful of his bandage. His doctor enters the room, along with the nurse who was just here.

"You said he seems to be waking up? Did you notice anything?" His doctor asks.

"His fingers moved and he squeezed my hand a little bit," I explain, again hoping that I didn't imagine it. I really don't want to look like I'm going crazy in front of Noah's doctor.

"That's a good first sign, he probably is starting to slowly wake up," I'm grateful that he believes me. "Keep talking to him. Once he does regain consciousness, he will be a bit groggy and confused at first so don't be alarmed if he's not completely coherent. It could take him a while to actually wake up, but let us know when he does, if there isn't already a nurse in the room" his doctor explains. The nurse stays nearby, only leaving the room to check on other patients. I try to ignore his presence since it makes me feel a little weird about talking to Noah.

"When you wake up, Cameron and Olivia are coming to visit. And I'll call Anne, so her and Melody can come visit too," I promise to him, hoping hearing their names will help him near consciousness.

"I can't wait to hear your voice Noah." I move more hair off his forehead and gently brush my thumb across his cheek. I nearly lose it and start bawling right then as his head turns towards my hand, squishing my fingers between his cheek and the pillow.

The nurse takes another check over all the machines to see if anything has changed, then tells me he's stepping out of the room to give medications to other patients, and of course to call if anything happens.

I sit back down in the chair which I've made my home these past few afternoons and hold Noah's hand in both of mine, pressing my lips to the knuckles of his fingers.

"When I sing softly," I begin to sing again now that the nurse has left and doesn't have to listen to my terrible singing voice. "Slowly... Hold me closer tiny dancer," I close my eyes as I remember Noah singing in the car on our way back from the beach the day that we first kissed. "Count the headlights on the highway," I sing, smiling at the memory.

"Your voice..." My eyes spring open and glue to his face. "Is so bad." It's safe to say that I've never been so happy to be insulted in my entire life.

"Please tell me I'm bad at singing again," I say, letting go of his hand and standing up to be closer to his face. His eyes squint and blink at the bright lights of the hospital room, but they're the eyes that I've been missing.

"You suck," he says with no hesitation, his grin only getting bigger across his face.

Without hesitation, I press my lips against his - something I've been longing to do for what feels like years. He kisses me back, and butterflies explode in my stomach.

He's back.

I pull away to look at his face now, relishing in his open eyes and emoting features.

"Why are you crying?" Noah says, a pout on his lips. Of course I couldn't manage to stay strong enough not to cry, and now he's worrying about me instead of the other way around.

"I'm just really glad that you're awake now. You scared me a lot," I respond as I rub tears off of my cheek.

"What did I do?" He says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. For a moment I'm a little shocked that Noah doesn't remember whatever happened with his mom, but then I remember that his doctor said he will be confused and groggy after first waking up.

"Something happened with your mom," I say, hoping this won't upset him. "She's in police custody now. You needed surgery on your stomach, and you've been in a coma these past few days because you hit your head," I explain. "And then two days ago, on Sunday, your heart stopped. So I thought I was losing you." I can't help myself as another wave of emotion takes over me at the memory.

Noah visibly thinks for a moment, trying to figure something out in his head. Finally, he speaks, "I won't leave you Teresina. There's too much here for me to live for for me to just leave." I nod my head in agreement, but I get the feeling that I don't entirely grasp what he means. "Where's Melody, who's taking care of her?" He says then, almost in a panic.

"Don't worry, your aunt has been taking care of her," I assure him, and he visibly relaxes. "I should call for your doctor, so he can check on you," but before I get the chance, one of the nurses enters Noah's room and sees that he is awake.

"I'll go get the doctor," he says with a warm smile before leaving once again.

"Can you remember hearing anything while you were asleep?" I ask, curious.

Noah thinks for a few seconds, then responds, "I don't know."

"That's okay," I say when he seems to still be thinking hard about it.

"What did you talk about?" He asks, trying to piece together memories.

"A lot, I spent a lot of time talking because it was supposed to help you wake up. I mostly talked about all my favorite memories of us together."

"I think I remember thinking about that. Kind of like I was watching a memory reel. But it's really hard to remember now."

"Noah, it's so good to see that you're awake," his doctor says as he enters the room with a bright smile. I sit back in my chair to allow him space and smile politely back at the doctor, but notice that Noah reaches his hand towards me, eyes trained on me instead of his doctor. I hold his hand in mine to comfort him, understanding that he's a bit confused and unsure about what is going on. "My name is Dr Imam, I'm a trauma specialist and I've been looking after your injuries and your recovery. How are you feeling right now?" He says as he places a fresh piece of paper on his clipboard and begins taking notes.

"Tired," Noah responds, "and my head hurts."

"It's completely normal for you to feel tired, your body has been putting a lot of energy into healing. As for your head, our scans show that you most likely have a concussion. Is the left side of your abdomen giving you any pain?" Noah pauses for a moment, shifting slightly in the bed.

"It's a little bit sore," he responds. Dr Imam continues to ask Noah questions about how he feels, then questions that test whether he has a concussion or not. He does alright on the concussion questions, and it is decided that he does not have too severe of a concussion.

As Dr Imam asks questions and Noah answers, I step out into the hallway to call Anne and tell her the great news, and she excitedly responds that her and Melody will come right over to visit. When I tell Noah this he is concerned about Melody seeing him hurt, but I fill him in on how Anne has told her that he was in a car accident. So though it doesn't change the fact that Noah is injured, at least she doesn't know about the conflict with their mother.

The next day an appointment is scheduled for the head detective on Noah's mom's case to visit the hospital and get Noah's explanation of what happened. Noah asks Anne and I to be present for the appointment, both for moral support and so that he only has to go through the process of piecing together what he can remember once. As nervous as I am about having to listen to what he went through, both my eagerness to support Noah and my curiosity about what happened influence me to immediately agree to be present.

After the detective settles in, Noah begins his account.

"That morning I got a call from the police station saying that she had been located nearby the house, and that officers were working on tracking down her exact location. Luckily Melody was already at Anne's house...

{Noah's Point of View}

I hate how anxious she's able to make me feel without even being in my sight. For all I know the woman the police saw wasn't actually my mother, but just the idea that she's somewhere nearby makes my nervous system switch into overdrive. The only way I know how to calm down when my nerves are this bad is to be around Teresina, but I could never risk putting her in danger just for my own comfort. Plus, if my mom actually does make an appearance I'll need all the adrenaline I can get.

Of course by now I've locked all the doors and windows and closed all the blinds, and there's not much else I can do besides wait. Waiting is the hardest part though, because I have no clue when I'll cross the finish line and be "safe." Even if the police call and say they've looked everywhere and don't see her, I still won't really know that the danger is gone. Not until she's in jail will I be able to feel like I can truly keep Melody safe.

Before I have the chance to sit on the couch to spend my time waiting, a loud knock pounds onto my front door. The banging sends a shiver up my spine, making all the hairs on my body stand straight up. I think fast, picking up my phone and selecting the emergency contact of the head detective on the case that searches for my mother.

"Noah, have you seen anything?" He says as he picks up.

"I think she's at my front door." I say in a low voice, not wanting the person on my front porch to hear. "Someone just knocked on the door, I can't see because I closed all the blinds, but I think it's her."

"I'll send the nearest officer on the case to check it out, just stay put," he responds. After hanging up, I sneak up the stairs and into the closet off of my parents' old room, untouched since the day we moved in with Anne. As I find the box in the back corner of the closet, I hear more knocks on the front door, the banging echoing through the small house. I unlock the box to reveal the small pistol my father owned, but never used. It terrified me to keep it in the house with Melody, but between it being in a locked box and being hidden in our parents' closet - whose room we never enter - it was as well kept away from her as possible. To be honest, I barely know how to use it, but when constantly imagining and anticipating situations like this, I'm grateful to have anything.

It's as I'm descending the stairs - gun in hand - that she starts to yell.

"Noah," she wails, and though it's been years, I recognize my mother's voice. Any hope I had that it was only the mailman knocking dissipates. "Noah please," she drawls, slurring her words together. "Open the door, Noah, sweetheart, I need help..." Her words fall out of her mouth, evident that she is not sober, and I suspect that alcohol is not the only substance in her system.

I stand behind the front door halfway down the hallway, the gun in my shaky hands weakly aimed at the doormat. Sweat drips down the back of my neck as I consider calling the police again, but given how well I can hear her through the walls I don't want to risk her hearing me as well.

"I just need a little money, Noah-bear, then I'll go." I don't dare respond, hoping she'll decide that no one is home and leave. "Come on, you can't still be mad at me, it's been... years! And you know you're still my baby... my baby my baby my baby," she blabbers on, beginning to reach hysteria. "You can't help your own mother?" She cries, the pain in her voice searing guilt through me as she begins to sob. I didn't think it was possible for her to make me feel bad about neglecting her when she is the one who has been neglecting her children for years, and yet, I nearly want to give in for her. But my pride stands strong.

I listen as she cries, eerily clear through the sturdy door. I remain silent, nothing to do but listen to the sounds in agony.

"I know you're in there," she says now, and I feel exposed, like she actually can see through the front door and knows that I am only a matter of feet in front of her. "Let me in!" She suddenly screams, her tone switching from sad and desperate to enraged in a moment. I raise the gun higher at the sudden outburst, as if she's going to smash through the door with hulk-like strength.

As quickly as she became angry, she becomes quiet. I know she is still there by the creaks in the wood beneath her feet on the small front porch, but her voice becomes mute. For a moment I wonder if the officer sent here has shown up, but I know there would be much more of a struggle if that were the case. Though not having to listen to her beg and scream is a relief, I am still unsettled by her sudden silence.

That gut feeling in my stomach is always right.

Glass shatters in the living room. My attention swivels directly to the noise, to the first window in the room, the one closest to the front door.

My attention also focuses on the large rock now sitting on the carpeted floor, surrounded by shards of glass.

In an instant the fragments of information I take in piece together in my mind. But in that same instant, two hands reach through the broken window, yank down the blinds, and pull my mother into the living room. Beginning to bleed from scrapes of glass.

"There you are, I knew you were in here!" She says with a wicked smile. My previous assumption that she has been abusing drugs checks out as I see her pale, green-hued skin, knotted, thinning hair, and bony figure.

This is not my mother. This is the most terrifying creature to have ever been featured in a horror movie. And I'm the protagonist.

I watch as she eyes the gun held in my shaking hands and I slowly back away from her down the hallway.

"That's a fun little toy you got there, Noah-bear." I fail to stop myself from cringing as she uses my childhood nickname again. As if this woman has any love left in her body for her son. "I don't want to hurt you. I just need a bit of money. So why don't you drop the gun, and we'll have a nice chat," even as she says this, she reaches for her back pocket and pulls something out of it. I aim the gun more in her direction at the thought of her having a weapon of her own. Though I don't pity this woman, I still don't want to shoot anyone, so my gun remains shamefully pointed at her feet.

"We don't have to play nice, Noah," she says when I don't drop the gun. "I'm alright with doing this the hard way." Out of her hand flicks a pocket knife, the blade large and sharp. She takes leisurely steps towards me, and I inch backwards, aware that soon I will have cornered myself in the kitchen.

"Noah, Noah... Your father wouldn't have wanted it to be like this." The mentioning of my dad makes my thoughts stop and my blood run cold. "You know he meant for the money to go to me anyway. Why would he want you to have it? You don't know what to do with it. If only he had been a smarter man, and left it all to me."

"Shut up!" I yell as the gun points straight at her forehead. She doesn't cower in fear, no, she smiles.

"And what would your father think of you shooting your own mother, his loving wife?"

"Shut up," I snarl again.

"I just need a little money, Noah. Can't you forgive me?" She says, wicked smile not faltering.

"Never." I say firmly. The smile drops from her face.

"Hard way it is," is the warning I receive before she lounges towards me. I pull the trigger on the gun and hear it fire, but no longer know where it is aimed.

A sharp slash of pain pierces my left abdomen. I am unable to re-aim the gun as I double over. The gun is knocked out of my hand, sliding across the floor away from me. I glance once more at the woman I call my mother, holding a knife with my blood on it.

My temple hits the dense kitchen tile, and life goes black.

{Theresa's Point of View}

    The officer nods his head, scribbling down notes as Noah finishes his account. I find myself needing to take a few deep breaths and remind myself that Noah is fine now, and gently squeeze his hand in hopes to comfort him.

"Our officer said he busted down the front door just as you hit the floor, so that lines up perfectly. Thank you Noah, I know that wasn't easy to explain. We have a very strong case against your mother, so I wouldn't be worried. She'll be locked away for life."

"Thank you, officer," Noah says.

"No problem, kiddo. I'll be keeping in touch about court dates."

Later that afternoon, Noah and I are alone in his hospital room - Anne