Tempted by Sin

Paetyn's POV

"How is she doing on the new medication? There haven't been any complications, have there?"

Dr. Charles Barney shakes his head. Strands of thin silver hair fall over his pale brown eyes. He makes no move to push them out of his line of sight, instead choosing to ignore their existence and look down at the chart gripped firmly in his hands. "As of right now, she's responding well to the chemotherapy, but we will ensure we keep a close eye on her at all times. If anything goes wrong with the process and we need to go down a different path of treatment, you'll be the first to know, Paetyn. The cancer is different this time. Stronger. But... we'll figure it out."

I breathe a sigh of relief, my shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Knowing that Mom is being taken care of by the wonderful team at the hospital, led by Dr. Barney, brings a sense of peace I have been searching for since the moment she was admitted many months ago. Taking care of a parent is hard enough for anyone because they don't want to see their loved one in a situation that requires such care from their child. But it's a whole different ballpark taking care of a cancer-filled parent who loves you too much to want you to see them like that-sick and afraid.

Mom knew something was wrong with her for quite some time before she decided to go in and get tested to see what was going on the first time she started feeling bad, about five years ago. She was a busy woman with a corporate job in marketing, going on dates after my father left her a few years before that, with a jam-packed social life. A woman like that doesn't want to admit that something is wrong with her. To admit that is to realize that the life you once knew, filled with fun and exciting times, was probably never going to be the same again. She beat cancer once before, but now it is back with a vengeance.

"Thank you," I say softly, forcing a smile. It's hard to smile when my mom is going through chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. "Knowing you're taking care of her puts my mind at ease, so thank you."

Dr. Barney pats my shoulder, his smile tight. "It's no problem, really. Your mother is in good hands with us." He stands upright, his eyes focused on mine. In an apologetic tone, he says, "These treatments are very expensive but well worth it."

I swallow hard, trying not to reveal the worry that zapped through my body seeing the amount of digits at the end of the bill I'd recently received. We've managed to pay all the previous bills, with the help of my fiance, but it is still scary every time I get a massive bill like that. "Yes, they are expensive. Rest assured that the bill will be paid on time."

Dr. Barney nods uncomfortably. I'm sure he wasn't trying to imply I wouldn't pay the bill, but I've always been touchy about such things, especially since Mom's insurance had lapsed right before she was diagnosed.

Before the doctor can respond, a nurse taps him on the shoulder, calling him away to another patient. He bids me goodbye before rushing away in the opposite direction. I watch the back of his head until he's no longer in view. He's a rather young-looking man, possibly in his late to mid-forties. But the gray hairs indicate how much he has aged from this job, which is fair enough. Working in the healthcare sector is no easy task.

I hesitate before entering my mom's room. Closing my eyes, I slow my breathing, not wanting her to see the stress and worry I'm sure is written all over my face. Mom is a strong person, so I need to be the same.

The door to the private room creaks open. Mom is propped up in bed watching television, her pale blue eyes focused on the tiny screen protruding from the wall opposite her. She mindlessly braids the ends of her blonde hair before untying the knots and starting again. It's a habit I've seen her do many times when I was a child. After three rounds of chemo, her hair is starting to thin considerably and is falling out in places, but it doesn't stop her from playing with what hair she does have left. When she loses all of her hair completely, she will have to find something else to fidget with.

As I walk further into the room, her eyes snap to meet mine. They light up instantly, and a smile curves her plump lips. "My sweet, Pae. I thought I wasn't going to see you today."

I pull out the chair beside her bed and settle down, ignoring how cold the plastic feels against my clothed thighs. One of the things I despise most about hospitals is how goddamn cold it is here. Would it kill them to turn the heat up a little? Especially during winter.

"I managed to get off work early and thought I would stop by to see you." My eyes scan over the white hospital gown hanging off her frail torso and the crease lines forming at the corners of her eyes and lips. She appears much older and more frail than a normal fifty-year-old woman. Having cancer will often do that to a person. "How are you feeling after this round of treatment?"

Mom waves me off with her hand. "I'm fine, sweetie. You don't need to worry about me. The team here are taking great care of me." She shifts in her spot and reaches out for my hand, which I gladly extend. She feels warm in my grasp, reminding me of when I was a little girl and would only find comfort in the touch of my mother's hand. I still feel that way even as a twenty-six-year-old woman. "Tell me what's new with you. How's work and that fiance of yours?"

"Work is fine. I have gained a lot of new clients over the past few weeks due to our other office branch closing, so that has been keeping me busy."

She smiles. "You're such a hard worker, Pae. Always have been. I remember when you were just ten years old, you told me how much you wanted to help people. I thought at the time you meant as a medical doctor or something. Turns out you are an up-and-coming psychologist in New York City. You're so close to making it big, sweetheart. I couldn't be prouder."

"It's nothing, really." I love to hear my mother's praises as she has always been my number one supporter all through high school, university, and the many placements I had to do to get to where I am now. But at the same time, I don't enjoy talking about myself in that way. I'm proud of myself, don't get me wrong, but I'm more of a quiet achiever.

"How is Liam?" She changes the subject upon seeing my reluctance to talk about myself and my career. "I haven't seen him for a little while. Is everything okay?"

Ah, yes. Liam. My fiance.

"He's good. Just busy with the campaign. I'm sure you've seen him a lot on the news lately." The smile on my face doesn't quite reach my eyes speaking about my fiance. "He did ask me to tell you hello. With his campaign in full swing at the moment, he finds it hard to get away from the campaign trail on time most days. But we're doing good."

"How is the wedding planning?" she asks, giddiness in her voice. "I know I haven't been able to help as much as I would like to, but just know that I'm always here to offer any advice you may need." She licks her lips and squeezes my hand gently. "Believe it or not, your father and I had a wonderful wedding. We may have gotten married young, but we still had the best night."

The mention of my father sends a jolt of hurt straight to my heart, cracking at the edges just a little more. Him leaving my mother three years ago for a woman he worked with hurt more than I thought it would. Not only did he have an affair, but he chose to cut us both out of his life because his new girlfriend told him to. The fact that he was willing to do it, to never speak to his wife or daughter again one random Tuesday afternoon, was heartbreaking. I couldn't believe it.

My mom put on a brave face for both of us, but I could see how deep his betrayal went. She was good at hiding her feelings from everyone around her, but I could read her like a book. She was hurt and angry. But she hid it from everyone, not wanting to appear weak or broken. But I knew how she really felt. He hurt us both, but at least we had each other to lean on.

"Well, we're still trying to figure out what flavor cake we want and how to arrange the flowers," I say. "Any suggestions on what we should do?"

A smile lights up her face as she begins talking about different cake options and flower arrangements we could go with based on what she did for her wedding and the many articles she has read while lying in this hospital bed. Although I'm terrified for her and what her future will look like, the comfort and peace I feel at this moment, talking and laughing together like nothing is wrong, is enough to distract me from reality lurking in the corner of the room.

***

The cold wind slaps against my cheeks and nose the moment I step through the front doors of the hospital. Winter in New York City means freezing temperatures at night that require many layers of clothing to bring even a sliver of warmth to your cold body. It's one of the many reasons why I tend to rush home after work. I would much rather be cuddled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace than shivering in the light dusting of snow falling from the sky.

But seeing my mom was important. I would do anything for her, even brave the freezing temperatures.

The parking lot is almost empty as I trudge toward my car, my arms wrapped tightly around my chest to create some warmth. When I arrived after work, the lot was jam-packed with cars, forcing me to park at the very back in one of the last free spaces. While it is annoying having to walk so far to the front doors, I am grateful for the moments of silence it gave me before having to face Dr. Barney. But now I'm just cold, tired, and ready to get home.

When my car comes into my line of sight, a cold shiver races down my spine, stopping me in my tracks. The shiver isn't caused by the wind and snowflakes lashing across my skin. No, that kind of shiver is caused by unwanted eyes watching from the shadows. Stalking, even. The kind of stare that makes a person's entire body freeze with fear.

My heart hammers harshly against my rib cage as my eyes slowly scan the parking lot. The area is mostly dark besides the few street lamps illuminating the large space. There are plenty of dark areas for someone to hide in, waiting for me to get close enough so they can snatch me up and steal me away without anyone noticing.

The thought sends another chill racing down my spine.

Without so much as thinking through my next movements, I take off running toward my car, not caring if the person watching me follows too. All I need to do is get to the safety of my car and lock the doors, shutting them out completely. It's not much of a plan, nor is it a smart one, but it's the only option I have. There is not a chance I'm going to risk staying out here with whoever is lurking around.

Blood rushes in my ears as I race toward my little black 2009 Nissan. The headlights flash at me as I use the key fob to unlock the car. My fingers shake as I yank the door handle harshly and slide into the comfort of the front seat. Within seconds, the locks slip into place, and silence settles over me.

Adrenaline coursing through my veins has my heart beating erratically. Scanning the parking lot, I don't see any signs of movement. I frown, wondering if I had made up the feeling of someone watching me. But that doesn't make sense because the shiver I felt down my spine has never failed me in dangerous or uncertain situations.

Just when I think I'm going crazy, ready to convince myself I dreamt up the entire scenario, my eye catches someone standing under the dim streetlamp across the parking lot. I squint in an attempt to get a better look at whoever it is I'm seeing. The outline appears to be that of a man, but he's unmoving, his body as rigid as a statue. From where I'm sitting in my car, his face is covered by something, concealing his features. A mask, maybe?

"What the hell?" I murmur, unable to believe what I'm seeing. My heart races so fast I fear it might burst through my chest and land on my lap.

It's when the man tilts his head to the side, his body facing my direction, that I realize this man is watching me and not just an innocent person waiting for someone to come out of the hospital.

Oh, shit.

My fingers fumble the car keys in my hand, shaking so badly that my whole body begins to vibrate. With some effort, I slide the key in and twist, roaring the cold engine to life. I don't bother waiting for the car to warm up before my foot presses down on the gas pedal, lurching my car forward.

I try not to look at the person watching me from across the lot, but curiosity gets the better of me. As I'm about to turn out of the exit lane and onto the main road, I catch sight of the mask covering his face, my blood running cold. The base of the mask is black with dark red crosses over the eyes and what appears to be stitching over the mouth, set into a wide, menacing grin.

Even as I speed out of the parking lot, my tires screeching as I go, I still feel his eyes piercing through my skin, my soul. Exhaling a shaky breath, I glance in the rearview mirror to see he's still watching me.