Fated Hearts (Echoes of Darkness Prequel)

1

Ava

I t’s a strange feeling knowing you’re going to die. The doctor’s voice drowns in the sound of the blood rushing into my ears.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

I can only hear my weak heart pounding. The cold metal of the bed’s armrest chills me to the bone as I grip it so hard I’m afraid I might break a finger. Sweat dots my forehead, and my already shallow breath leaves my lungs in a huff.

A clammy, trembling hand placed over mine brings me into the present. I shake my head and look to my right, where my mother stands beside my bed. Three days ago, I was rushed into the hospital.

Who suffers a heart attack at twenty-one?

“So, what are you saying? How much time does my daughter have?” my mother asks in disbelief, her lips drawn in a thin line. Her whiskey-colored eyes are swimming with tears.

“We can’t be sure. A few months, maybe six if she’s lucky,” Doctor Anderson replies, his lined face stoic. He is a handsome man past the age of fifty, with salt and pepper hair and kind denim blue eyes that are now focused on my mother.

She clings to my hand with a bruising grip . “No, you can’t let my daughter die!” she pleads. “There has to be something you can do.”

“Unfortunately, the underlying cardiomyopathy that went undiscovered for years weakened her heart muscles too much. And now, with the heart attack she just suffered, I’m afraid there’s not much else we can do. We’re going to put Ava on the transplant list and hope for the best.”

I scoff. “Hope for what? For another person to die just so I can live?” My voice is laced with bitterness.

My mother sucks in a sharp breath. “Ava Juanita Perez!”

The doctor smiles kindly at me, unfazed by my question. “Ava, not many people are faced with the possibility of dying at your age. I understand you must be upset. In shock, even. We have counselors here that can help you. I can arrange for one to see you—”

“I just want to go home,” I grit out through clenched teeth and snap my eyes shut, resting my head on the pillow that now feels like a block of cement.

“Thank you,” my mother says.

The doctor’s disappearing footsteps reverberate in the weighted silence that blankets the room .

Rain pelts the window furiously, and the wind howls outside before a menacing clap of thunder booms, making me flinch. At least the sky is crying, raging. I can’t. I feel cold. Emotionless. The clock perched on the wall in front of me is a ticking bomb, its taunt cruel…unforgiving. With each second that passes, my lungs constrict.

Tik. Tok.

Tik. Tok.

Tik. Tok.

I want to laugh in the face of the cruel destiny I’ve been dealt. I’m twenty-one years old, and I haven’t lived. I am but a mere shadow of a person, always too afraid to step out of the boundaries my mother imposed on me. A puppet on her strings, every decision I have ever made pondered greatly as to not cause her distress.

Ava, the good girl. Always too quiet. Always the pushover. The straight-A student who never parties. The girl who never says no to her mother. I didn’t even get drunk on my twenty-first birthday because I was too afraid I was going to upset her. There were so many things I wanted to do and experience, but I always backed down because I knew my mother would disapprove. But now, I want to set fire to those strings. I want to take a sharp knife and cut into my back and force wings to spring free from the cuts, so I can experience flying for the first time in my life. To at least get a taste of freedom before the stuttering organ inside my chest gives out and takes my last breath with it.

“We’re going to see another specialist, mija. Ya hablé con tu tía Paula . She said she heard about a doctor, and we’re going to make an appointment.” My mother’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as she plops down on the chair next to my bed, making it scrape loudly against the vinyl floor.

“Doctor Anderson is the best cardiothoracic surgeon in the country, Mamá ,” I say before I open my eyes and look at her.

Her jet-black hair is disheveled, and her face is gaunt. Dark circles paint her under eyes, and she looks like she aged ten years in the span of a few days. She is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, her shirt rumpled with a stain of coffee on the sleeve. I hate that I did this to her. My stomach constricts painfully at the thought of what my mother will have to face once I’m gone.

She purses her lips. “I’m not giving up, Ava. We will find a solution. Tomorrow, I’ll pack up your things, and you will move back in with me so I can take good care of you. I have already spoken to my boss. He agreed to give me some time off given the situation and—”

“I’m not moving back with you, Mamá ,” I snap, and she flinches at my tone.

I never talk back to my mother. It was a miracle she let me move out of the house I grew up in. She threw a fit when I told her I wanted to be more independent, but I finally managed to convince her because the apartment I moved into was just a few blocks away from our house. She didn’t even let me attend an out-of-state college. And like a good girl, I did everything she wanted. Even now, I don’t want to hurt her, but she is smothering me. No more. I am tired of living my life for others.

“Ava, I know what is best for you. I spoke to your landlord. Tu tía is coming tomorrow, and she’ll help me move the boxes. I already cleaned up your old room—”

I suck on my teeth then cut her off. “You didn’t hear me, Mamá . I’m not moving. I only have a few months to live, and I want to live the rest of my short life on my terms, not yours.”