Contractual marriage : A false relationship

Ah, there she is – Cara Green, sitting as still as a statue. Anyone who knows Cara would know that stillness is not her natural state, but her present predicament calls for it.

She is sitting comfortably on a leather chair which should already have her butt frame sculpted on it given the fact it is her go-to chair when visiting. Cara got her limbs sprawled out, back firmly pressed into the seat, and left hand resting lazily on the armrest. Her right hand is propping up her chin, while her teeth chew on her black nails. She’s fidgety, adjusting her position every now and then – probably from trying to hold in all that nervous energy.

You see, two weeks ago, Cara got a call that shattered her heart. Not that boy leaving you heartbreak, but the heartbreak of knowing you might lose the person that brings you ice cream and suggest you egg his car. Her mom, Brianna Green, is a force to be reckoned with – a superhero in her own right. At 53, she’s what the cool kids these days would call « lit » - she’s got a wild, unconventional way of thinking that’s rubbed off on Cara. Independent, strong-willed, funny, a total psycho and most of all, a person with a good heart. But at this moment, Cara is not feeling independent.

Cara’s late father would always tell her that she was exactly like her mum in terms of character, he would say, « Attitude like your mama but a face like mine. »

Martin Green was a fire-fighter, he died in the line of duty five years ago leaving Cara to experience her first heartbreak.

She’s staring intently at the heart monitor, realizing just how fragile life can be. That machine represents everything that’s keeping her mom alive, and the thought of it stopping terrifies her. Suddenly, the sound of the door creaking open snaps Cara back to reality.

The test results are out.

This is the last place Dr Andrew wants to be, mostly because he is frightened of Cara.

Why ?

Cara continuously teases him about her imaginary sexcapades with him in his office. In Cara’s defence, it was fun to tease him, it helped her pass time plus the poor guy is always mortified.

His facial expressions are everything.

That is why he didn’t even need to talk, Cara can see that her mum’s condition has gotten really bad from his shaky hands, the sweat running down his face and his feet planted in one position.

« How bad is it ? » Cara asks, her voice shaking.

« S-she needs surgery, soon. »

Cara falls back on the chair trying to process the new information. Everything is happening so fast.

Dr Andrew on the other hand didn’t expect his announcement to go this smoothly, so he isn’t going to ruin it by comforting her. He slowly backs away, leaving Cara to the dreadful news that her mum is dying.

Brianna always hated the word « cancer », most of her friends fought the sickness and lost. As dramatic as Brianna is, she would rather die in a club while living her life to the fullest, than being trapped with heart monitors, tubes and an oxygen mask. If she can see herself right now, she will throw up.

She withheld the information from Cara as long as she could. But two weeks ago she broke down and ended up in the hospital, there was no hiding it anymore.

Ovarian cancer, within the span of two weeks, Cara knew all she needs to know about it, which is surprising because Cara is not the book type. It’s not like it helps, what her mum really needs is money.

The heart monitor, the treatments and everything are already too much for a bartender at Geisel’s, now surgery ? That is above her.

Cara stands up again, feeling the strength coming back to her legs as she walks up to her superhero, who is the one currently in need of saving.

« Hey mum, » she whispers, removing strands of brown hair covering her pale face. Cara envied her mum’s hair, brown, shiny and how it beautifully falls down her shoulders, compared to the wild curly hair Cara has. As much as she hates her curls, Cara loves herself ; some may say she is self-absorbed.

They are not wrong.

Cara stares at how beautiful her mum is despite everything, she looks so peaceful in her sleep. She lets out a low laugh, already imagining jokes her mum would say, she will definitely tease Dr Andres too.

« I won’t let you die. » Cara’s words are more of an assurance to herself than a promise to Brianna. Tears welling up in her eyes giving her a blurry vision, she cannot handle seeing her mum this frail, in a white ugly hospital gown with all this life support attached to her.

Cara leans forward, pressing her lips against her mother’s warm forehead in a gentle peck. She lingers for a moment, savoring the fleeting contact before reluctantly pulling away and returning to her seat. As she reaches for her leather jacket, she can’t help but recall the sundress her mother had given her during Easter that she intended to wear today.

Cara is currently in faded ripped jeans, a crop top, and sneakers are a far cry from the elegance of the sundress.

Determined to find the money she needs, Cara paces the hospital corridor, her thoughts consumed by brainstorming. Her mind flits from one idea to the next, considering everything from organ donation to selling her eggs. But each idea is met with the same conclusion : Mama won’t approve.

Cara’s imagination runs wild as she finds her self outside the hospital entrance, lost in thought. She doesn’t even realize she’s standing there like a creep, lost in her own world.

Cara hears a frail voice behind her and turns to see an elderly woman patiently waiting with her hand outstretched towards the door handle. Realizing she’s obstructing the woman’s way, Cara quickly steps aside and holds the glass door open. She winces as pain shoots through her aching hands.

The elderly woman shuffles slowly inside, her body bent with age, and Cara watches impatiently as she makes her way in. When the woman finally reaches her destination, Cara breathes a sigh of relief and releases the door. As the woman hobbles away with a grateful smile, Cara is left alone with her thoughts.

But then she sees it, just a few feet away – her beloved motorbike, parked and waiting for her like a faithful steed. A glimmer of hope flickers in Cara’s eyes. It’s not a perfect solution to her problems, but it’s a start. And at least she won’t have to sell one of her organs.

Cara stares at her trusty steed : her black-as-night motorcycle. It’s been in the family for ages, and it’s got a story to tell. Martin Green was on this bike when he met Brianna, and Brianna may or may not have stopped to listen to what Martin had to say because of that cool bike. Cara waited to get this bike from her dad ; she even had to reject her mum’s truck which was to be given to her at 16.

It wasn’t a hard choice, the car was horrible.

Cara finally got the motorbike when she was 18, and she was the happiest girl in the world, the confidence it brings to her is addictive. Like a junkie to their fix. She is finding it hard to let it go, selling an organ didn’t sound bad anymore.

Well, she isn’t going to make a decision standing in front of St Rose hospital, she needs to clear her head. She opens up her leather jacket and throws it over her shoulder, struggling to wear it.

The jacket is small for her now, yet another thing Cara has to get rid of but won’t.

She shakes out her luscious curls, letting them flow free in the wind, and sets her sights on her bike parked across the street.

Just as she’s about to cross, a snooty Range Rover comes barreling out of nowhere, colliding with her precious motorcycle and sending it crashing to the ground. Cara is frozen in place, shell-shocked. « What the hell just happened ? »

The culprit peels off into the distance, leaving Cara to simmer in her own rage.

And just like that, the fuse is lit. Cara’s got murder on the mind. She sprints across the street to inspect the damage, cursing under her breath at how heavy the bike is. The scratch on it is massive, and Cara knows someone’s gotta pay for this.

Without a second thought, Cara hops on her bike, grabbing the keys from her back pocket and revs the engine before racing after the soon to be dead man.