Page 102 of Fighting for Her Heart
“Did you scrape your knees, little one?” she asks.
I look down. Blood is running down my shins from bad scrapes on both knees. Scrapes I remember so vividly it’s like I’m six again. Scrapes so real I feel their sting.
I nod as tears stream down my cheeks, and Mom reaches toward me. I want to run into her arms, to have her hold me and comfort me. I want to be enclosed in her embrace more than I’ve ever wanted anything—ever.
Blinking, I try to rid my mind of the illusion, to free myself from my memories. Snapping back my head, I push my hands forward.
Nora stops and her eyes narrow as her garb returns to the white blouse and flowing black skirt she was wearing before.
I check on the other three witches. The swirling rope of light I used to constrain them is holding. But Mom’s illusions are worming their way back into my mind and emotions. She’s trying to use a daughter’s love for her mom—the love I felt for Nora for most of my life—as a weapon against me.
Weakened, exhausted, a huge part of me still does feel six years old—tired, helpless, needing my mom. Life was so much simpler then. I understood it.
The room transforms back into the field.
“Stop it!” I push forward again.
She flies back, landing hard against the bookshelf in the lounge area of the space.
“You don’t love me,” I shout. “Youneverloved me!”
“That’s not true.” She reaches toward me, a caring smile on her face, and although there’s at least twenty feet between us, I swear I can feel her soft touch on my cheek.
“Shall I read you a bed time story?” she asks. “Which one would you like me to read first tonight?”
Suddenly, I’m tucked into my childhood bed in the farmhouse attic, moonlight shining through the skylights above and the star-covered quilt tightly around me. Sitting on the side of my bed, Nora strokes my hair.
My body melts into the mattress, into the warmth and comfort of the familiar soft covers, and my fatigue wins this round of the battle. I’m exhausted. I need sleep. My eyelids flutter shut.
“Ember!” Axe’s voice breaks into the quiet of my bedroom. “You are stronger than she is. Fight her!”
My eyes snap open. I want to turn to check on the men, to see whether those wooden stakes are still aimed at their hearts, but I can’t take the risk.
“I love you, this much.” Nora spreads her arms wide, smiling warmly in the way she’s done so many times in my life.
I’m in two places at once.
My body senses the warmth and comfort of my childhood bed; my emotions hunger for her love and reassurance; my mind yearns for her approval; and I desperately crave sleep.
But at the same time, I recognize that I’m in the room under the church, that Nora’s walking toward me, trying to break through the protective shield of light I’ve created.
My perception keeps flicking back and forth between the horrors of reality and the comforting illusion.
“I have always loved you.” Nora smiles warmly. “I may not have been the one who gave birth to you, but giving birth isn’t what defines a mother. I was the one who saved your life. I was the one who took care of you. I supported you, protected you from harm.” Her hand reaches toward me.
I can feel her caressing my face and hair as I lie in my bed. I can sense her tucking the quilt more tightly around me and kissing my forehead; I can smell lavender and patchouli, hear an owl hoot out in the woods. It’s so real, and the actual space around me is only a rare flicker now.
“Nothing can ever compare to the love between a mother and daughter,” she coos. “There is no love that is stronger.”
I nod at her, my chest warming as my mind struggles for control.
My mom loves me. I need her.
The little girl and adult versions of mebothneed her.
Dizzy with conflict, I close my eyes.
Maybe it’s part of her illusion, but as hard as I try, I can’t deny my love for Nora. And I can’t deny that some aspects of what she’s offered to me are tempting.
