It was late at night. She knew, because she had opened the blinds. A nurse had come and left a tray of food for her at some point, but she didn't feel like eating.

She wasn't hungry.

She watched the outside world attentively, taking note of the stars, and the garden lit by moonlight. At the edge of the garden was a wall. She had seen it earlier, in the sunlight, and knew it was covered in leaves and vines. Beyond it, every so often, she would see the headlights of a car driving past, the beams slicing through the darkness like slick knives.

She watched, silently, trapped in thought.

Eventually, her eyelids began to droop. She didn't want to close them. She didn't want to see the visions that lay behind them.

But her body had other plans.

She continued sitting up, but she could feel her limbs growing eat and heavy, her mind slowing. She was falling asleep, but she didn't want to. She didn't want to give in.

Yet without even wanting to, she laid down. She looked out at the night, took a deep breath, and her eyes closed.

And she dreamed.

She saw fire. She saw her fathers face, vacant, mouth agape and eyes glazed. She saw Luke, and the smile he seemed to hold on his face as he lay still, his hair dark with blood.

She felt heat, the searing heat that radiated around her. 

She saw glass. Broken glass, surrounding her. She heard a voice calling for her.

"Brooke!"

She saw her mother emerge through the fire. It wasn't her mother at the party, though. The woman was wearing sweatpants, and a stained grey shirt. She was wearing a smile. A warm, warm smile. In her arms was a bundle of soft blue blankets. 

"I finally got him calm again. Do you mind holding him for a little, while I go do some work for the company? Your father needs me to check some things. You know, he's lost without me."

The fire was licking at her mother's feet as she handed the bundle of blankets, and the little boy wrapped in them to her daughter. She couldn't say anything. She just looked down the little boy, filled with awe.

The fire was pressing in around her, and her mother was gone. She noticed how the light blue sheets were growing dark, becoming drenched in blood. She desperately tried to wipe it away, stop the blood from touching, but it was too late.

The little boy started to cry, and so did she. "It'll be okay. I'll save you." She whispered, but she could hear the fear in her own voice.

The flames closed in on them. The fear grew. Her heart was pumping.

Then the blankets began to unravel, sweeping around her and blowing into the wind, and he was gone. She was alone. She couldn't save him. She couldn't save herself.

She heard her mother's voice again, as she began to cry and sob. "Brooke! Wake up! Brooke! It's a dream!"

The fire closed in on her, and as she shut her eyes, she let out a scream.

"Brooke! Wake up! Something's wrong with your mum!"

Her mum. Her mum was still alive. She needed to find her. Struggling against the fire and the nightmare trapping her, she opened her eyes, and saw glimpses of the hospital room around her. The fire faded away, and she saw a nurse. Not the first she had met, but the quiet one that helped her to the bathroom.

"Brooke, it's okay. It was just a dream. But-" She broke off, hesitating before finishing, "your mum's not looking well. The doctors think she only has hours. We wanted to give you the chance to say goodbye."

Still filled with anxiety and adrenaline from the nightmare, true fear rushed into K. The nurse had already disconnected her from all of the equipment around. She helped her out of bed, and towards the door. K's legs ached, and she felt sick walking, but she needed to get to her mum.

The nurse had thought ahead though. By the door was a metal wheelchair, and she carefully helped K into it. Once she was seated, they began to move. K felt spaced out, as though she was still trapped in the dream as she was pushed left and right, down an elevator, and through more hallways.

They passed through a door marked 'ICU' and K found herself being pushed past rows of beds and toward one where a woman lay, almost looking just like she was sleeping.

"Mum." She said breathlessly, as the nurse slowed. K stood, and, ignoring the pain, ran to her mother's bedside.

"Mum. Please. No. You can't leave me too." Her voice was panicked, and tears pulled at her eyes. She hastily turned back to the nurse, who was now accompanied by a woman holding a clipboard. "What's going on? Why is she here?"

The woman holding the clipboard stepped forward. "My name is Doctor Selwyn. I've been looking after you, Ella, and your mother since the accident. I'll explain everything that's happened, but I need you to sit down first. Okay?"

K noticed how concerned both the nurse and the doctor looked at her, and so, heart pumping, she nodded, and sat back down in the wheelchair. Doctor Selwyn let out a sigh.

"Alright, this is going to be hard to hear, Brooke, but I'll start from the start, because I haven't yet had the chance to speak to you because of the condition with your mother. You're probably aware that at midnight on new years eve, there was an explosion at your parents' party. We're not sure yet what caused it, and the police are investigating the matter, but we do know that it was devastating. The building has been completely destroyed, and almost all inside were killed in the explosion. This, unfortunately,"

She looked K in the eyes, empathetically, "included your father. The explosion was observed by a family of civilians who were out celebrating on their boat, and saw the explosion take place. These people radioed in for help, and emergency services were sent to the location. Because of the nature of the function centre in such a remote location, the reaction time to the blaze was far slower than usual. Maybe if they had been able to get there faster, the outcome wouldn't be dire. When they got there and put out the blaze, eleven patients were taken to emergency care, including you and your mother.

"Eight of those patients died that first night, the survivors being you, your mother, and Ella Baileys. You were the best off. You weren't in direct hit of the explosions, and your injuries are mostly related to the fire, and the shattered glass. You were found with someone else, and we believe that his position protected you from the blast. Your mother wasn't so lucky. She was a fair way from the blast, but was impaled in the leg with debris. She lost a lot of blood, and we've found that she also has multiple cases of internal bleeding. She's in an induced Coma at the moment, and if she is to wake, she could die. Even asleep, she only has hours left. I'm sorry."

K looked to her mother, pale in the white sheets, peaceful, as though she were simply taking a nap. K felt sick.

Her mother wasn't just sleeping. Her mother was in a coma. Her mother was dying.

"Am I..." She hesitated, looking back at the two women. "Am I able to have a few moments alone with her?"

The women looked at each other, then nodded. The doctor gave her a sorrowful smile. "Elouise and I will be outside if anything is to happen."

They left, and suddenly, K was alone with her mother, and everything started pouring out. She wanted the woman to wake up, and hold her, hug her while she cried, like she had done so many years ago. She wanted to be in her mother's arms, enclosed in an embraced. She wanted one of those hugs that only her mum could give, the hug that made her feel like everything would be alright, that someone was always going to be there for her.

But her mother couldn't give her one of those hugs. Her mother was dying, and even if she wasn't, even if she was here, awake, and alive, it had been years since she had given K such a hug.

When was the last time K and her mother had embraced? When was the last time her mother had told K that everything would be okay?

Now, her mother was dying, her father was dead, and she didn't know what to do.

Breaking down at her mother's bedside, grasping for a pale, cold, hand, K wondered how long it had been since she had truly had a mother. A mother that cared for her, and loved her, and could see that she was falling apart. A mother that didn't just give her a bank account and an expensive apartment, and send her off into the world. A mother that she only ever saw at functional events.

A mother that wasn't just as much a wreck as she was.

The woman in front of her wasn't her mother. She hadn't been for a long time.

Yet K didn't feel resentful, or annoyed towards the woman, lying before her, dying. She felt resentful towards herself. She felt that it was her fault she felt so far away from the beautiful woman who had created her. The woman that could do so much.

She felt at fault for the loneliness she was feeling. She felt it was her fault her mother couldn't hug her and tell her it was okay. Perhaps she felt that she shouldn't need a mother to hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Maybe she thought she should be able to tell that to herself.

"You're an adult now, Brooke," her mother had once told her, "so act like it."

Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pull herself together. The fear was too great. The fear of being alone pulsed through her like a raging river, carving into her very existence.

Her mother was dying. And she was alone. Even if her mother was not dying, she would still be alone.

Maybe even if her mother was alive, awake, and had her daughter wrapped in her arms, Brooke Keller would still feel alone.

Maybe it was her fault.

So K cried. She cried for her dying mother, and the relationship they once had. She cried for how long it had been since they'd had such a relationship. She cried for her father, and for Luke, and for her family, and her friends.

But mostly, she cried for herself.

Perhaps it was selfish to be so obsessed with this fear, this loneliness she didn't want to face.

Perhaps it wasn't, and it was the kind of thing that any human would experience. She didn't know. All she knew that it existed.

So she cried for herself, and for the feeling that seemed to be growing in her chest, a feeling of helplessness and loneliness. A feeling that had existed for years and years within her, but she had always ignored, shoved away with frisky relationships and partying, and drinking.

The feeling had grown harder and harder to ignore that past year. Yet, sitting by her mother's bedside, clutching her mother's lifeless hand, it seemed to be erupting from her, a volcano of emotion she could no longer hold back.

So she cried.

Alone, she cried.

Then, all of a sudden, she wasn't alone. She was standing, and being wrapped in a hug by someone. It was the embrace she had been longing for, but it wasn't from her mother.

A girl held her while she cried. A girl her age cried with her. K wasn't sure of who it was. But in her moment of vulnerability, she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around the stranger, and together, they cried.

The girl was mostly silent, the tears slipping down her cheeks in solitude. But K was loud, and violent, her body wracked by sobs and grief.

In this girl's arms, though, K found some comfort. The feeling in her chest seemed to ebb away. Perhaps she wasn't alone. Perhaps everything would be alright.

The tears slowed. The sobs stepped down in intensity. K stopped crying so hard, then, gradually, fell silent.

"You're Ella." K said, softly, an acknowledgement, once she had stopped sobbing, and was instead just leaning against the girl's shoulder, as she stroked K's hair softly.

"Yes." Was all the girl said, then they fell back into silence again.

They didn't need to say anything. There was nothing to be said. Ella had given K all that she had needed in that moment. A shoulder to cry on.

"Thank you." K said in a quiet voice. Ella just nodded, and the two broke apart. K looked her in the eyes with gratitude. "Really... I needed that. Thank you."

Ella nodded again. "It's okay. I could see that you did, and in truth, i needed it too. Seeing how much pain you're in made me realise that I am almost lucky in a way. Maybe that sounds selfish..."

She trailed off, but K shook her head. "It's not selfish. It's okay. I understand."

Ella looked relieved, then looked back at the wheelchair K had been brought in. "You should sit. The doctor would throw a fit to see you standing for so long."

K nodded, and sat back down in the black chair. She then looked back at her mother. Somehow, something looked different about the sleeping woman.

It was strange, but some part of K believed that Ella was her mum's way of looking out for her. That from whatever place Samantha Keller was, she had sent her daughter a guardian angel to cry on.

It was a bizarre thought, and she didn't know where it came from, but in the same way, it was comforting.

Ella was looking at K in a strange way. "What is it?" K asked, softly.

Ella was still, then shook her head. "Nothing." She said, dismissively. "I should really be getting back to my room. I only came here looking for Doctor Selwyn."

K nodded. "Okay. I guess I'll see you later?"

Ella smiled. "Yeah, I guess so."

K watched the girl leave, then looked back to her mother.

A few moments later, nurse Elouise came back into the ward.

"Brooke, I'm going to take you back to your room now, so you can have breakfast, and I'll bring you back to your mother afterwards. Okay?"

K nodded mutely, and let Elouise take hold of the handles of her wheelchair, and push her back through the linoleum lined hallways.

~ ~ ~

Brooke Keller watched her mother die. Sitting idly by her bedside, Brooke watched as her mother became paler and paler, as her breathing grew shallow, and her restless movements ceased.

She had never watched someone die before. Doctor Selwyn came and went, giving her updates on her mother's condition. She always said that they would hope for the best, but the underlying meaning every visit was that there was no hope for Mrs Keller.

Again, K was surprisingly calm.

Perhaps it was the shock of it all, or the fact that she had already lost so many others instantaneously, seeing her mother go barely had an impact on her.

Or maybe it was just that she had run out of emotion to feel. After the multitude of breakdowns she had already had since she woke up that morning after, she used up all her energy, and didn't have the strength to do it again.

So she didn't cry. She didn't sob.

She just watched, and remembered.

She remembered summer days, long ago, and the care her mother had given with every word she spoke.

"Don't forget sunscreen, Brookie, or you'll burn."

The little girl ran back to her mum, and held out her arms, grinning. Her mother sighed, but smiled, and began to spread the white sunblock across the little girls arms and legs.

"Now, don't be scared out there. Mummy will watch you the whole time, and if you get in any trouble, I'll come in and get you right out." Covered in slick sunblock, the little girl wrapped her arms around her seated mother's' neck and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Love you, Mummy." She grinned.

"Love you too, Brookie. Now go have some fun."

Brooke remembered how it had felt back then. The love she had shared with the woman in front of her. Back before the company took off, before William, and before everything changed. Back when her mother looked at her with love, not with blame.

She wished she could go back to those days, back when everything was simpler, and she never felt alone.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't take back time, no matter how much she wanted to.

At quarter past three in the afternoon on January second, Samantha Keller died.