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I wish I was a kid who needed attention from her mother, but I wasn't.
I was a girl who struggled living every single day.
I was a child crying out for help, begging for her mother to give a damn.
I take in a deep breath and sit here in this dingy hotel room, thinking about how I'm going to confront her.
It's been over six years since I've seen or spoken to my mother.
The last time I said a word to her was the morning on the day I left, where again, she told me I was lying.
She turned a blind eye to everything Eli did to me, acting like I was nothing more than a teenager lying for attention.
I've tried to forgive her for that, to have some sort of self-healing over the years, but I can't.
I hate her for not believing me, but more than that, I hate her for allowing a man like that to even touch me.
Ivar exits the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Water droplets cling to his muscular chest and abs as he walks toward me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Give me tenminutes and I'll be ready. Are you sure you don't want to freshen up before we go to the hospital?"
I cock an eyebrow, a mix of anxiety and excitement bubbling in my stomach. "Are you trying to tell me I stink?"
Ivar shakes his head and chuckles, "Gods, no. I just thought you might like to relax for a few minutes."
I force a smile, "I'm not going to relax until I'm done with all of this. I'm too stressed about it all, Ivar."
Ivar walks across the carpet and comes over to me, taking my hand inside his own. "I'm going to be here for you, no matter what happens. So, please, try not to stress out."
I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to calm my fried nerves.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It's a sweet reminder that I can trust him to be here whenever I need him to be.
Ivar reluctantly breaks our kiss and gets up from the bed, "I'm gonna finish drying off and then get dressed."
I nod, watching him disappear into the bathroom. Within ten minutes he emerges, fully dressed and ready to head to the hospital.
Stepping outside, we put on our helmets and mount his powerful bike.
I wrap my arms tightly around Ivar's waist as he starts the engine, its deep rumble vibrating through every part of my body.
Some women are terrified of being on the back of a motorcycle, but for me, it's the place I feel at the most peace.
The wind whipping against my body and the scenery we're driving by always calms me down.
I feel safer on this bike with Ivar than I have in most aspects of my life.
He rolls the bike back and we head through the motel's parking lot, hitting the main road.
As we grow closer to the hospital, my stomach churns and my nervousness grows exponentially worse.
I inhale deeply, reminding myself Ivar will be by my side every step of the way.
No matter what happens inside those walls, I won't be facing it alone.
As we arrive at the hospital, Ivar expertly parks his bike in the attached parking garage in the smallest space possible. It's one of the many bonuses of riding on a motorcycle.
The rumble of his engine comes to a halt as the two of us get off his bike, leaving our helmets straddling the handlebars.
