Promise Me--PART THREE.

It feels like days, but I'm pretty sure it's only been a few hours. My mind is going crazy and there is a pulse throbbing at the side of my head. Each time I stand, I feel a nauseous sensation in the pit of my stomach, so I'm forced to sit on the cheep, scratchy chair. I assume the fact that the nurse has been absent since I was removed from the hospital room is a good sign. Surely someone would have come to tell me if my mother hadn't made it before now?

The doors to the small, boxy waiting room swing open, and the nurse that brought me here, along with a male doctor I don't recognise walk in. "Have you got a moment?" the doctor says flatly.

I press my lips together to stop them from uncontrollably trembling, and nod my head.

"Your mother is very sick," the doctor says. His tone worries me, and I clench my fists. "You must understand that keeping her supported like this is only making her suffer more."

I close my eyes. Other doctors have had this conversation with me before.

He continues, "If you would be willing-"

"No! I won't do it!" I snap, raising to my feet.

The nurse rushes to my side. "It's okay. We won't do anything, relax."

I exhale, and unclench my fists. I wince where my fingernails have pierced the skin of my palms. "Can I see her?"

The doctor smooths out an invisible crease in his suit. "I don't think that would be such a great idea."

I decide I don't like this new doctor, and give him a sharp look. "Please?" I say, turning to the nurse, who I wasn't so fond of a couple of hours ago, either.

She looks between me and her colleague and then nods her head. "Come on, then. She's awake I think." She gives me a warm smile, which I return, and then follow her out the doors and down the corridor towards my mother's room.

"She's very fragile," the nurse says as we enter the little blue room. This isn't unusual; my mother gets more and more fragile each day that passes.

But when I round the partition, I see that all color has drained from her body, and her usually flawless skin sags over her thin, bony body. A new tube possesses much of her throat, and the skin around it is purple with bruising.

"Honey, is that you?" Her voice is a hoarse whisper.

Not trusting myself to speak, for fear of falling into another round of hysterics, I walk quickly to her side and slip my hand into hers.

"C'mon, I need to hear your voice. For all I know you could be that new doctor," she says, her attempt at humour is dry, just like her voice. She must be too weak to open her beautiful eyes.

I take a deep breath. "I thought you were gone."

"Sorry for scaring you, love. Can I ask something of you?"

"Anything," I reply, pressing my hands to my eyes to force the tears back in.

"Promise me you won't let Aunt Rose sing at my funeral. She sounds like a cat's choir,"

I mentally scold her. Talking about her funeral means it's actually going to happen. I can't bare to think about it. I let out a forced laugh, and lean over to kiss her papery cheek. "I love you," It comes out a whisper.

"I love you too, Emily. You must promise me you'll never forget that?"