22. Vein Cut From the Heart #4
Before I can answer, the door opens and Nik walks in with Rosie at his side.
They’re speaking quietly, and a line of worry cuts across his forehead.
When they notice us, their conversation stops.
Nik tries on a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Whatever they talked about, it weighs heavy on him.
“Irina,” Rosie greets gently as she moves to the machine by the bed.
She checks her vitals, then begins scribbling across the clipboard.
“Everything is looking good,” she mumbles more to herself than anyone else.
She glances up at Irina. “Visiting hours are ending in the next fifteen minutes, so we’ll need to start wrapping up soon, alright?
” Her tone is the practiced kindness of someone who lives in routines, already ready for the next task.
Irina nods. “No problem.” She shifts her attention to Nik, her eyes softening. “Everything alright, Nikusha?”
Nik rubs the back of his neck and shoots me a nervous glance before saying, “Yeah. Got everything signed and ready.”
Rosie finishes changing a bag of fluid and gives Irina a smile. “I’ll be back soon.” She slips out the room, leaving it quieter than before.
Irina’s body relaxes instantly. She lets out a tired sigh, eyes closing briefly before cracking open again. “Thank you for coming, my darling boy—and for bringing Eleanor.” Her gaze shifts to me, her smile is so gentle it nearly undoes me.
Nik sits on the edge of the bed and takes her frail hand in his. “Do you need anything, Mama?”
Irina shakes her head. “All I need is God, and He is already here with me.” She lifts a trembling hand to his cheek, her voice soft but steady.
“You don’t need to carry everything, Nikusha.
You take on so much, and if you don’t lay it down, it will crush you.
Trust in Jesus. Give your burdens to Him. ”
Nik gulps, his voice rasping. “Yeah. I will.”
Irina lays back, pulling her blanket to her chin. “Good.” Her eyes drift to me once more, kind and unwavering. “Thank you for coming, dear. It was a pleasure seeing you.”
I return her smile, tension blooming in my chest. “It was good to see you too, Irina.”
As I rise from the chair, Irina’s eyes have already closed; fast asleep. Nik sits there staring at her, arms folded, the lines around his mouth taut.
“Propofol,” he voices, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. “It sedates her—eases the suffering. It knocks her out, but it helps.”
“Is that…safe?” I ask, my voice small.
He gives a hard grimace. “It is. It’s used when nothing else controls the pain. They don’t take that decision lightly.” His attention drifts back to Irina. “If she needs something that strong, it means we’re very near the end.”
“Nik…” I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm.
He lets my hand rest there for a second, then shakes his head. “Don’t—” he says softly. The single word buckles beneath its own significance. “Let’s just go.”
The hospital hallway is eerie. The lights are dimmed, the halls empty, the lingering scent of iodine heavy in the air. Faint beeps and our footsteps echo as we walk. I wrap Nik’s hoodie tighter around myself, desperate for some kind of warmth, some small shield from the cold weight of this place.
After signing out, neither of us speak. On the drive back to my apartment, he doesn’t even glance in my direction.
I’m out of my depth. I don’t know how to comfort someone who loves a parent so deeply and is losing them. Maybe my heart is hardened because I can’t relate. My dad left before I could remember, and my mother’s death would feel like a relief rather than a loss.
But Irina is different. I haven’t known her long, yet she treats me like I’m her own. She pours care into every stitch of my costumes, makes sure every detail is perfect, and finds ways to make me smile during fittings. It’s as if she can see right through me, like Nik.
She’s a mother in every sense, and I know her loss will ripple through Hollingford Ballet Company like a vein cut from the heart. Slow, unstoppable, and unbearably painful. I can’t fathom how Nik must feel. And I wish I knew how to make things better for him.
I cast my gaze down at my hands, the hoodie sleeves swallowing them.
I can’t even help myself. I’m losing control in my own ways—skipping meals, punishing my body to the limit, spiraling in ways that terrify me, and knowing that I can’t stop.
I want to be strong for Nik, to give him comfort, but right now I can barely give it to myself.
I’m as useless as a cracked cup trying to hold water, and that truth aches almost as much as seeing him like this.
When my head hits the pillow, a fresh wave of anxiety crashes over me. Something shifted between Nik and me today. Something uncharted—unknown—and the thought scares me.
My heart pounds, my mind racing with every possible what if. I toss and turn all night, sleep eluding me completely. And deep down, I know I’m on the verge of spiraling again.
The weight of Odette and Odile, my weakening body, the impossible standards of making my mother proud, Nik, Irina… it’s all too much. Each thought stacks on the next until it feels like I might burst. And I’m afraid that this time… I just might.