Dedicated to takanorikarlyn for being supportive and such a good friend :)) check out her A Heartbeat Forfeit!!
The door to the ER swings open and the doctor walks out, peeling surgical gloves off his fingers, a grave look on his face.
Instantly, my heart drops to my feet. My hands start sweating and I immediately stand up, my legs visibly shaking. Next to me, my father jumps up and rushes forward.
"Are both of them okay now?" He asks frantically, clutching the arm of the doctor. "Is everything going to be alright?"
Well, my father clearly did not see the look on the doctor's face. Tears well up in my eyes and I blink a few times, trying to keep them back but to no avail.
I use the back of my sleeve to scrub my eyes. I'm not stupid. I know they're dead. That enormous butcher knife has been declared to pierce their vital organs at the crime scene, and the doctor just came out with such a solemn expression. As much as it hurts to admit, it's just true.
Maybe I've been holding too tightly onto a small ray of hope, that they might survive, that a big surgery is all it takes to get them back on their feet, or at least, in wheelchairs.
And that hope has just disappeared.
The doctor takes a deep breath and looks at both of us, starting with me and ending with my father, whose eyes grow wide. "I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do."
My shaky legs give out beneath me and I sink back into the plastic chair I've been sitting on for the last half hour. Breathing suddenly seems ten times harder. The white walls around me seem to spin.
My father is practically paralyzed, his eyes seem glazed over and his grip on the doctor must have tightened because the doctor wince.
"The little girl died as soon as she got into the ER. Your wife died a few moments later. I'm truly sorry."
At least the doctor is enduring the pain in his arm quietly.
I bite the inside cheeks in my mouth so I would cry silently.
My mother. My cousin. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
Isla was celebrating her birthday today. As a treat, my mother took her to the mall to buy her smoothies and a cute little dress for the birthday party tonight. Normally I would've gone with them but I had to go over to my friend Heather's house to do a project and my dad was waist-deep in paperwork in his own office in the house.
It was two o clock when I received about ten frantic missed phone calls from my hysteric dad. Heather drove me over to the hospital as fast as she could, but the effort was futile. I never got to see them alive one last time. And to think this morning I had been snappy with my mother for being so overly worried about me going over to Heather's alone. To think I didn't even say happy birthday to Isla because I came down so late.
A sob somehow escapes me, and then another, until tears are falling down my face like the Niagara Falls. Normally I would have been appalled at my behaviour, because it takes a lot to get me to cry and show weakness in public, but right now, I just don't care.
Isla just turned seven. She didn't deserve this. She was just a child. Innocent and still fresh to the world. Who would be cruel enough to deprive a little girl like her the right to experience the world?
My mother certainly did not deserve to die either. She was a good person. She was everything a teenager could wish for in a mother - understanding, compassionate and loving. So what if that sounded cheesy? She was gone.