Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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𝙎low down.
Please—just slow down.
The automatic glass door closed behind her body with an almost silent whoosh as she passed through it, quickening her steps to keep up with the pace the paramedics were pushing Blake's stretcher. Between the few seconds in which the ambulance parked outside and she was unloaded, an EMT had replaced her standing position with a straddling one, pumping down on her lover's chest.
Emiko's eyes watered as her body jerked up and down, but her lips remained blue and her hands continued to limply hang at her side, twitching with each forced movement.
This is all my fault.
If I didn't distract her in the hallway—
"We need to get the baby out!" a command flooded her ears, "It's killing her!"
Her eyes magnified in exceeded terror as the EMT that had once been administering chest compressions suddenly stopped everything and leaped off, landing on the ground with a dull thud. The paramedic-issued monitor that showed her vitals sat on the corner edge of the bed, no longer beeping with an indication of life, but rather flattening with lifelessness.
She parted her lips to ask why the hell they were stopping their work when the cornered view of the wall slipped out of view and inside a trauma room she was pushed. Tracing after their movements like a semi-lost puppy, she attempted to step inside with the rest of the group, but at the last second, a nurse spun and grimaced at her before slamming the door shut, trapping her outside.
"Wait, what are you doing to her!?" she cried out.
No one listened.
The scene was too familiar—unknown hands covered every inch of a body that mattered to her more than it ever would to them the moment she was out of these four walls. Piles and piles of bloodied towels taunted her through the transparent door, covering each squared section of the flooring. Images of a hospital room she'd been forced to endure just a few days ago took hold of her vision.
A tense pounding in her head overflowed the rational part of her brain that kept her from forgetting how to breathe—that room was just like this; it hadn't even been two fucking days.
Electrical currents in the forms of paddles were pulled from the benched area they belonged to as shouts of clear and all set rang through the inch of plexiglass that separated her from the woman she'd spent the majority of her life with. Oxygen bags covered the vicinity of her mouth while pasties coated her skin—the beep of life returned.
But she had seen this movie before.
False hope took the most victims.
Her mind flashed again, muddling her thoughts and memories to two indistinct pictures—Damien alive, then dead; Blake dead, then alive—what was real, and what the hell was fake??
