𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 ✓

⊘ • ❸❾ • ⊘

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

I bounce my leg uncontrollably in the uncomfortable chair outside the hospital room, waiting nervously for the doctor to step outside and tell me what's wrong with him. I chew what's left of the edges of my fingernails in my mouth, mind cracked from the worry and sickness that plagues my body.

I spring forward out of the chair when the door opens, and I see the familiar white coat of the doctor's.

"How is he?" My voice is both small and shaky, eyes wide, and ears awaiting his response. My hands clasp together in front of me, holding them tightly together as if in prayer while begging for an explanation.

"Your father is a very lucky man to still be alive. He cracked his head open pretty bad last night. We're going to be regularly checking up on him until he awakes from the surgery, and we'll see how he's doing, but I can't stress this enough. Your father may never be the same again. We don't know if there's been any damage to his brain, so be prepared for anything at this point. My advice? Go home and get some sleep. Be with your loved ones, and if you're religious, find comfort in your beliefs. Just know we're doing all that we can." The doctor leaves without so much as a reassuring smile.

I don't go inside the hospital room. Instead, I leave and walk down the sidewalk until I find the first church in sight. I never was overly religious. I believe in my faith, but I've never so much as followed the commandments. The most I've ever done is say I'm religious, never showing my devotion.

For the first time in my life, I walked into a church and headed straight to the front of the building. I ignored the few strangers who were seated on the brown benches, and I knelt on the red carpet and shut my eyes before parting my lips and begging for help to heal my father.

I stayed on my knees for what felt like days, but I know it was only an hour of continuous prayer. I thought if I could spend more than a second to ask and profess how much I need help, maybe I would be shown mercy and so would Dad.

A couple of days went by after that, and I roamed the world in a sluggish movement, feeling the world speed by as if I had been the one left behind. There were no colors, only dull ones like black and grey. Sometimes blue peaked out of the grey clouds, but the sky's color vanished soon enough.

I tried to force myself to find things to do to distract myself. It was summer break, so school was out, and I had nothing to occupy my time at the moment other than worrying.

No distraction could take away my heavy thoughts, so I headed to the hospital in a sluggish state of depression that filled my cloudy mind with thoughts about death.

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

I bypassed the white halls, and the scent of chemicals filled my nostrils with that distasteful smell that I despise. I walked in the direction of his room, thinking about everything. I never saw it coming when it happened, but it did.

We were working at his store like on any normal day. He was behind the cash register, handling the customers, and my sixteen-year-old self was in the back, listening to Loathe on full blast with my earbuds in while reorganizing.

I didn't hear it happen, but when I came out of the back room, I saw the store in a mess. Windows were broken, everything was knocked over, and when I saw the blood, I screamed.

I saw Dad laying behind the cash register with blood around his head and running down his fingers. He was unconscious, and I searched his body for his cell phone where I called an ambulance immediately.

Back then, I didn't know we had been robbed or that he had been hit in the head by a blunt object, such as a bat, but now that I do, I feel so guilty for not knowing what was happening. If I just didn't have those stupid earbuds in, then I would have heard the commotion.

I ignore the thoughts of guilt as I walk into the hospital room, but tears fill my eyes once seeing him sitting up in bed with a weak smile on his face.

Rushing to him, I hug him delicately but with urgency. I don't want to be alone in the world, and I don't want Dad to die. He hugs me back and tells me how he would be fine, but I still never let go, and the whole time I lay on his chest with tears gushing down my cheeks, I mumble the words thank you over and over again.

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

Out of all the times that memory had to come to me, it did so now. I let out a scream and rush to the black bars of the cell where I call out loud for help. I call for any guard. I call for Claire. I call for anyone willing to answer, and I do so until my voice gives out.

I want to cry as I rest my head against the cold bars, hearing the other girls yelling at me to shut up so they can sleep. I don't give a shit about what they say. Truth be told I've tried to focus on me and Barbie only.

This last month has taught me that no girl here cares about anyone else but herself. Every single one of them is so selfish, and I wish I could ignore them, let them get in trouble, and face the consequences, but every time I shut my eyes I think about Twix's body on the cold ground and imagine it being one of them instead, and I can't do it.

I end up saving them because I don't want to see someone else I know dead right before me. No matter how hateful or rude they've been, they don't deserve to die and don't deserve to rot in this Hell either.

I slide down the black bars, crawling on my hands and knees to Barbie as I cry in the ugliest way because I can't help her.

I place my hands on hers, feeling her small pulse in my palm. I can't stop the overflowing tears, and when I know I can't do anything to save her, I think about the past again.

Taking her hand and holding it tightly, I straighten up on my knees and prop my elbows on her mattress where I lower my head and start praying.

I beg, plead, cry, and repeat it all over and over again. Through my blurry vision and heavy breathing, I shake uncontrollably as I look at Barbie's still body.

I continue my prayer all night long. I don't stop praying until the morning comes. I ignore the severe headache pounding at my skull, the heavy exhaustion of keeping myself on my knees through the long hours of the night, and when I think everything's going to be okay, my vision spins and turns black.

Everything in the world disappears, and for the moment, so do I.

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪