Stuck on the puzzle

Rough hands

After Isaac's birthday party ,which was an absolute success, because I managed to get Skyler in Ireland for two nights, Alex and I went to my flat. We were both exhausted from organizing the party, so we immediately fell asleep after our usual session of making out- often with follow-ups, if you know what I mean. My phone rings in the middle of the night, making me sit up, terrified. I pick up, barely awake, as Alex turns the light on.

"Excuse me... Is this Miss Phoebe Phillis?" A man's voice sounded slightly frantic, giving me shivers. What the hell is happening?

"Yes, I am Phoebe Phillis. Who are you?"

"I am sheriff Fallon, Sheffield police. I am very sorry to tell you, your mother died in a car crash about 30 minutes ago and your father's current state is critique..."

He kept saying things about my parents' car crashing into a tree but nothing really reached me. Tears stung the back of my eyes, making their way out.

"Phoebe, Phoebe. Hey! What's happening?!" Alex asks, shaking me.

"She's dead, A-lex. Sheee... Ddd-ead..." I say, through the tears and the cries. Not understanding much, Alex takes the phone from my hand and talks with the sheriff himself.

"Yes, I am sorry, Miss Phillis is unable to continue the conversation. I am her boyfriend, just give me the details.. Yeah.. Ok.. We'll try.. Alright... Yes.. Goodbye." He hangs up and turns to me:

"You'll get through it, ok? I will help you." He said, taking me in his arms.

"She is dead? She is dead... She is dead. She is dead! Alex, she is deaddddd..." I scream, collapsing in his arms.

"Shh... It's gonna be alright... You still got me, ok? I love you, just calm down.."

"Leave me alone, please. Please leave me alone."

He gets out of the room and I start screaming in the pillows in order to muffle the sounds. I start rocking and sobbing and shouting. I feel like ripping my hair off. This isn't real, this isn't real, I say to myself. She can't be dead. What about dad? They said his current state is critique... God damn it, damn it, DAMN IT. What am I supposed to do without them? Do I really have to quit the times we skype, will I really have to see my father's tired figure in that screen, crying along with me? In the best case, if he makes it. Please, God, we've never been great friends, but, please, help.

"...Phoebe?" Alex cracks the door open.

"I don't know what to do, how did it even happen? How?! WHAT WERE THEY DOING AT MIDNIGHT IN A CAR? WHAT WERE THEY DOING, ALEX, HELP ME, PLEASE, THEY'RE ALL DYING!" I say, screaming in pain. My pajama blouse is all wet because of my tears. My face is itching because of the salty tears. My vision is blurry. I am a mess.

"Phoebe, calm down. Breathe, ok. Than, we'll talk." I steady my breaths, my tears continuing to flow down my cheeks, Alex constantly wiping them off with his fingers. His musician rough fingers, so swollen from the guitar's strings. Everything you love changes you. Mentally, it burns itself in your memory and soul and stays with you forever. It even changes your body, somehow. Alex's fingers are rough and calloused. My right middle finger has a bump from the writing. I usually wear a band aid around it, because the thin skin often cracks and bleeds. That's how things go.

"Look, the sheriff told me your father lost control of the wheel. Your mom, I am sorry, died immediately. They hit a tree frontally. Your dad was resuscitated. He's at Sheffield hospital. They said we should get there."

I burst into tears. Alex immediately pulls me into a tight hug.

"Phoebe, I will come with you, ok? I will be with you all the way. You have me, it's not a problem. We'll make it, together."