It was dark and it was wet and it was cold and Athea woke up with screaming. The rain poured deadly and strong in the darkness outside her window, and the pitch-black night was only illuminated by the recurrent bursts of lighting that cut the sky. Athea rose from her bed and rushed around the house in sheer fear, a heavy and fleeting breath escaping her lungs. She found her mom downstairs – the origin of the screaming –, dropped on the floor, grasping her chest with one of her hands while the other found its way to her father's, whom was caressing her hair while trying to keep a stern composure as he talked to someone on the phone. And Dianora screamed. Oh, did she scream. In pure and crude pain, she roared to the skies as tear paths cut her cheeks. The sounds ringed in Athea's ears and that alone made her tear up – she had never seen her mother in that state... what was happening? She walked slow and heavy steps towards her parents, feeling her heartbeat ringing in her ears. Before she reached them, her father hung the phone and covered his face with his spare hand, joining her mother in her crying, but repressing his screams, instead biting his lips dryly.
"M-mamma?" She was almost afraid to call out. Something made Athea jump and she wasn't sure if it was her mother's pleading, the thunder that roared outside, or both of them together. "Mamma?" Her voice cracked as tears started to drop down. Dianora leaned and rested her body against the wall, now fighting for air. She lifted her gaze to her dad, accepting that her mother would not be able to answer her. "Babbo?" Patrick sighed deeply before roughly rubbing the tears away with the back of his hand. With a runny nose and crimson eyes, he fought back tears.
"I-it's your sister, piccina... sh-she..."
A loud scream filled her ears, her own scream, as she felt her body being sucked into her father's bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, she found herself in a chilling white place. Her eyes adjusted to the light and slowly unveiled the sight of Brie intubated, her lips as pale as her skin; her once dark chocolate hair she took after her mom, as frail as her body – and the tubes and machines and bags and beeps and clicks where the ones helping to keep her alive. But she was alive. Barely, but alive. And she still smiled.
Brie held her little sister's hands with difficulty, as she listened to her talk about her day. It had been three days since the accident – and one since she had woken up – and Athea held with her all the hope she had already lost. She felt excruciating pain all the time, and her heart and lungs failed her more than the doctors expected. She quickly eyed over the door, where behind the hospital bedroom walls, her parents received the news she already knew of. She turned her gaze back to Athea.
"You must be very strong, sorellina. For mamma and for babbo, you must keep strong." She held her hands tightly between her own.
"You make it sound like you're not going to get better!" The eleven-year-old smiled and toyed with her big sis. Brie let out a painful laugh, her eyes tearing up. She couldn't tell her; she couldn't possibly bring herself to tell her. She was so young, so filled with light and potential.
"C'mere." She called her into a hug and Athea leaned her little body over her bed, almost laying down on top of her sister, retrieving her hug. Their parents then entered the room, Dianora holding onto Patrick's torso for dear life, a runny nose and the swollen eyes, closed.
"Athea, dear." Her father called her attention with a broken voice, and she lifted up her head from the mess of Brie's dark hair. "I need to talk to you, piccina, let's go outside." Athea retrieved them with confused looks as tears couldn't help but fall from Brie's eyes, as she watched her little sis awkwardly climb down the hospital's gurney. Athea never saw her cry.
"Vai con tuo babbo, piccolina." Her mother caressed her hair as she followed Patrick outside, and walked over to her eldest daughter, hugging her lovingly in the amidst of sobs, as they both poured their hearts out. Patrick closed the door behind them and they were suddenly transported.
The weather was still chilly. The swarm of dark dressed people kept silent. It was a beautiful day. Brie would have loved it, her mother thought. It was sunny and the birds were chirping and she would have wanted to go camping by the lake outside of the city, her father thought. But Athea thought... nothing. Inside her head and inside her chest she could only feel emptiness. With her eyes fixed on that terrifying hole on the ground, tears fell down her face in an almost automatic manner – and all she wished for was to be brought down that grave with her. And if she hadn't been left so strength-less, she just might. The priest prayed in Latin and she raised her gaze to meet Dante, facing her directly into the eyes.
Athea jolted upright in her dark bedroom with a shout. She screamed and she cried, she cried so much air started to fail to come to her as her dad opened the door with a slam.
"ATHEA!" He ran towards her, turning on the lights. His daughter roared, holding her chest with both of her hands, tears coming out from her eyes in a pace he had only see happen five years ago. She screamed into his chest as he held her head close in his embrace. "It's ok, dear, it was just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare, it was just a nigh-" She interrupted him with another scream and in the middle of it he was able to discern a very familiar name. "It's okay, honey, it's okay..." He started to tear up. "I miss her too, it's okay..." She shouted louder.
Patrick hugged her tighter and started to rockabye their bodies (now without saying anything), waiting for her to calm down – back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Once the screaming turned into crying which turned into sobbing, he separated their bodies, holding her by the arms and staring deep into those bloodshot hazel eyes.
"You okay, now?" He asked her endearingly. Athea didn't answer, her gaze instead blankly fixed on some point on her bedroom floor. "Wanna talk about it?" He caressed her messy bed hair. She sniffed and a single tear fell down her now expressionless face. She opened her mouth slowly and the voice that came out was overcome with emotion and with the classic tremble that follows crying.
"I-I dreamed of that night..." She unwarily picked at her hands. "And the whole week that followed it... a-all at once." She finally looked at her father. "It was all so fast and at the same time so long..." She sighed heavily and with difficulty. "A-and then- then I saw... I saw Dante, babbo." He couldn't bring himself to remind her to not call him that way, not right now. He took a deep sigh. As much as she had grown to like him then... now, after everything that had happened, the mere sight of Dante reminded Athea of everything she sometimes wished she could forget.
"It's alright now, piccina. It's over." He pulled her head close into his chest. "It was just a bad dream, it's over." She started sighing deeply. "Think you can go back to sleep?" She shrugged her shoulders, emotionless, her gaze downwards. "Want me to make you some tea?" She didn't answer. "Hm?" He insisted, caressing her hand.
"O-oolong." He smiled and set on his way.
Athea tried to recompose while her dad was downstairs, feeling chills down her spine as she embraced herself, rubbing her arms frantically. It had been a while since she had broken down so massively. With a runny nose bothering her as she tried to choke back the final tears – and trying her hardest not to think about the dream she had just had – she wondered if there would ever be a day when thoughts like those wouldn't bother her, wouldn't bring her to tears.
She wondered if she could ever forget.
And, at the same time, she prayed to the heavens that she wouldn't, ever, forget – the odd guilt that followed that thought process confused her most in all of it. It hurt. It hurt so much that sometimes she just wished it was all over, she just wished she wouldn't remember it. But how could she? How could she even remotely think about forgetting about her big sister, her best friend, the most important person in her life? How could she even consider being so selfish? Letting go of all thoughts and memories only so that it wouldn't hurt anymore...
She wanted to forget. And... at the same time, she wished she would always remember.
She thought about trying to only remember the good parts and let go of the bad ones, but that wasn't right. Life was composed of good and bad parts – and, sometimes, the bad parts were the ones that wrote most history. And she didn't want to break Brie's history apart for her own, selfish sake.
"Some fresh oolong tea coming right up!" Patrick cut through her thoughts by entering the room once again. "Here ya go." He handed her the warm cup of tea, its shape resembling almost that of a bowl, rather than a mug. She felt the warm fumes touch her cheek and took a sip. "You calmer now?" She just shrugged her shoulders.
"I'll just finish this and try to go back to sleep. You can go, now. Don't need to worry."
""Don't need to worry". Heh. Easy for you to say, piccina." He caressed her hair. "Do you want me to stay with you awhile?"
"Dad... I'm not eleven anymore." She watched as the oolong tea waters inside her mug trembled and released smoke. "You don't need to watch me like I'm a glass figure about to break." Patrick sighed deeply, with worried eyes over his daughter. He gripped her hand tightly and gave her a peck on the forehead before leaving the room.
Athea took a deep sigh before continuing to drink her tea – which she did calmly and peacefully, taking her time, and feeling the warmness touch her every last bit as the liquids went down her body. All the while, her mind kept drifting back and forth between thoughts of Brie, but she already sensed the numbness start to consume her – and by the time she was done with her tea, her feelings were muted, her sensing was numb, and the world around her felt foreign. Her head inspected the room, which looked odd and unknown. She took a sigh and dropped her head on the pillow, turning her back to a bedroom she didn't recognize, and kept staring at the wall until sleep took her over.
VPA'S VPI: Oolong is actually Athea's favorite tea!
A/N: this chapter is where, i feel, everything takes a shift. both for me, in my mind, as i was writing it and in the story-line in general. this here is where i found my groove with the story, and Athea's tale began taking a more concrete form. look forward to what's coming next! ^^