Status: thinking of deleting and possibly starting all over again.
Collide To The Sound Of Our Heartbeat.
Unhealthy.
Sazzy’s Point of View
“Sazzy? What’s wrong?” Frank whispered, his eyes narrowing in worry as he stroked my hair. I pushed him off me, sitting up, trying to steady my breathing.
“Fuck, my Mom!” I cried in a low tone, scrambling up from my bed, bolting to the door and fumbling with the lock, trying to get it open. Panic-stricken, I almost cried out, until I saw Frank’s slender pale fingers reach over, sliding the lock out of place, pulling the door open for me. I didn’t have time to say thanks, running down the stairs at full-pelt, tripping up on the last two. I got to the living room, stopping at the door, trying to steady my breathing. Frank was there, right behind me. He was so calm. He placed a hand on the small of my back, pushing me in lightly.
There, my Mother lay on the floor, a bottle of vodka laying in her slack grip, her eyes shut. I walked over carefully, picking my way across the mess. Frank didn’t say a word, his hand still placed firmly on my back.
I knelt down, next to her head, smoothing her hair out of her face. She’d lost her looks to the booze, I’d noticed. Her face was lined with light wrinkles, grey bags lining her eyes. Her skin looked pale, but grey. She looked unhealthy.
I lent over her face, flicking my hair over my shoulder so it wouldn’t hit her in the face. I felt her breathe shallowly, almost non-existent. I sat up, my eyes welling up.
“Frank…”
“It’s alright. I dialled 911.”
“Ms. Reyes?”
I sat up quickly in my chair, blinking a few times to try and fix my vision. I felt warmth on my hand, fingers tangling with my own.
“You can see your mother now,” the nurse said, a pitiful smile on her face. I nodded, standing up as the nurse opened up the door for us. She looked sorrowful, sad almost. I didn’t want to find out why, but I knew anyway…. deep down.
I walked through the door, not letting myself look at the white, clean bed in the middle of the small room. I heard the steady bleeps of the machines and the heart monitors, then the click of the door as it shut.
“Sazzy. It’s alright,” he whispered, squeezing at my hand. I hesitated, and looked up, letting my eyes wander to the head of the bed.
She looked terrible.
There were numerous tubes running through her arms, an IV drip inserted in the back of her hand, clear tubes running up her nose.
I gasped, my free hand racing up to my mouth, my eyes watering and I blinked, the hot salty tears running down my cheeks. Frank wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a tight embrace.
“Everything will be okay. She’ll be okay,” he mumbled into my ear, a hand running through my hair softly, comfortingly.
“F-Frank… w-what if s-she dies? W-what am I g-gonna do t-then, huh?” I cried, sobbing into his chest, my head pounding, pounding, pounding.
“Shh,” he mumbled, “I’ll look after you.”
“Sazzy? What’s wrong?” Frank whispered, his eyes narrowing in worry as he stroked my hair. I pushed him off me, sitting up, trying to steady my breathing.
“Fuck, my Mom!” I cried in a low tone, scrambling up from my bed, bolting to the door and fumbling with the lock, trying to get it open. Panic-stricken, I almost cried out, until I saw Frank’s slender pale fingers reach over, sliding the lock out of place, pulling the door open for me. I didn’t have time to say thanks, running down the stairs at full-pelt, tripping up on the last two. I got to the living room, stopping at the door, trying to steady my breathing. Frank was there, right behind me. He was so calm. He placed a hand on the small of my back, pushing me in lightly.
There, my Mother lay on the floor, a bottle of vodka laying in her slack grip, her eyes shut. I walked over carefully, picking my way across the mess. Frank didn’t say a word, his hand still placed firmly on my back.
I knelt down, next to her head, smoothing her hair out of her face. She’d lost her looks to the booze, I’d noticed. Her face was lined with light wrinkles, grey bags lining her eyes. Her skin looked pale, but grey. She looked unhealthy.
I lent over her face, flicking my hair over my shoulder so it wouldn’t hit her in the face. I felt her breathe shallowly, almost non-existent. I sat up, my eyes welling up.
“Frank…”
“It’s alright. I dialled 911.”
“Ms. Reyes?”
I sat up quickly in my chair, blinking a few times to try and fix my vision. I felt warmth on my hand, fingers tangling with my own.
“You can see your mother now,” the nurse said, a pitiful smile on her face. I nodded, standing up as the nurse opened up the door for us. She looked sorrowful, sad almost. I didn’t want to find out why, but I knew anyway…. deep down.
I walked through the door, not letting myself look at the white, clean bed in the middle of the small room. I heard the steady bleeps of the machines and the heart monitors, then the click of the door as it shut.
“Sazzy. It’s alright,” he whispered, squeezing at my hand. I hesitated, and looked up, letting my eyes wander to the head of the bed.
She looked terrible.
There were numerous tubes running through her arms, an IV drip inserted in the back of her hand, clear tubes running up her nose.
I gasped, my free hand racing up to my mouth, my eyes watering and I blinked, the hot salty tears running down my cheeks. Frank wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a tight embrace.
“Everything will be okay. She’ll be okay,” he mumbled into my ear, a hand running through my hair softly, comfortingly.
“F-Frank… w-what if s-she dies? W-what am I g-gonna do t-then, huh?” I cried, sobbing into his chest, my head pounding, pounding, pounding.
“Shh,” he mumbled, “I’ll look after you.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I know this is short. Don’t worry; there will be another chapter later on.Comments, please? I think I only get around three per chapter, and there are 16 subscribers. I mean, Jesus!! Also, I might be putting this story on hiatus, because I’m finding it really hard to write for this right now, because I have so much going on.[/bitch]