Carry On

Pain. All I can feel is pain as the water disappears around me and I'm laying on something cold, but hard. My fingers twitch and I know it's sand. Someone brought me to shore.

My hearing is as if I'm still underwater. That deep muffled tone of the voices that still linger above the ocean, while I remain drowning. Except I'm not drowning, not anymore. When the water finally leaves my ears I hear yelling. Lots and lots of yelling. I can pinpoint the voices. Zack is screaming something about giving me CPR, Matt is ordering my father to calm down. My father. I know he's near me. I can feel him.

"Elizabeth Haner, you better open your eyes right now," He demanded through heavy but weeks sobs. I pry my eyelids open, forcing the stinging salt water to fill my eyes. I remember I skipped out on wearing any eyeliner, and I'm thankful. But I can see through the salty droplets, and I see Dad hovering over me.

He's not dry. He's sopping wet like an idiot. An idiot that jumped into the water after me. He looks weak, like he just ran a marathon. I'm not surprised because I know how violent the waves were. I was in them. Until he pulled me out. It's like he wants me to suffer.

"There you are," He whispers, forcing a smile out, "There's those beautiful brown eyes," He has tears running down his cheeks and his eyes are red. I can't tell if its because he too suffers from salt water in his eyes, or if it's because he's crying so hard.

"They're your eyes," I choke out, but I don't know why. I don't know what compels me to say anything at all. Its like another force controlling my body.

He lets out a weak whimper and nods, "Yeah, they are. They're my eyes."

As I look up at him I can feel something surprisingly warm dripping from my chin down to my neck. It's blood, I know, but I don't have the energy to reach up and wipe it. I guess it's from the impact of the water. I can feel an immense amount of pain in my ribs, and I can only assume that they're severely damaged.

"Brian," A voice pulls Dad to look away from him. It's Matt, and I know he's crying too. I wonder where Val is, and I hope she isn't around, "The ambulance is on its way," He states.

"Can't we take her ourselves?" Dad questions.

"Listen to me," Matt could barely choke out his words, "If we move her we'll damage her even more. We can't move her ourselves."

Dad realizes what this means, and I do to. We're not sure if I'm going to live or not, and that's got to be the hardest thing for him. Not knowing. He'd probably much rather know I was going to do, rather than having to guess. At this point, I'm not even sure where my future lies. I'm not trying to fight anymore.

"No, Liza," Dad sobs and his hand is in my hair, trying desperately to hold me without actually taking me in his arms, "Don't stop fighting," He protested, as if he knew my body was giving up.

"It's okay," I choke out and he continues to cry, "Stop crying. Haners don't cry," I try to muse, but he shakes his head.

"Haners cry all the time, Liza," He states, "I cried all the time. I cried the day you were born. The moment I held you in my arms for the first time. I cried when you called me 'Daddy' for the first time. I sobbed like a baby," He manages a chuckle, "I cried when you played your first song on the guitar. You didn't see it, but I did. It was Smoke On The Water, remember?" He asked, and I did. I remembered the song and even in death I still remembered how to play it, "I cried when you learned to tie your shoes, read, write, sing, dance," He rambled and took a moment to choke out a few more weak cries, "Haners cry all the time."

"Then why did you tell me that?" I ask, looking up at him. His eyes are filled with silence, and I feel the look alone could kill me. He looks so terrible.

"Because I just didn't want to see you cry," He confesses and I actually manage to smile, "I just wanted to see you happy, Liza."

It suddenly made sense. He didn't want me to cry. So he created a way to keep me from doing so.

Haners don't cry.

"I am happy, Dad," I say and he nods.

In the background I can hear the ambulance, but I can see dark spots filling my vision. It's getting harder to breathe, and my grip is getting weaker in Dad's hand. So he squeezes my hand tighter, hoping to bring me back. I can hear the others screaming, waving the ambulance in the right direction towards me.

The pain in my ribs is unbearable. My chest starting to feel it too. I realize that I can't feel my legs, and I'm so cold I feel like a thousand needles are pricking me at once. Like acupuncture from hell, "Does it hurt?" Dad asks, his eyes peering down at me wide. He reminds me of a child.

"No," I lie and he nods. I hope he believes me, and I force a smile, "I don't feel a thing. No pain at all," I promise him.

"Good," He runs a hand through my hair.

"Dad?" I ask and he leans in closer, "Can you hold me now?" I ask and he doesn't protest. The EMTs are still trudging through the thick sand, carrying all their equipment at once. I wonder if they're even trained at all.

I feel Dad wrap his arms around me and I bite back a hiss as I feel a rib crack. I actually feel it snap, but I'm biting my lip so hard not a sound comes out. Even though he's shivering from the cold wind against him, he's warm. His arms are so warm I feel like I'm still at home wrapped up in my blanket. Maybe on the couch leaning against him as he urges me to go upstairs to bed, but I don't want to leave the couch. It was always my favorite place to sleep.

I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat and it's fast. It's fast and strong, and I smile. It's like I never even left.

"Mr. Haner, we're going to have to take her now," An unfamiliar voice states and I feel Dad's grip loosen on me.

"Listen to me, Elizabeth. You better fight your damn hardest in that ambulance, because I will never live a day without you," Dad chokes out as I feel his hand slip from my own.

And for the first time in years, I do exactly what he tells me to do. I don't argue or fire back with a witty remark. I don't purposely try to piss him off by doing the exact opposite. I just take it in, and I listen.

I fight.