After the death of her mother, Rya, a sixteen year old girl, sets out to find her father, who she had not seen in fifteen years due to her mom's paranoia and desire to protect her.
The two finally find each other again. But, danger is always lurkin...
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SHE COULDN'T BREATHE. She tried, desperately, to breathe in the air around her, to subdue the constricting of her lungs but it proved futile due to the sheer panic she felt inside of her. It grasped at her throat and clawed its way into her body, finding its home inside of it. It left her breathless and shaking and her mind hazy. She couldn't see anything in front of her, couldn't see the paramedics rushing around her. She couldn't comprehend what people were saying, around her, it all came back like a muffled siren to her ears.
She stumbled back a step and collapsed onto the cold floor, not having enough force in her body to stay standing. Rya lay there, looking at the ceiling, and breathing heavily as chaos surrounded her.
The paramedics that had arrived checked Chris' pulse, and after finding none, performed CPR, onto him. A rythm of 30 chest compressions and two artificial ventilations and then repeating it. When they finally regained a pulse, a very weak one, they rushed him to the nearest hospital to get him treated.
The family tailed the ambulance, driving like absolute maniacs to keep up with them.
Rya had been able to lessen her panick and to stop her attack with the help of Noah, who had layed down next to her and held her hand the whole way through, while whispering reassuring words in her ear.
The aforementioned boy was in shock too but had always been able to remain calm in the worst situations, it was because of that fact that he had been dubbed the shoulder to cry on for that evening.
He shed tears with the others, while they waited exasperatedly in the waiting room of the hospital, but remained the strongest of them all. His heart held apprehension of what was to come, but he maintained a calm demeanor. He remained strong for the rest of his family that had not the ability to do so.
Rya stared blankly at the cream colored wall as a pregnant fly waddled its way onto it. She observed its movements, studied its body, and the art carved onto it by mother Nature. Then, she turned her attention to the green dust bin, observed its lack of movements, studied its structure and the small sticker put onto it to alert people that it was a recycling bin. And then, she moved on to the painting on the otherwise plain white wall, observed its colors, studied its message and the tiny signature at the bottom of it, in black paint.
Everything, not to think about how her father was laying on an operation table, while surgeons picked and proded at his organs in order to save his life. Everything, not to think about how she may, yet again, lose another person, another loved one. And everything not to think, because thinking leads to actually accepting the situation and that was something Rya was not willing to do.
