Downhill || 𝘥𝘯𝘧

XXX

George sat so very still. The world seemed to freeze around him as the man's words rung throughout his head. He could barely hear himself mouthing, "no, he's not. He can't be. I just saw him a couple days ago." George's vision spun. His brain felt like mush. This must be some kind of trick. A prank. My dad isn't dead. He can't be.

The man's voice sounded again, thick with what sounded like real emotion. "I'm sorry, but it's true. One of his lungs caved in. The injury was too substantial for us to be able to save him in time, and... well, he's gone. He's long gone," he explained. "We tried calling you last night, but you didn't answer."

George stared at nothing in particular, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. While his dad was dying in the fucking ER, he was home, ignoring his phone and messing around with Dream. 

He slowly began to shake his head, and when he blinked he was surprised to feel warm tears roll down his cheeks. "No, he's- my dad, I... I just saw him a day ago. He was fine," George muttered, his voice wavering. This isn't possible. What's happening? Am I in shock? This can't be happening. 

I must still be asleep.

Impulsively, George took his fingers and pinched himself in the meat of his forearm. Pain shot through his nerves as he clamped the skin so hard his hand began to shake with the effort. "Wake up, wake up," he hissed to himself.

When nothing happened after a few seconds; and by nothing, he meant he didn't wake up; George pinched himself again in a different spot, this time using his fingernails. But when the skin between his nails finally began to break and he pulled his hand away to see crimson blood underneath his nails, he realized that he was, in fact, awake.

"Are you there, George?" The man's voice asked gently, disturbing him from his stunned silence. George's eyelids fluttered as more silent tears continued to pour from his reddening eyes.

"Yes," George croaked quietly. He could feel his body beginning to tremble. "Are... are you sure it's my dad?" George asked desperately, slowly shaking his head as he searched for some kind of explanation that part of him knew didn't exist. A heavy sigh came from the other end.

"Yes, we're sure," the man said. "My name is Doctor Brycen, and I work at the Oxford hospital. Your father was admitted here two weeks ago along with your mother, and since then, we've been doing everything we can to help them. And I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, because I was one of the doctors responsible for keeping them alive," the doctor said lowly. Regretfully. "We did everything we could to save them. But in the end it just wasn't enough."

George screwed his eyes shut, his teeth chattering profoundly. His hearing turned fuzzy as if there was cotton stuffed in his ears and the phone slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a loud bang that he couldn't quite hear. He could more-like feel the sound waves hitting him through the air and the tremor in his feet. Before he knew it, George was curled up on the ground, low wails of despair emitting from his parted lips. "No, no no no no no no..." George was repeating, clutching his heart, which he thought might just beat out of his chest.

He felt bile rising in his throat. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. How could this have happened? Memories of him and his dad came flooding back to him, and he remembered again how he'd spent almost an entire year avoiding them out of spite just because of some argument. His dad was dead; and the last thing George had said to him was I never want to see you again.

I guess you should be careful what you wish for, his brain whispered sinisterly in his ear.

"Shut the fuck up," George snapped, rocking back and forth on the ground. "Just shut the fuck up," he sobbed, burying his face in the carpet, his body shaking with every breath he took.