Infectious

Guilty as Charged

"No," I whisper in despair as I run over to my father. I kneel down beside his body and grasp his hand.

"I- I didn't mean to-" I try and say as tears choke up my throat.

"It's okay, it would've been the same outcome if anyone else had taken your place," he says reassuringly, wincing in agony.

"I'm not going to let you die," I tell him.

"That's how it has to be," he tells me.

"No, I'm gonna tell fate to screw off!" I say defiantly, "someone, get me tweezers, a knife, and the sewing kit," I order. Everyone scrambles away and is back in an instant. I grab the knife and reach for my dads wound.

"THERE'S TOO MUCH BLOOD!" I yell at whoever's listening.

"Here, take this," someone offers me their checkered shirt. I frantically dab at the wounded area and someone grabs my wrist. I look up and see my moms puffy, cherry red eyes.

"Honey, I'm a surgeon, let me do it," she proposes . I give her a slight nod and realize that I'm trembling in fear. My mother, unmeaningly, shoves me away from where I'm kneeling and takes my place.

"Hold down his hands and legs!" my mom orders urgently.

-----------------------------------

I sit in the living room and nervously play with my nails. I hear a muffled scream and another snap. I cringe at the sound of a belt contacting with skin. Riley is nestled between me and the arm of the couch. He soothingly rubs my left upper arm. I hear a loud shriek which sounds more like my fathers than the guards and I jump up. Riley pulls me back down in protest and tucks me in against his bare chest.

"Why don't you have a shirt on yet?" I ask Riley.

"Because they're interrogating and torturing a man in my room," he answers in a that's-supposed-to-be-obvious tone. I giggle and press my palm against his structured abdomen.

"Raine, go outside," Griffith instructs as he looks at me with a longing expression. I hop off the couch and dash outside. My father is lying down on a picnic table and his skin is a dull white. I sprint towards his sleeping body and lean over him.

"Is he alive?" I ask my mom in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

"He's stable but the next hour is going to really define if he dies or stays alive," she explains, clamping a hand over her mouth to suppress her sobs. I nod in an uncertain manner as she speed-walks away. After a good twenty minutes my father begins to stir.

"Ugh," my father groans.

"Daddy!" I exclaim.

"Hey," he says with a grunt .

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Like I've been shot," he jokes.

I can't help but laugh, "I though that you were gonna- because I-" I try and complete my sentences but my sobs keep cutting me off.

My father raises his hand and strokes my hair, hushing me, "sweetheart don't cry. It's not your fault. As I told you before, this is fate. I chose my path and I could reach my dead end, or maybe the car is broken down and I need a new piece but whatever happens remember that I love you and your mother so much", he lets me know.

"I know dad, we both do," I reassure him.

he smiles his proudest smile,"You ended up being exactly what I wanted you to be," he says in an I-raised-you-well way.

I smile and than admit something to him, " I don't understand why this is happening, dad."

"Ah, my dear, this is simply destiny at its finest," he says.