Skybreak [not to be continued]

III

G R A Y

I sat at home awaiting the definitive text that Rosa had sent me in reply to my previous message. It was weird, it stated that she'd read it, but if she had it was almost certain she would have replied by now. Thoughts started running through my head, ones making me paranoid that I was over thinking it. She would be fine, of course but I couldn't help but think that maybe she wouldn't be, maybe she was lying dead somewhere or something bad had happened and I couldn't help her. All these crazy ideas ran through my head quicker than I could catch and analyse each one.

I switched my phone off, seeing as it was the cause of the panic, and walked across the room to where the charger was. My phone was nearly dead. I decided to head to the kitchen, thinking that if I went downstairs for a few minutes and cleared my mind then, when I returned to my room, I wouldn't be panicking about not having a reply. At least, I'd managed to convince myself that would be the case.

I slid down the stairs and into the kitchen where my parents were both making tea (some strange stew was boiling on top of the cooker), my brother being his idiotic self was next door in the living room watching some stupid programme on TV that looked like it was designed for five year olds. I shook my head at their standard behaviours - would they ever do anything different? I grabbed a bag of my favourite flavour crisps and returned to my room, getting out a revision guide and opening it to a page to start revising.

I opened up my textbook to the subject we'd been studying over the past few weeks in music. It was a modern piece by The Fray, called Look After You. I love it, purely because I felt I could connect to the piece of music and the lyrics far too well. The Fray are beautiful singers and I admit to owning most (if not, all) of their albums. I plugged my headphones in and let myself sink into a different world as the piano and drums pulled me into the introduction.

I worked slowly through (humming along to the tune of that one song I was listening to), every few minutes or so just checking my phone to see if there was a reply from Rosa - over an hour had passed and there was still nothing. It was unusual and I was confused why I hadn’t got a reply. Even now, Rosa would probably be at home. Sighing to myself, I knew that I was probably over-thinking and creating some impossible situations and I would probably be better off turning up my music and ignoring, potentially forgetting about, the outside world: reality.

So, I sat and revised until the house phone rang, blaring a computerised version of Mozart's 'Eine Keine Nachtmusik', and I groaned, leaving my warm spot and A level revision to go and find the disturbance. I wandered into the kitchen - groaning about what an inconvenience it was - to see my mum had already picked it up and I was about to leave when she signalled for me to stay. It was then I realised she was nearly in tears; her eyes were watering and her lip was quivering.

My mum rarely ever cries. The last time I saw her cry was when my granddad (her dad) died a few summers ago. So, I was shocked to see her eyes watering now as she tried to reply to the person on the other side of the call. I heard a faint goodbye before she put the receiver down and took a deep breath before turning to me. I knew this couldn't be good news. I scanned my brain for any news that I might already know about, but pulled up a blank mind.

"Gray," She spoke my name softly like she was walking on an unstable ground. "That was the police: something's happened to Rosa." 
I pulled out a chair and slumped down into it, trying not to immediately break down crying. I looked up through my eyelashes (now wet with tears) and signalled for my mum to continue. 
"They said she had just finished work and was locking up the cafe when a car crashed into her. The driver called an ambulance, but he was hardly sober enough to string together a sentence. They sent paramedics over, and she's in hospital now but," She paused, wiping away her tears and looked me straight in the eye. "But she's suffering extreme concussion, internal bleeding and blood loss. It's most likely that she won't make it."
I broke down in tears; the sobs raking through me like a gardener raking the leaves in his garden. I looked up to see only pain and sympathy in my mum's face, and the same in my father's. What nightmare was I living now?

I gasped for air, trying to make out a sentence aimed towards my mother. "Is there nothing we can do, no blood transfusions, anything?"
She shook her head sadly, "Gray, there's not enough blood to be pumped into her, her internal organs are bleeding out and she's slowly giving up on all signs of life."
I continued to weep, my head bowed and eyes closed, mourning my best friend who was too young to die. I whispered asking one more question, "Can I at least see her once more?"

My dad jumped up from where he was sat and nodded quickly, reaching our and grabbing his car keys which lay next to the oven: the dinner cooking on it long forgotten. I ran after him, not even caring I was wearing old, ripped jeans, fluffy slippers and my school shirt and tie. My best friend was in hospital, dying, and I needed to see her now. Before she died.