She was holding onto the frail hands as if they were a lifeline. She was being deprived of the only security she had felt in the past four years. This wasn't supposed to happen, not yet. The doctors said that he was responding to treatment well; that he was going to live a long, fulfilling life. Ever since the death of her brother, he had been the only family that she had left. He was as good as gone; just like her brother, just like her mother.

He mumbled something incoherent under his breath, she couldn't quite catch it. "Dad?" she asked cautiously. She saw him glance at the cup of water on the tray beside him. She grabbed it and slowly lifted it to his mouth. "Better?" she asked. He nodded. Even though the doctors had said he was going to be okay, they had been dreading this moment for months. First her brother, then her mother, now him; how much more pressure could she take before she finally cracked?

"I need to tell you something." He said his voice barely above a whisper. "You're strong; I need you to stay strong. I'm not saying you can't grieve, I want you to grieve; but not for too long. You will get over this, like you did with your brother, like you did with your mother." He said his voice raspy from disuse. She starred at him in awe, this man on his death bed, didn't care about dying, but rather the aftermath. Blinking back tears, she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I love you," she whispered softly, resting her head on his chest, listening to his last breaths. "To infinity and beyond." He finished for her. Little did they know, those would be his last words.

She jolts awake, gasping for air, the memory still a fresh wound. Covered in a cold sweat, tears fall freely down her face. Standing on jittery legs, she makes her way to the bathroom and splashes water on her face. Grabbing her pills off of the counter, she unscrews the cap and downs two without a gulp of water. She's sick of waking up like this; the constant nightmares are driving her insane.

She'd been having this nightmare even before her father was diagnosed, which was just a few months ago. She used to think that they were because of separation anxiety; after all, he was all she had left. Slowly, though, the nightmare became more vivid. She just wants it to stop; experiencing it more than once is like setting ashes ablaze. Ever since the first night, she hasn't gotten a wink of peaceful sleep.

Realizing she still has a couple hours before she has to leave for school, she decides to go to the local café. Despite the early morning, the café is open twenty-four hours. Grabbing her bag and her coat, she rushes out the door.

Ten minutes later, she's seated with a mug of steaming hot French vanilla in front of her. She takes an envelope out of her bag and stares at it. Inside is the last letter she has from her late father. He told her to read it after the funeral, even though it was a week and a half ago, she can't bring herself to do so.

The smell of coffee and vanilla lingered in the air. This café was like a second home to her, she had been coming here ever since the diagnosis, three months ago. She was now good friends with the owner; Mrs. Winters. She was a sweet and motherly old lady that reminded her of her father.

Her dad always said that old people, although they may not show it, love teenagers because they saw themselves in them. He would laugh and say "It's like looking into a mirror that makes you look younger." Her dad would've really liked Mrs. Winters. They both had similar personalities; enthusiastic and optimistic. She and Mrs. Winters would spend hours on end discussing books that they were currently reading, just like she used to do with her dad.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt a tear land on her arm. She quickly wiped her eyes for any traces of tears. She has been crying a lot lately, which is understandable, under the circumstances. "I want you to grieve, but not for too long."  Her father's voice rang in her ears. She wondered what was considered 'too long'. Sighing, she finished her drink while reading the newspaper.

With one hour to spare before school started, she headed home. She had been living on her own for a while, so she was now used to the responsibility. Slipping into the house, she headed straight towards the shower. The hot water soothed her tense muscles, letting her relax momentarily. Even those twenty minutes were good enough to get her ready for the day ahead.

After finishing her daily bathroom routine, she left the house. Walking to school, she put her brave face on; she couldn't show how weak she really was. The number of sympathetic looks that she had been getting lately was really getting on her nerves. She hated being the center of attention.

Arriving at school five minutes before the bell, she headed straight to class. First period was her favourite; English. Not only did she love the course, but she also loved the teacher, in the most platonic way possible. "Miss Hale." Her teacher said, acknowledging her presence. She nodded and took her seat, waiting for the day to be over.

When she got home that afternoon, all she wanted to do was to sleep. She was afraid that she would have another nightmare, but she didn’t really care anymore. The second she laid her head on her pillow though, she was transported elsewhere.

The rain pitter-pattered on the street as the lights flickered above his head as he ran through the cold, tears streamed down his face. Running onto the bus, he paid the fares and headed to the back. Running a hand through his damp hair he sighed. Wiping the tears with his sleeves, he got off the bus. He made his way across the intersection, not paying any attention to the blaring car horns. He didn’t realize there was a car coming towards him until he felt the impact. He landed on the cold tarmac, head first. Then, everything went black.