Chapter 2: Unraveling Threads 2

Harley's breath came in ragged gasps as she burst through the sliding doors of the emergency room, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The sterile white lights of the hospital corridor seemed to flicker in time with her mounting dread.

Desperate eyes searched until they found the huddled shapes of medical personnel, a chaotic ballet around a still figure on the gurney.

"Please," Harley choked out, her voice barely rising above the cacophony of life-saving efforts. "That's my sister."

No one looked up; their focus was laser-sharp, hands moving with practiced urgency. Harley's gaze settled on the chest compressions being administered to her sister, each push a silent plea for a miracle.

"Come on," she whispered under her breath, willing for her sister to fight and come back to her.

But the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor edged towards a flatline, a relentless countdown to the unthinkable.

"Charging to 300," someone called out, and a defibrillator charged with a whine that set Harley's teeth on edge.

"Clear!" The body on the table jerked with the shock, but the stubborn line on the monitor refused to waver. "Again!" The word was a command, filled with equal parts hope and desperation.

"Clear!"

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. The nurses started packing up the instruments, Harley's hands twisted the hems of her shirt, knuckles whitening, as a numbing cold seeped into her bones.

The silence was so loud that she could hear herself screaming in her head. She could literally see herself lose everything she ever valued in her life.

"Time of death," a voice said, breaking the stillness, "17:42."

Nurses covered Harley's sister with white sheets and ignored Harley as though she was invisible in their mist.

Harley's world crumbled. No. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not when everything else was falling apart. She felt a scream clawing its way up her throat but swallowed it down.

Her legs gave way, and she stumbled backward, a nurse catching her with a steadying hand. "Miss, please," the nurse began, her words gentle, but Harley didn't hear her.

She was running now, away from the finality in that room, away from the truth that lay beneath a white sheet. The corridors blurred past her, walls echoing with the ghost of flatlines and fading hope.

"Harley," she heard her own name, a distant echo, but she couldn't stop. The exit loomed ahead, a gateway to a reality she wasn't ready to face.

The cool evening air hit her as she pushed through the doors, a stark contrast to the stifling grief inside. She stood there, panting, the city sounds a muffled symphony around her. New York went about its business, indifferent to her loss.

Her sister, her confidant, her friend, gone. The anchor in Harley's thunderous sea had been severed, and she was adrift, alone. There were no tears; there was only a hollow emptiness where her heart used to be.

"God, why?" she breathed out to the uncaring sky, a whisper lost amidst the chaos of the city. With nowhere left to run, Harley Williams sank to her knees on the cold pavement, shattered, her spirit breaking with the dying light of day.

Much later, after several hours which felt like years to Harley, she decided to start the process for the burial of her sister.

After a long reflection of how better her life is, the doctor had to appeal by informing her that she can’t take her sister's body without payment of her accumulated hospital bill.

Harley, already exhausted, decided to go home first to check her bank balance. Without high hopes or expectations she sees that the total money plus her savings as far as half of the hospital bills coupled with money that her father owed loan sharks.

On the verge of giving up, she decided to have a drink. She picks up a can of beer, the last in her fridge sips it and sobs herself to sleep.

Dreams her meant to be an escape from the dreadful reality, and a hurtful experience of daily living, but for Harley, dreams are always her nightmare.

Not the ordinary kind of nightmare, but a traumatic kind of nightmare based somewhat based on her life experiences.

While sleeping, her nightmare start where she came back from her part time job, and saw the lifeless body of her parents and her sister struggling to live.

She wakes up all sweaty and scared, that one memory flashes back. Tears rolled down her cheeks, wondering why everybody died and left her all alone. . “What do I do now?“ Harley questioned her entire existence.

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The morning sun filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a subdued glow on the cluttered living room where Harley sat, an untouched cup of coffee growing cold in her hands.

The drone of the city outside felt distant, muffled by the walls that seemed to close in on her with each passing second.

A knock at the door roused her from the numbness, and she managed to stand, her movements sluggish, as if wading through molasses. Anastasia's face appeared in the door viewer.

Anastasia; Harley's best friend, etched with worry. "Harley, how are you holding up?" Anastasia's voice was gentle, a soothing balm to the raw edges of Harley's grief.

She tried to form words, but stuck in her throat. She shrugged instead, the gesture a feeble attempt at communication. Anastasia stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

She didn't wait for an invitation before wrapping Harley in a tight embrace. For a moment, Harley allowed herself to lean into the warmth of her friend, a single tear escaping down her cheek.

"Listen, I know this might not be the best time, but I heard about a job opening at a bar nearby," Anastasia said as she pulled back, studying Harley's face for any sign of life.

A job. The word echoed in Harley's mind, jolting her with a faint spark of something akin to hope, or was it desperation?

"Yeah?" Harley managed to utter, her voice hoarse.

"Thought you could use the distraction... maybe get back on your feet?" Anastasia's eyes held a mix of encouragement and concern.

Harley nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. "Thank you, Ana," she whispered, her gratitude mingling with the pain that clung to her like a second skin.

"Of course. I'll go with you, if you want. Help you get set up," Anastasia offered, brushing a strand of blonde hair from Harley's face.

"Maybe..." Harley's gaze drifted to the window, watching the hustle of New York beyond the glass. The city didn't stop for anyone's heartache.

"Think about it, okay? No pressure." Anastasia's hand rested on Harley's shoulder, grounding her.

Harley took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders but also the stirrings of a newfound resolve. Anastasia was right; she couldn't stay frozen in this moment forever.

And maybe, just maybe, stepping outside the confines of this apartment was the first step toward reclaiming her life. "Okay," Harley finally said, stronger now.

"I'll think about it.” Thoughts clouded her mind, the uncertainty of the so-called bright future seems even more dark and gloomy.

Will Harley be able to get back on her feet? Will she be able to conquer her fears?