Injected

“Rhys? Are you coming?” The voice rang loudly through the house. His mother. In lieu of reply, he came running up the stairs. He knew they were late leaving, and he knew that his mother hated being late. Usually, she was early to everything: meetings, appointments, even the school play that he’d been in years ago. But Rhys wasn’t the same way. He squeezed his feet into his too-small shoes, and tied them up hastily. “Ready,” he puffed, out of breath. His mother opened the door and locked it behind them. Rhys’ father was already in the driver’s seat, setting up his music. That was Rhys’ favourite thing about him: he was always in the mood for some music. He sat behind his mother and slammed the car door shut and his father kicked it into drive, muttering the lyrics to the song under his breath. Rhys turned on his phone and opened up a game, lazily swiping the screen as the small figures moved with his fingers. It didn’t take long for him to become tired; car rides always seemed to do that to him. He clicked his phone off and leaned against the window and watched the trees go by with sleepy eyes until they slid shut. *** He woke up to a sharp stabbing pain in his stomach. Not quite conscious yet, he groaned loudly. His mother looked back at him, not expecting the wave of vomit that came around. He started to shake violently. His throat burned, and his chest throbbed. “Quentin, stop the car! What’s going on?” Her voice was frantic. Rhys vomited again but his father refused to stop. “We need to get him there, they’ll know what to do.” His tone was touched with panic, something that disturbed Rhys. His father’s voice never wavered, not even in the worst of situations. He’d been in the car during the crash all those years ago, and not once had his father fallen apart. And suddenly, Rhys felt as though his chest must be on fire. His mother watched him with wide, wet eyes and her mouth ajar. She pursed her lips and turned back to face the road, his father reaching out to take her fingers between his. She took an audible breath, and Rhys could barely get any oxygen into his lungs. What was happening? Then, the fire flooded his entire body. He screamed and cried for it to stop, pleaded insanely with whoever would listen to make it stop, to douse him in ice water. Still, his parents ignored him. Rhys thrashed around in his seat, ripped through his seatbelt, writhing in agony. Rhys’ world faded into a blinding white.