Rylie was going to be late for work. Last night had been her twenty-first birthday and her only friend had insisted on getting her plastered. That, admittedly, hadn't taken very long. But, boy, did she feel it now. She was a petite thing, barely five feet and four inches, which may have contributed to her abysmal alcohol tolerance. She had short, lank black hair that tickled her sharp jawline, and calm, amber-gold eyes. She was a pale, fragile thing, having prized academics her entire life over athleticism. A rectangular pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her small nose; she needed them for driving, but her vision was otherwise fine. Speaking of which, what the actual hell was that in the road?<br/><br/>She screeched to a stop, just before she hit the unmoving mass in the road. Slightly panicked, she opened her door and stepped out before flattening herself against her car-- she'd almost been hit. Why this had to happen on the freeway during the morning rush, she wasn't sure. Rylie just figured it was more of the same bad luck that had left her in foster care when she was six, saw her bullied through high school, and finally, the same bad luck that had been blocking her path to a career more substantial than a medical clerk/ intern/ whatever the hell she was at the local hospital. She was a brilliant girl, sure, and she liked office work just fine, but a dead-end job was not what she'd signed up for.<br/><br/>Finally assured that she wasn't going to end up pancaked on the asphalt, she ventured to have a look at what had her stopping to begin with.<br/><br/>"Ohhhh, shit. Shit, shit, shit and SHIT why didn't that person stop?!" She fumbled in the pocket of her double breasted coat for her phone and shakily dialed  911 while attempting to get the guy's vitals."<br/><br/>"I DON'T KNOW OKAY?! I can't get his heartbeat-- NO I can't hear his breathing! We're on the frecking freeway! I dunno, early twenties, maybe? No, I don't know what his name-- WHAT?! Of course I didn't hit him-- he was just lying in the road when I saw him, look would you just send the damn ambulance?!" Rylie ended the phone call and shivered a little. Poor circulation meant that she was, nine times of ten, cold. The chilly morning air didn't help either. On a whim, she held the cold, metal back of her phone just a few centimeters above the guy's nose, and watched. If he was breathing, it should fog up...