Timeless |

11. June 10th, 1940

  Just to clarify: It was a Monday morning, the first day of the week and a new month that Beaumont felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. He hadn't felt that shiver in over two weeks but this morning he woke up with a shaky start.

He gasps and pants for breath as if he was being suffocated by the monsters in his dream themselves. however, that proved to fade into a memory as he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes.

However, the next thing he knows he is rushing out of bed and running straight into the bathroom. He hears his father call out to him but his vision becomes all fuzzy that he collapses near the toilet and felt a bile of sick coke yo his throat.

"-ont?"

Beaumonts dreaming or maybe it's a nightmare because honestly, he feels like shit.

"-eumont!"

He's floating in a pit of darkness, the death and chaos below him like a fire licking at his feet. But something is tugging him upwards, towards the light. He doesn't know which way to go. His mind is hazy, lost in a haze as he wanders around this ocean of darkness.

"-Beaumont? Beaumont!"

Beaumont feels himself flinch away from the shouting and comes back into it when his head crashes against the soft comforter of his bed beneath him. His fathers shouting for him rings in his head so he bites his tongue, clasping a hand over his eyes when the pain bounces like a pinball.

"Beaumont?" The voice sounds worried. There's a hand on his arm, gently nudging.

Beaumont sucks in a sharp breath, "Yeah, yeah. I'm awake." He whimpers slightly, wrapping his arm around his stomach.

He lifts his head carefully and meets eyes exactly like his. Eyes that widen quickly at his appear-ance. Beaumont wants to be offended but holds it back when he felt a slight rush of dizziness flash before him.

"Fuck, son." Johnathan says painfully at the sight of his son. He hates when his son gets into these situations, especially when his heart is on the line.

Beaumont winces, "What?"

When he tilts his head back, he finds his answer, in the form of something warm dripping down his mouth and falling off of his chin. He swipes his hand across his face and blanks. He must've hit his nose when he collapsed in the bathroom as his hands are a deep, dark red.

"Oh." Beaumont had thought the fatigue was from a concussion. "Fuck."

"Why didn't you tell me you ran out of tablets." Johnathan stated narrowly, cradling his sons head.

"I thought it would be okay to miss a few days before we go back for a check up." Beaumont wheezed out, coughing up a lung. He suddenly frowns, tilts his head back and tugs at the shirt which is sticking to his back. "It's hot."

"I know, I know, take some deep breaths. I've called the doctor already." His father rasps out,
bringing a cold cloth up to his sons forehead, cleaning away sweat and blood.

"I'm sorry." Beaumont whimpers.

"It's okay. I've got you."

If only people knew how bad Beaumont was, he hides his pain with sarcasm and back handed comments but he continues to live. He doesn't stop this eruption from impacting his life to live. If he worries too much about death and his health, then he won't be able to live properly.

He has been fine for a while, it's just when he gets of his medication that his heart does a quick jump on him. He feels a slightly tinge of his heart, his stomach bounding with pain as he rolls on to his side and fluid comes up. His head hangs tiredly on his pillow, staring across from his room to the photograph of his mother and him when he was younger.