A Thousand Storms

11 afraid

Song: Delicate — Taylor Swift

A/N: ISN'T IT?

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*

"Oh, shit," Mason muttered.

Almost instantly, he was at my side. I leaned further into his firm hold as he helped me up, sitting me on a chair.

The taste of bile at the back of my throat was repulsive, and I gagged again.

In a flash, Mason pulled out a bucket in front of me and brought a water bottle to my lips. I took greedy mouthfuls of it, before spitting it out into the bucket, along with that horrid taste.

Quiet as death, he kneeled in front of me, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at my face softly.

I blinked into his dark brown eyes.

Fear.

I saw it, and he didn't bother hiding it this time. My blood chilled.

"You okay?" he asked with lethal calm.

I nodded.

He exploded.

"Fucking hell, Ever!" he yelled. "Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't do it?"

"I-I...don't know," I faltered, "I thought I could."

"You haven't run much, recently, have you?"

I shook my head no. I was too busy, and more so, too lazy to voluntarily go running. Or do any form of exercise, for that matter. I knew it would catch up with me sooner or later.

"I'm fine," I said, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

"That's enough for today," he said, his features hard. "I'm taking you home."

"But—"

He gave me a look that made me shut my mouth. Then, he found a rag lying over one of the toolboxes at the side, crouched down on his haunches, and began cleaning up my mess.

I cringed.

Standing slowly, I said, "Mason—don't. I'll clean it."

He turned and raised a brow. "Sit," he growled, "and don't move around too much."

I blinked, sitting back down. It hurt and mortified me to watch him have to clean up my mess. Again, I thought as I remembered the car accident. It wasn't fair to him.

"Did you even eat anything?" he asked. "You only vomited out acid and water."

I flinched slightly at the casual way he inspected my literal vomit. He was so...clinical about it.

"Of course I ate," I lied. I was starving.

Mason narrowed his eyes with disbelief. "Ate what?"

I didn't meet his eye. "An apple."

He whistled through his teeth. "An apple? That's it?"

"I didn't wanna be late, okay?" I mumbled.

He clenched his jaw, opening up his phone. He typed something in it, tucked it back into his back pocket, and returned his gaze to me.

Within minutes, Logan burst into the garage, his hands filled to the brim with bottles of some energy drink.

One look at me and he delved into a fit.

"Oh Lord Jesus," he barked, "what the fuck did you do to the girl, Mason? I told you not to do anything stupid, pinche culero!"