Beneath The Orange Sunset ✔️

Seventeen

Old wounds soon bleed

~17~

    'You're getting better each day... Look I brought this book for you. Someday you are going to read it to me. Do you believe that? Maxime... Maxime...'

    'In no time Maxime, do you believe that?'

The voice echoed faintly in Maxime's head. It felt like someone or something was pulling him out of bed, but he couldn't move a muscle. It seemed like he was sinking deeper into darkness and only heard his name echoing from a far.

   'Maxime Lacroix... wake up'

Maxime rose up suddenly, overturning himself by an unknown force, he tumbled out of bed with a crash.

His chest heaved deep breaths. He remained on the tiled floor trying to get a hold of himself in his darkness. Warm sweat gathered around his forehead. He rubbed it off with the back of his right hand.

What was happening to him? He tilted his head to his left to get a base of where he was. He tried to breath but something thick clogged his nose.

He felt more liquid gather up in his throat. He quickly touched his nose. Then he realized, it was happening again.

Maxime couldn't see it, but his nostrils was stained with thick red blood and was still dripping. His shirt was all stained with big red dots and was sticking to his bare chet. He felt goosebumps crawl over his skin as tried to imagine the situation he was in now.

He wondered how long he had been this way. He would have even choked and died in his own blood. He shivered at the thought.

How long had he been asleep? The room was well lit with white florescent light but all he could see was darkness.

His darkness.

He managed to pull his pajama shirt off and hold it over his nose. He felt nauseous and this time the pain was unbearable. 

He groped about the room on his knees till he crawled back to bed and then made his way to the bathroom from there holding onto his stomach which ached seriously.

It was a tussle dragging his weak legs to the bathroom.

As soon as he felt the sink with his palms, he regurgitated thick mucus from his throat mixed with blood. He opened the tap. He placed his left hand on the walled mirror for support. He was losing strength gradually. He splashed water to his face and tried taking deep breaths.

Thick liquid mixed with mucus dripped down from his face and flowed into the sink. What was happening to him? He tried to remember the last thing he did before going to bed, but his memories was foggy. He washed his nose and rinsed his mouth.

He felt goosebumps creep over his arms and back. Then he remembered he was shirtless and had no idea where he'd dropped his shirt.

He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket.

Samuel, it must be him.

What a relief. He fumbled with the phone till he traced the small square screen and punched the green mark receiver button.

    "Hello Maxime..." Samuel spoke immediately from the other end. He was suddenly alert when he only heard muffled breaths.

    "Maxime. Can you hear me?"

    "Help me, Samuel, help me," Maxime finally spoke up. He felt his a little warmth in his heart answering a call for the first time in months.

What was wrong this time? Was he having a stroke? Is his blood pressure high again?