The idea hit him like a freight train. He began to feel sick to his stomach, and his entire body became clammy. Oh, God... How did this happen?
Mastace had the bedroom, hallway and dining room much better off by the time he heard the water turn off. "Damn, I'm way too good at this. I've had way too much practice." He chuckled to himself.
Everything seemed way too quiet and Mastace was only now paying attention to this. It made him very uncomfortable. The pit of his stomach was telling him something was just around the corner, and it was hardly ever wrong. Sure enough, his instincts proved right. A crashing sound came from the bathroom, and Mastace hurried to find out what had happened.
Briggan clung on to the vanity while he did his best to stand up. He'd collapsed again. Mastace reached out to help Briggan to his feet, but Briggan waved his hand dismissively. "No," he said, "I'm fine."
"Briggan, this is the second time this has happened. Please, just see a doctor about this."
"I slipped on the wet floor. I hardly think that's something to go crying to a doctor about."
Mastace sighed. "I worry about you. I've worried about you from the moment we met, and ... I just can't seem to stop worrying."
"Why? Why are you so worried? I don't get it. I don't understand."
For the first time since they met, the confident light left Mastace and was replaced by an aura that marked him to be just as frightened as he was. His words gave the same feeling. "You know? Sometimes, neither do I."
YOU ARE READING
Never Too Late
General FictionBriggan wasn't somebody that wanted friends. He'd been alone for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn't mind it if he stayed that way for the rest of his days. Or, at least, he would've... had someone not began meddling in his life. Now, ever...
