Never Too Late

I Can't...

Briggan had been here since Mastace left, only getting up to relieve himself once and grab a small paring knife he'd kept in the bathroom. He couldn't take himself anymore. He was broken. He was unhappy, and incapable of changing anything around him. He was no one. If he faded away, then no one would notice that he'd gone.

He sat back on his bed and just stared at the wall across from him. He didn't know how long he'd been like this, but it didn't bother him. He just toyed with the knife in his hands the entire time, careful not to make any cuts unless he fully intended to cut. It started as just absentmindedly tapping the flat of the blade against his leg but as he began to recall the moments before Mastace left, he felt a tug on his chest. Briggan suddenly found it a little more difficult to breathe, and his eyes welled up quickly. Before he knew it, he was sobbing in full as he made shallow incisions in his wrist. His fur gradually became more and more stained red with the blood that seeped out of the lacerations. Only one wrist was getting the treatment this time, something that wasn't very common in Briggan's 'ritual'. Normally, he would've kept track so he could inflict evenly.

Not this time. This time, he was too far engrossed in his anguish to think of much else other than the agony he was now experiencing. Hours went by, the sun was starting to go down and his sobbing was reduced to an occasional whimper and frequent sniffling. He now switched arms. The other was numb and used to the affliction, whereas the new one was fresh. He gently made slits in his wrist, away from known veins. He had no idea why he did this, and he no longer questioned it. He simply let the time pass. He thought he had the feeling that he was under someone's surveillance, but he dismissed the notion as soon as it came to him. He was alone. He was always alone.

As he was about to make another incision, the door busted open. Briggan jolted up, startled. He saw Mastace hurrying to the bed. Mastace wrenched the knife from Briggan's hand and tossed it aside. Before Briggan's mind could register what had just happened, Mastace wrapped him in a tight hug. A few moments passed, and his brain caught up.

"M-Mastace?"

"Please. Please promise me you'll stop this. Stop this for good, Briggan. Promise me."

"What's happening?"

"Promise me you won't hurt yourself anymore, Briggan. I can't lose you, too. I won't..."

"You won't lose me..."

"Then promise me." Mastace insisted.

"Alright. I promise. I promise I won't cut anymore."

"Good. I just can't lose someone else tonight, or ever. I refuse..."

"What do you-"

Before Briggan could finish his question, Mastace began to weep. Mastace wept without any regard to how he sounded or looked. Briggan only held him where he was and allowed Mastace to relieve all the pressure. Mastace only repeated once the phrase "I can't..." before succumbing to the tremors of his own uncontrolled wailing.

Briggan was just shocked. He had no idea what brought this on, but he was going to be there. He was going to be there for the one fur that had made every effort to go out of his way to be there for him no matter what.

"Mastace..." he said with much heartache in his soul.