The dim light from the stain glass windows begin to sluggishly escape. The cathedral turns into a haunted get away from home. The old wooden floors begin to creek. Shrieks and moans escape from the ghosts in the antique building.
Braydon comes through the doors again. You could tell he was restless. Hammocks were hung under his dark eyes and it was obvious his thin shirt wasn't doing a great job keeping him warm. He walks with an uneven pace towards you.
"Hey. I'm really sorry, I re-really am," he starts, exhausted.
You, still in pain, shuddering from the cold, respond steady, but slow.
"You couldn't... have known... I was there. It's... Okay."
"Your really cold, I looked around the cathedral and all the cabinets I found were locked, but I found a medicine box," he starts, then takes out a small bottle from inside his jean pocket, "here."
"What is it?"
"Motrin I think. It may not help much, but at least it will help a little."
You reach out for the pills, "Thanks," you manage. Then you take the pills, try to open the bottle, but fail. Shrugging.
"Here," he leans out and takes the bottle and opens it then hands it back to you.
And you inching with pain, grab the bottle and pour the pills in your hand. You don't care how many to take, you just want the pain go away. To escape your body. To die, like you failed to do hours ago.
Then you swallow.
Now your dead.
44 seconds later, your alive again. Cardiac arrest. CPR. Braydon's in your face, staring, hoping, scared. You or Braydon don't say a word. He went from scared to relief once you opened your eyes. He saved your life. When you didn't want to be saved, he saved you. Again.
Silence followed. You stare into an ocean of blue and brown. Your so close to him you could count every spec in his eyes. Then he leans in more...
