Bittersweet

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Twenty minutes later, they arrived at his house. She wanted to help him into the house but he didn't allow her.

As they entered, she felt a strong force, such as she had never felt before, press against her on all sides. It was accompanied by a splitting headache. She prayed steadily, consistently in her head and slowly she felt the headache ebb away.

She sat him down by the kitchen island and grabbed a glass cup from a set and filled it with water from the tap. He took his jacket off-the mere act itself is a struggle for him.

"Where do you keep your drugs, sir?" She inquired.

"Check the top cabinet by your right." She did.

She opened it. Her eyes widened at the truckload of drugs she found.

"W-which one?" She called to him. She hoped whatever it was, it wasn't as bad as her mind was telling her.

"The first two you see." He groaned out in pain. She quickly picked the drugs and checked their names-her eyes widened in shock.

She looked back at him.

'These drugs, they were...'

She shook her head and brought the drugs to him.

His hand trembled as he took them. Her heart sank as she looked at him.

He looked so exhausted and unwell.

She hated seeing people sick. She'd seen first hand what disease could do to a person.

She had watched her mom be ravaged by it.

"Do you need anything else, sir?" She sat beside him by the island.

"No, thank you." He felt weak and it was truly a struggle trying to keep himself from keeling over. He stole a glance at her, his dishevelled hair shielded most of his eyes. He could see the worry blatantly displayed in her eyes. But was it real though?

He wanted to convince himself that it wasn't, that what he saw in her eyes wasn't real, couldn't be real, to silence the turmoil that raged inside of him each time he looked at her...like then.

They were practically strangers and she didn't know anything about him, but he knew everything about her.

He knew where she lived, he also knew she was an orphan and that she had a sister-Emily, a hairstylist, among other things. He was intrigued by her and had wanted to know more about her so he made his own findings.

Sarah looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed. She was still worried but he seemed to be getting better after he'd taken his medication.

Her eyes roamed the kitchen and the living room-everything was cleaned spotless.

The furniture was either white or ash, it was depressing in away. The house was absolutely huge and she couldn't help but wonder if he lived there alone.

"Should I call someone to be with you, a relative or..."

"That won't be necessary." He said indifferently.

"But you're not fully..."

"I'm fine..." He cut her off as she began to protest.

"With all due respect sir, you're not fine." She didn't know where the courage came from but she didn't stop.

"You're clearly not well and you can't stay alone in this house. What if something happens again and you're alone with no one to help you?" Her brows furrowed in frustration at the fact that he didn't want to seek proper help. 'Who does that?'