*The Next Afternoon*
Brian woke up to a steady beeping next to him. He knew what was happening.
~FLASHBACK~
You lie in bed, waiting for someone to come and visit you. You haven't seen anyone you know in days. All you want is a familiar face. But you can't find one. A nurse walks into your room and hooks you up to a machine. It beeps out your pulse. You hear the doctor talking outside your room. Your family is crying. You wonder what you did to hurt them so....
~END FLASHBACK~
But it wasn't him. The Lysha girl was in a bed next to him. Hooked up to the machine.
Lysha didn't wake up for three days. When she did, Brian was silently staring out his window, dressed in a paper robe (note: shaddup. My fan-tah-say here.) and was pale as anything.
"Brian?" Lysha whispered. "Are you OK?"
Brian just sat there, staring. Lysha then noticed that his suitcase was open. And full of pills. Prescribed. Being a doctor, she had to do something.
"Brian. Brian, look at me. BRIAN!" she yelled.
He slowly turned around to show the black bags under his eyes and that his eyes had lightened and were dull. He looked like the Night of the Living Dead. "What?" he growled.
Lysha was psyched out. She had never knew that this Brian could be so harsh. He didn't remember that she could be equally as harsh as well.
Brian's condition grew worse with every passing day. Lysha knew. She kept track of it. His heart rate would be too slow. Then all of a sudden, as if he had had a nightmare, it sped up and wouldn't slow down to normal, but drop drastically below the rate it was before. She couldn't stand it anymore.
"Brian Thomas Littrell," she hollered. He raised his head cautiously. She continued. "Take your medication because if you don't, mankind will mourn the loss of a talented musical artist, and I guarantee that even angels will grieve your death."