Shattered

I had a glimpse of the whole living area completely trashed, like a hurricane had blasted through it, but I couldn’t care less. I rushed to the stairs and up to the second floor, to storm into the master bedroom. I froze just past the doorway. My heart, which was about to crack my chest open, suddenly stopped, and everything spun around me.

Because Brandon was lying on his bed, unconscious, a bleeding cut on his forehead that had sprayed blood all over him. Cake was right by his side, lifting his limp legs up to the bed.

“He tripped in the kitchen and hit his head with the isle,” Cake managed to say, panting after carrying Brandon all the way upstairs.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

“Fran! Bring me a wet towel!”

His shout made me snap out of my shock. I dropped my bag on the floor and ran around the bed to the bathroom, where I grabbed the first towel I