She opened her eyes to the hum of the machines that surrounded her bed. It took her a second to determine where she was, what she was doing there. A slight movement caused her to look over, and she found him sitting by her side, the warmth of his gaze touching her.
“Hey.’ He said softly. She grimaced.
“I’m still alive.” Even if it was a whisper, he could discern the flat tone. He nodded.
“Yes,” he agreed. She looked away.
“What in hell for?” Frustration evident now.
After a moment’s hesitation, he answered her. “Maybe because too many people will miss you when you go.”
“Wrong answer!” she grunted. He smiled again. Nothing could change that feisty temperament.
“Well, then...,” He spoke slowly, the smile still in his voice. “Maybe they’re not ready for you wherever you’re going. They’re worried. They need more time to prepare.” As he said it, he believed it.
No reaction to his words, but he suspected she was pleased.
“Right answer” she thought as she closed her eyes and slipped back into the drug-induced sleep. He sat watching her, then reached to take her limp hand in his own.
“And if you come back, be the same,” he pleaded. “Don’t change.”
Through the layers of fog, she heard his request, and sent her answer back.
”God forbid.”
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