Talking is Hard

Silence stretches between us. Now that I’m not needed to keep Ash alive, I don’t know what to do with myself. I deliberately unclasp my legs, trying not to be nervous or shy. I ought to say something, anything, but I have no clue what.

“Are you going to dance for me?” Ash’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

I glance at him puzzled as I move to sit cross legged. What gave him that idea?

“Your skirt, the dream,” he lamely explains, just as I figure it out.

He noticed. My heart does a flip flop. I smile shyly. “There isn’t enough room.”

“Not even one twirl?” He sounds like a little kid asking to see one more tick at the magic show.

I take stock of the room. I am half tempted. Not like he hasn’t seen me dance before. But, “I’d knock something over.”

“Please?” I can picture him kneeling and begging, though all he’s doing right now is giving me puppy dog eyes. It makes me giggle. He smiles and laughs. But laughing was a bad idea because it hurts his chest. Without thinking my hand reaches out for his hand. My eyes close and I soothe his pain.

Ash gasps. My eyelids fly open. “S, Sorry,” I stammer. I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. He’s staring at me wide eyed.

“What’d you do? Magic?”

I have no idea. I just, I just did it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is magic. I am half Faerie, right? But I have no clue what that really means yet.

“Morgan?” he jiggles my arm.

I look back towards him with a half smile. “Yeah, Faerie magic.”

“Morgan le Fey?”

I winch involuntarily. I can here the children’s voices taunting me. I pull away, pull back. My knees suddenly drawn up; my arms wrapped around them.

“Morgan? I’m sorry I,” Ash is apologizing.

I force myself to uncurl. “It’s okay.” I manage a half hearted smile for him. His hand is reaching out to me. I take it. It isn’t his fault. There was no way he could have known.

He sighs and grins. “Maybe I should call you Morphine.”

I smile. I must be easing his pain without realizing it. My mom once told me that my hands were like morphine for her back. Thinking of my mom takes away my smile.

“Okay just Morgan then.” He tugs on my arm slightly, which, given my cross-legged position, nearly topples me off the couch.

“Ash!” He lets go so I can catch myself. That jostles the bed, which jostle the IV rack, which causes one of the IV bags to land on Ash’s chest.

I wince at the same time he exclaims, “God damn it!”

I don’t know why, but I giggle as I stand up. He’s trying to sowly pry the bag off his chest. “Let me get it.” I place a hand gently on his chest. The other hand pries the bag off in one quick motion. I grab a tissue and wipe the bag down. It got some of his skin on it, but not enough to re-open anything, thank goodness.


I can feel him watching me as I put the bag back up on the rack. I make good and sure it won’t fall. As my head moves from looking up to looking down my eyes stop at Ash’s face. I am standing right next to his bed. My heart starts pounding. His fingers in twine with mine. I am drawn into his stormy gray eyes. I can barely breathe.


I jump back, startled. There is a nurse in the doorway. Suddenly I’m tired and I stifle a yawn.

“I ought to go to bed.” I mutter. Ash still holds my hand in his own.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” he whispers as the nurse looks over his chart.

I shake my head as I cover another yawn. He lets go of me reluctantly. I’m nearly out the door when he calls out. “Dream of me.”

I look back and smile. I blow him a kiss. Oh god, did I just do that? I run off to my room to flop on my bed. I can’t believe I just did that. Last time I blew kisses I was chasing boys in pre-school.

The End

1,068 comments about this story Feed