Moonlight

21

"Leah." He whispers quietly, disturbing the silence. I look at him; his eyes shut, body still, lips slightly parted. I move to the edge of my seat, my eyes whelping with warm tears.

He slowly moves his hand to his chest. His fingers drag against the sheet and across his skin. His fingers slowly curl together, gently touching his palm.

His eyes slowly open, his green orbs shine through the slits of his eyelids. He looks over at me and smiles.

"Calm down, Leah. If you keep worrying," he takes a shaky breath, then adds, "your heart will beat out of your chest."

He slightly laughs. I politely smile and take a deep breath, holding back the tears forming in my eyes.

It's so good to be able to hear his voice, see him like himself again. His chest rises and falls, with each breath, he slightly winces.

"Let me heal it." I pipe after watching his third aching breath. He shakes his head and close his eyes for a moment.

"I don't want you to heal it." He replies. I smile, just like him to refuse my help.

"Want and need are two different things." I reply. He rolls his eyes.

I reach over with a shaky hand. I gently place my hand on top of his bandage. I keep my eye on his face, making sure I'm not hurting him.

"Don't act like I'm porcelain, Leah." He replies softly. I take a deep breath, then watch as the small red lines run up my arms.

"Did you think I wasn't going to make it?" He asks.

I move my hand from his chest. The room becomes quiet for a moment. I begin to think about when he was shot. I turn my head for one moment, and he's shot. Down on the ground, dying.

I look at him and shake my head, sparing him any pain. I couldn't form any words.

"It's okay, Leah." He replies. I nod and lick my dry lips.

"How is everyone else? Did they make it?" He asks. I shrug. The only person I know that is alive, is Garrison.

"I'm gonna head out, I'll let Cameron visit you. I will come back later, I will bring a fresh outfit for you." I inform.

"Why is Cameron here?" He asks. I raise a brow and reply,

"He brought you in, don't you remember?"

"No, the last thing I remember is when I was shot, the rest is a blur." He replies.

He tugs on his oxygen tube that's wrapped around his face. His fingers fumble to fix the tube, it becomes tangled. I glance at chart, I glance at the doctors messy handwriting.

"Jack Wilson, oxygen dependent until he is released from hospital. Blood type A."

"Can you please help me?" He asks in defeat. He looks into my eyes. I nod and stand beside the bed. I reach over to undo the tube.

My fingers fumble to untangle the tubes, his face becomes pale.

I place the tubes under his nose for a minute. His face goes back to its normal tan color. He takes a shaky breath.