Chapter 8. Holiday
Sam leant against the end of the hospital bed, staring desperately at the comatose body of the old man in it. "Come on, Daniel." She pleaded, "They've found Ma'chello, they're bringing him in. You have to wake up." Her heart felt like it was in her throat, choking her.
She moved to his side, taking his wrinkled hand in hers, praying that he could somehow sense her presence. She leaned in close, her eyes burning with the tears she was just barely managing to hold back.
"Daniel." She breathed, "You can't die on me now. Please, I need you." The last part was barely a whisper, and her voice cracked as she spoke it. Her throat was too tight now to force out any more words, so instead she bent over the dying old man and pressed her lips to his; the briefest of touches. Come on, Daniel, she prayed, show me you feel something.
The cloudy-grey eyes cracked open just a slit, and his voice came out in a hoarse groan when he tried to speak. "It's nice to know you don't just like me for my looks." He managed to ground out.
Despite everything, Sam smiled; one lone teardrop escaped from her forceful hold and trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently.
"No, Daniel, I like you for a lot more than just your looks."