Losing You

The Story

"Dying must be a delicate passage, a sweet slipping away to rest. There are people who commit suicide by jumping out of the window of the fourth floor or swallowing bleach or even hanging themselves! That's senseless! Obscene, even. What is the point of dying if not to 'not' suffer? I've devoted great care to planning how I'll exit the scene: every month for the last year I've been pilfering a sleeping pill from..."*

You pinched a corner of the page of the novel you were reading, a French work translated into English. You were prepared to turn it, but not able to do so before Sam placed his hand over yours. He hadn't reached the last line yet.

"You read so fast," he murmured after taking his hand down from yours.

You continued to hold the book above both of your faces as you laid sprawled on a blanket in the middle of a field. It was actually more of a grassy patch outside of the bunker, but for now it was your dreamy picnic date, complete with a dollar store cooler and sandwich supplies. Sam had splurged on some wine, though.

"You read so slow. Here, you hold it while you finish the page." You pushed the book over his face and he went to grasp it, but you timed the release wrong, letting the book go before he had a hold on it. It smacked him square on the nose.

You shot up, throwing your hands over him, letting them hover. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"

Sam picked the book off his face, letting it close as he sat up and placed it beside him. He rubbed the tip of his nose. "It's fine. You didn't have to drop it on me just to prove a point, though."

"I wasn't-" But you stopped as you saw the smirk you knew all too well spread across Sam's face, eventually lighting up every feature, bringing out the dimples and the twinkling eyes.

"I do have to ask," he began, changing the subject, "why you picked that book for our reading date. It's already such a heavy read. What twelve year old feels that dissatisfied with life?"

You shrugged, looking off into the distance at the forest behind the bunker. "I don't know, it just seemed like a good read. I think the girl's going to change her mind eventually. You've got to admit, it's pretty compelling so far."

"Agreed. Although..." Sam rolled over until he was close enough to cup one hand behind your head and use the other to guide you gently down by your shoulder, with no protest from you at his touch, until you were flat on your back looking up at the man who was now lying over you. "I find your lips much more compelling at the moment."

Giggling, you watched his eyes as they carefully roamed over your entire face while he descended closer to you until your lips met. You closed your eyes and focused only on that sensation, the moving of your mouths together and your fingers grasping at his soft shirt, and the warmth of your love hovering over you.

When you opened your eyes, the scenery had changed drastically. There was no warm glow of the setting sun, no wind through the grass, no blanket to lie on. You were standing in the middle of a dark living room, cold and disassociated, until Sam's faint voice hummed louder and louder against your eardrums. That's what had caused you to open your eyes, hearing him call your name. That, and his fingers gliding from the top of your head down the side and through your hair, gently but with pressure. When it all came together, the sounds and the feel of his fingers, he was bending in front of you, eye-to-eye, his lips moving with the shape of your name and calming reassurances.

It had been the spirit of that young girl that did this to you, the one you were hunting. You had been expecting an older woman, but the child's appearance rendered you unable to move or respond to Sam. It's why he was standing in front of you now, having stalled the spirit with iron, trying to coax you back to reality. That's right. The ghost was gone for now. Your hand floated up to grab Sam's forearm.