This is a little piece from my wip: Through Time and Space. I started the novel but ended up in the middle to begin writing. So, this is a section from the middle:
I don’t answer and I can tell that he knows. He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “You scared me kiddo. Don’t do that ever again.”
“Sorry dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’ll let you get some rest okay?”
“Okay.” Though I know I’m not going to rest in this stuffy, stale hospital room. Not with Lawson on my mind and emptiness enveloping me. I stare out the window to the trees and remember his scent, his voice, and his icy blue eyes. Everything about him seemed so perfect.
My phone vibrates on the wooden table across the room. I drag myself out of bed, head and calf throbbing, and pick it up. The screen reads, “Lawson.” I close my eyes, take a deep breath, swallow my tears, and walk back to the bed without answering. I just can’t do it, I can’t bring myself to talk to him. The pain is already bad enough and I can’t bear to hear any more of his stories.
Out of the window I see the first sign of winter, snowflakes that slowly fall to the ground. They almost hang in the air, like little decorations, falling slowly. My tears fall the same.
I lay staring at the ceiling for hours before I finally drift off again.
“Remi.” His sweet laughter fills the air. “Remi, where are you?” I run as fast as my feet will take me, through the crackling leaves and snapping twigs beneath them. “I will find you.” I giggle as I make my way to the edge of the cliff. I’ve run out of places to go. Before I can think, he sweeps me up into his arms, his soft eyes studying my face. We are laughing. He spins me around. I throw my head back and enjoy the moment. “Lawson!” I giggle. “Remi!” He says back. “Remi!” “Remi!”
I’m being shaken. “Remi. Remi, honey.” Relishing my dream, I keep my eyes closed. My dad shakes me again. It feels like I’ve only been sleeping for five minutes.
“Hi dad.” I still haven’t opened my eyes. I don’t want to forget the sound of his laugh, the sound of mine.
“It’ll get better, the pain I mean. It’ll go away.”
“I’ve had headaches before. No biggie.”
“I mean your heartache. It’ll go away. Even though sometimes we don’t want it to. I know you really care about him. He’s been trying to call all day.”
I turn to watch the snowflakes that linger outside my window. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”