World's Apart

        Her brain thumped inside her skull. Did anyone get the number of that truck? It was like she had been run over and then they backed up and ran over her again. Rubbing her eyes weakly, she groaned. Slowly becoming aware of her surroundings as a door opened out of her line of sight.         "Morning, beautiful."         Confused she moved her head towards a deep voice.  A pair of bright blue eyes, surrounded by long, dark lashes, smiled down on her. Her whole body and soul hummed in response. Suddenly her muscles relaxed and she found herself smiling back. He was sexy. Tall and slender with broad shoulders, messy dark hair. She suddenly wanted to see if his hair was as soft as it looked.          A fine dark dusting of scruff covered his jaw, she could just make out a dimple peeking through just past the corner of his, sexy crooked grin.               "Morning." She grimaced at the rough sound of her voice.                He set the breakfast tray on the table beside the bed. She tried pushing herself up but her arms were too weak to support her.                "Let me help you, love." Gripping her gently under her arms he pulled her to a sitting position, draping her limp body across his arm, before adjusting a pillow behind her. He then placed the tray over her legs once she was settled.                 Her arms felt like lead weights. "What's wrong with me?"                 "Don't you remember? You've been sick."                 "I don't remember much of anything it seems." Her fuzzy brain searched for even the most basic information. Who was he? He seemed to care for her but there was nothing familiar about him. How long had she been sick? This didn't seem real. But for the life of her she couldn't remember anything before waking up in this strange room.                  "It's alright." Leaning over he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "What's wrong, baby?"                 "I'm sorry, I don't remember you."                 Sitting on the edge of the bed he took her hand in his. The contact sent warmth radiating up her arm as his long, slender fingers stroked her hand.                 "I'm the man who loves you."                 "That's very sweet but doesn't cure my confusion." She chuckled softly. "What's your name?" she asked quietly. Her throat threatened to close and the rhythmic stroking of his fingers muddied her thoughts even more.                 "Scott." He continued tracing circles on her hand, electricity shooting up her arm. "Don't worry, you're still recovering. You've been out if it for a couple of days now."                 "I feel like roadkill."She sighed ruefully. Reaching weakly for the fork, she looked over the trays of food. Bright yellow scrambled eggs framed by two pieces of bacon and two sausage links. A glass of orange juice and a single red rose complimented the presentation. She tried scooping some eggs onto the tines of the fork but her fingers wouldn't cooperate.                 "Here, let me help." Scott took the fork from her traitorous fingers and scooped the eggs for her.                 "I'm not a child."                 "That we can both agree on." She was beginning to love that crooked smile of his. " However, you're too weak to feed yourself right now. Open up." He moved the fork to her closed lips and reluctantly she parted them. "That's my girl." He chuckled.                 She smiled. Feeling foolish even as warmth crept through her insides. This man loved her, that was obvious. How had they met? How had she gotten so lucky? She knew she must have loved him as well. How could she not?                 Her eyelids drooped and her limbs dragged her down, heavier than before. She felt like something was pulling her under. Like she was drowning in a sea of cotton. She'd probably only eaten a couple of bites but she couldn't manage anymore.                 "I'm...I'm sorry. I can't eat anymore."                  "You have to eat to get your strength back. So you can stay with me. Doc, will have my hide if you don't eat."                 "I can hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe later?" Her words slurred and her head drooped.                  "Of course, my heart." She heard the clank of the fork, and felt the tray move. He placed his hands on her hips and effortlessly pulled her hips forward to ease her back down. Leaning over he placed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Love you, Boo."                 Smiling shyly, darkness enveloped her.                                                                                 *                     "Scott?" Where was he? A strange beeping invaded her consciousness, interrupting her confusion. The hum of the machines rumbled rumbled through her ears.                     "Who's Scott?" Asked a quiet voice nearby. Cool fingers gripped her wrist and she opened her eyes. Cool, detached gray eyes, surrounded by wire rimmed glasses, met hers. The nurse's brown hair was pulled into a severe bun.                    "I...I'm not sure." Slowly looking around, she processed the detached nurse taking her vitals. and the various machines surrounding her. Her reality slowly coming back to her. What happened? The only thing that seemed real were his blue eyes, smiling down on her. "He was just here."                 "You haven't had any visitors since you arrived. You must have been dreaming."                 "It felt so real." A sharp stabbing sensation in her chest confirmed the nurses statement. "You must be right."                 "I'm sorry. The best, and worst, dreams feel the most real." The nurse checked her IV and monitors. "How are you feeling?"                 "Like someone died." She whispered, tears burning her eyes. It had all seemed so real. Where had he come from? Had her addled brain conjured him out of the ether? Would she ever see him again?                   "Must have been quite a dream." Replied the nurse before pulling the door quietly behind her.                  Yes, it had definitely been quite a dream. She thought, as she let one hot, wet tear trickle down her cheek. She turned away from the door letting her heartbreak and disappointment flow into the pillowcase.                  The sterile hospital room had been her home away from home for so long that they allowed her to use her own bedding instead of the standard hospital issue. The staff were careful to avoid saying what she feared, that any day could be her last. So they keep her comfortable. She was alone in the world, with nobody but the hospital staff to even notice when she was gone. Why did she keep fighting? What was she fighting for? Her brain kept failing her. Her memory, her motor skills, everything was working against her.