Page 18 of Living with Death

“Fine. I want to live. I’ll share my second chance at life with you.”

He nods and lifts his hand again.

“Wait,” I say.

He drops his hand, looking slightly, if not wholly, annoyed. Great, I’ve annoyed Death.

“What if you grow tired of me?”

“I won’t.”

I feel my brow furrow, and I lift my shoulder. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Six

My body protests when I move, and my mouth is like the Sahara. I try to muster up some saliva and swallow.

My eyes search the room, but everything is blurry. Where are my glasses? I can make out boring white walls, a window letting too much light in, and an empty chair beside the bed. I blink, trying to recall last night’s activities.

It was raining.

I’d left Cook’s.

I’d gotten the pork chop.

The door opens.

“You’re awake. “A figure walks over and pours me a cup of water. From the voice, I know who it is.

I narrow my eyes. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“No, darling. It wasn’t.”

I reach out when I notice him trying to hand me the cup. I died and would still be dead if I hadn’t chosen to let this ridiculously gorgeous creature live with me.

I take the water, putting the cup to my lips, eyeballing him as he sits beside the bed, placing an ankle over his knee. “How are you feeling?”

I sit up, wincing. “All right.”

“All right,” he repeats.

I take a sip of the water and swallow. “Do you know where my glasses are?”

“Broken.”

“Shit, I can’t see great without them.”

“I know. Your contacts are beside you.”

“You got my contacts?”

“Yes.” He knows I’m blind. He went to my house and found my contacts. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I reach over, moving my hand around until they land on them. I need a mirror.

“In front of you.”

I look down, seeing the blur of a hand mirror in my lap.

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