“I’ll talk to you later,” said David. He glanced knowingly at Synch and left the room.
Cindy edged her way closer to the bed.
The searing pain in his rear-end ebbed a little.
“How are you feeling?”
Everyone asks the same question. Must be a highly contagious ‘how are you feeling virus’ going around.
“Getting there,” he answered.
Her eyes sweetly captivated him.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said.
The drugs were having a weird effect on him. He kept hearing the same things over and over.
He vaguely remembered her words when the ambos attended him.
“How so?” he said.
“As I started to tell you my mother’s a wiccan. I rang her from Seymour and asked her to cast a spell of protection over you, us I mean,” Cindy explained.
“Didn’t work for me,” Synch put in.
“She says it did.” Cindy was serious. “She says you would have copped something much worse without the spell.”
“Do you believe in that stuff?” he asked.
“Don’t know. There’s a constant stream of co-incidences in Mum’s life that could be put down to her witch activities.”
Synch thought, ‘Yeah, hogwash.’
“It can’t hurt. She’s a white witch, won’t have anything to do with black magic,” said Cindy.
“Heaven forbid,” said Synch flippantly.
One side of her mouth curved up.
Her hands were on the bed beside him. He reached over and took one in his own.
“Tell her thanks for helping,” he said.
The curve spread to the other side of her mouth, a mouth waiting to be kissed. He saw her look at his own mouth. The tip of her tongue moistened her lower lip, an invitation if ever he saw one. He gently pulled her arm across him, lowering her to him. She smelled of flowers. Her arm was warm across his body. Her lips were so close to his he could almost feel their warmth with his own…
The door slammed back against the wall.
“I’m Doctor Harry Smythe-Jones,” said the tall casually clad man pulling the chart from it’s holder at the foot of the bed. Two nurses followed him at close quarters. “I’d like to look at your wound and must ask the young lady to leave the room.”
“Fine,” Synch mumbled as if he had any say in the matter.
By Diane L Wood
My Bio: http://write-intention.com/Diane_L_Wood.html
A Short Short Story: http://easywaytowrite.19.forumer.com/viewtopic.php?t=9
A Short Short Story: http://ancientearthashortstory.blogspot.com/
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