morag macdougal thinks you're ugly. (sasunnach) wrote in unforgivenrpg, @ 2010-10-04 20:36:00 |
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"He's really not that horrible, darling. Needs a bit of polishing, but it could be worse. I could have been stuck with the male counterpart of Bulstrode." Morag was speaking quietly, her voice a murmur in the dim, quiet room. The only light came from a small lantern on the bedside table. It bathed the hospital room in a pale light, but it shone gold on Tavish's face. He looked peaceful laying there, but unnatural at the same time. Morag tried not to think about that as she leaned on his mattress, one hand clutching his and the other softly touching his hair. If anyone who knew her walked into the room right now, they wouldn't believe it was the same person. Cold, distant Morag MacDougal who had friends only because they made her look good, who really cared about no one but herself, in a state of total vulnerability, breaking all her rules about hospitals, talking to an unconscious person. They would probably tell her it was pointless to do so, but she had read somewhere (couldn't remember where, exactly) that people who had awoken from comas remembered hearing the voices of loved ones and that it helped them through their ordeal. So Morag was there, telling her best friend -- the only person in the world she actually, truly cared for -- about her new fiance. It had been a difficult couple of weeks for her. Morag had never really been sad for people she had known that had died. Oh, sure, she was great at pretending to be sad, but inside she really didn't care either way. This, though, had hit her like a Bludger at full speed. She had been caught so unaware by the influx of actual fear that it was almost debilitating. Morag visited just about every day, early. She hadn't seen any of their mutual friends, but she was sure they came at other times. Today, though, Morag had been delayed with the newness of cohabitation, making sure Kevin was settled and not trying to kill himself by running about in his state. Really, if Kevin hurt himself worse, at least she'd be rid of him. But she didn't want to be held responsible for the loss of a fiance. The small clock on the nightstand read 9:30. "I should really be going, love," she said, standing up from her chair but not yet letting go of her friend. "I'll be back again tomorrow. I miss you. And you need to wake up soon. For me." With a sad smile, she bent over and gently kissed Tavish's forehead. Behind her she heard the soft creak of a door opening. |