The Last Flight Chapter 13 - Sex Stories

The Last Flight Chapter 13

... her wheelchair gently backwards and our hands slipped apart. One last smile and she was gone. After lunch my Dad came back. He appeared with Françoise and they were chatting away in French. He stayed for the rest of the afternoon and we talked together like we had never talked before. After a couple of hours he suddenly said “Matron Blanchard told me about your dreams.” “She told you about...?” I was astounded! She told him what I had dreamed about her and me? How could she? “Oh, no, not about the content, just that you were suffering nightmares.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “She thought I could help you. That was why I drank so much, shutting out the memories and the dreams.” I didn't answer straight away. I couldn't tell him about my dreams. He wouldn't understand. Maybe about the fire and the dead people but... no, I couldn't. “I know what you are going through, Sweetheart, probably better than anyone...” “I can't,” I whispered, “Not yet.” He looked at me through sad eyes. “Don't leave it too long, Love. The Matron says you need help. You will get so tired that it will become unbearable.” I understood that. I was so very tired already and I gazed a him for while, seeing the worry etched in his face. “They said I am going home tomorrow. Will you come with me?” “I can't return to England, Karen. I am listed as dead there and they may think I deserted.” I frowned. “Did you? Desert I mean.” He shook his head. “No. What I told you was the honest truth but the farmer and his ...

... wife have both passed on so there is no-one left to verify my story.” There was a brief silence, then, “You do believe me don't you?” I smiled and nodded. “Yes,” I said at last, “I do. I can see the change in you. That does not happen for nothing.” “I will come to the airport with you, if would like me too,” he offered, “See you onto the plane?” “Yes, Dad,” I replied, “I would like you to.” The night came and went much as it had every other night since the crash. I tried to stay awake as long as possible but fatigue got the better of me and the nightmares recurred unabated. More dead faces, more flames, more panic and fear but, this time, no voices. No-one calling me this way or that. The following morning Doctor Harlow came to see me before his shift ended. “Hey Kiddo!” he greeted me with his usual cheery grin. “I believe you are going home today?” “Yes,” I replied. “I am flying back this afternoon.” “I'm gonna miss you,” he said. “I will check up on you, see how you get on.” “I will miss you too, Doc. Thank you for taking care of me.” I tried to be cheerful but I was scared. I was going back home and leaving behind these people who had looked after me and been so kind to me. In the few days I had been in the hospital I had grown so close to them. “Will you promise me something?” He asked. “If I can...” “Remember you are strong. Remember how you were before. I know you will get through this but, most of all, don't keep it inside. Let the doctors in England help you. Promise?” ...