Touch
by Belladonna

I was never afraid to touch him.

We've touched quite often, a friendly pat on the shoulder, a gentle touch on the back or an affectionate one on my arm and sometimes it was the only thing that kept me sane during tough cases and all the other rough times we've been through together.
People used to comment about our touching, saying it wasn't natural somehow but I never really gave a damn about that.

And now I can't touch him. If I touch him, everything will be real.

The shooting, the pain, the anguish I've felt when all I could do was only watch him. First when he fell down as the bullets tore through him, when he lay there bleeding on the concrete and then as he was lying on the hospital bed, pale as death and breathing only because of a machine.

And all I could do was sit there, silently watching him and wait, wait for something to happen. I wasn't allowed to touch him there at first and then when they finally said I could, for the first time in my life I was afraid to just do that.

I was afraid to touch him.

I'm afraid that if I touch him, it'll all turn out to only have been a wishful dream and he'll be gone. I'm afraid that the moment my fingertips touch his skin, everything will become real and I fear what I'm going to do then. How I am going to deal with it.

I can't touch him. I'm afraid of what will happen when I do.

I'd rather enjoy him in this illusion for a while longer than waking up to a possible harsh and cold reality of a life without him.