A random storyline a friend of mine and I came up with. Hope you enjoy, if you alert / favourite, I'd really appreciate if you also reviewed, or just did anyway :D Thanks.

Disclaimer: Anything you might recognise is not mine. Places / Other people are purely fictional, and if similarities occur, then it is merely coincidental.

Full Summary: Amber Reeve thought her life was perfect; she had a job, a house and a boyfriend whom she adores. But when tragedy strikes and a new bombshell of a doctor appears on the scene, she begins to question was it really all what she thought is was?

Amber's Point Of View.

Darkness, falling, pain.

Over and over, like a video on repeat.

Hurt, loss, confusion.

Running, always seeming to be running.

Where was he? I was searching, in the never ending labyrinth.

And there were men in white gowns, psychotically grinning, with glinting knives.

Faceless, leering, bearing down.

Screaming. My Own? I'm not so sure.

Squeezing, can't breathe, suffocating.

Deeping and deeper, thoughts drowning.

Help me. Save me. Where are you?

I awoke with a start and the duvet wrapped up and over my head.

Sharply sitting up and shoving it off, I took a deep gulp of cool, fresh air.

Only a dream. Or rather a nightmare.

Sweeping my hair out of my eyes, I kicked the tangled sheets from around my legs and glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table.


Sighing I turned to look at the other side of the bed. The cold side, the empty side, the side with the undisturbed pillow.

Standing up, I grabbed the white cotton dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on, tying the waistband in a loose knot.

Stopping at the top of the landing, I gazed out of the large bay window which looked onto the street in front of the house.

The bare trees running down either side of the pavement creaked and waved their arms in the sharp, late November wind.

The full moon hung in the sky, its silvery beams casting down over the city, probably showing it in a better light if you will excuse the pun.

The stairs gently creaked as I stepped down them into the warm living room.

A burnt out fire lay in the grate, small lumps of amber wood still glowing in the darkness.

A single desk lamp pooled light in the far corner and spread looming and threatening shadows over the rest of the room, hiding undiscovered creatures if left to the free imagination.

I slowly padded over to the figure at the desk, who was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and navy blue v-neck jumper, white lab coat slung over the back of his chair.

He was tapping the bottom of a black biro pen on the pile of paper in front of him, before beginning to scribble something down.

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I slipped around to his opposite side, thumb tenderly stroking his neck.

'Mike, honey, you need to get some rest. You've been down here for hours and have been working so hard recently. You're exhausted.'

Focus never straying from the page; he rested his cheek against my stomach, wrapping an arm around my waist, his palm flat upon my lower back.

'I can't. I've got to finish this; I'll be up in half an hour max.'

At the silence, he stopped writing and raised his head to look at me.

With the face that makes my heart flip every single time I see it.

He was gorgeous, and I'm not the only one who thinks that, so it's not a biased opinion. Girls and woman of all ages will stop and stare at him in the street, and some attempt to flirt with him dare I say. If looks could kill, I tell you, I'd be dead countless times over from when I walked through town holding his hand.

His smooth features, golden hair and his eyes. The eyes that were the first thing I fell in love with about him. A deep molten cinnamon brown colour, like melted toffee.

God knows why he's stayed with me all these years; I mean people practically fling themselves at him.

He could have been a model, a film star. But no, he took a 'serious' career. A doctor. Well, a surgeon to be exact, specialising in hematology. And he worked hard as hell at it.

Which was beginning to show. In his lightly purple eyelids, the dark bags under his perfect eyes and the creases of worry across his forehead.

He gave me a small, but tired, smile. 'I promise.' Then returned to his mound of paperwork.

Back upstairs I returned to the still slightly warm covers, the dressing gown back upon its place on the door hook.

Hugging a large pillow, I watched the red digits slowly change.

I'm worried about him so much. He was constantly working; I haven't been able to have a proper and decently lengthed conversation with him in weeks.

Always 'I've got to do this, start that, finish these notes, etc. etc.'

He was never in bed before one, and was up at six or earlier every morning without fail and no complaints.

He skipped meals, claiming that he had already eaten, or that he would later.

Footsteps lightly sounded in the hallway.

2.45 – right on time exactly. He always kept his promises, even though he sometimes took the mickey with their precision.

He went into the bathroom and changed, probably into a pair of pyjama bottoms. Listening to the faint sound of him brushing his teeth, I hugged the pillow even tighter.

He needs a break, a holiday. One where he can sleep for all he's worth and not have to be constantly on the edge.

The door closed with a click and he slid into the bed beside me.

Wrapping his muscular forearms around my waist, he shuffled close, outlining my body with his. He gently kissed the back of my neck.

He knows I can't sleep when he's not here, and if I do, then I always have bad dreams. The same one, every single time.

I rolled over in his arms and placed my head against his bare chest.

'I love you.'

Pulling me closer against his torso, he pressed his lips to the top of my head, nuzzling it, mumbling.

'I love you too. And I always will. That's another promise I make to you tonight.. Or rather this morning.'