Title : A short stay in Switzerland (the title doesn't belong to me. It belongs to a BBC show that I didn't watch. But the name was inspired :):)

Synposis: The last weeks of a girl about to die.

Length:- This story is going to have six/seven chapters.

Inconsistencies: I'm not a doctor so there may be a few medical inconsistencies. This is purely a work of fiction. No characters depicted in this story are based on real people.

Rated : T

When I wake up, there's a deep pain in my stomach. I panic, thinking it's my bowels but when I glance down, I find it to be Jack.

For a while, I watch him. Using my stomach as his pillow. His hot hands splayed on my hips. It's like his skin had been welded to mine by boiling superglue.

But I stroke his hair anyway, sweeping back the strands that has fallen to his forehead. I trace his eyebrows with a finger and marvel at how boyishly handsome he looks.

I feel happy that he chose my stomach to fall asleep on, and not a girl down the corridor. For the first time I examine the room we're in and come to conclude it's a hotel bedroom.

A French hotel bedroom if considering the hearty moans of, "Oh, Oui, OUI," from next door.

I glance at the clock and determine it's been ten hours since I was last injected. I could already feel the craving within me starting to flare up.

Switzerland, I think with panic. We have to get there fast!

But trying to shake Jack awake is another story. He groans and snuggles into my tummy even further. His fingers unconsciously stroking the bare skin from where my shirt had ridden up.

He places an electric kiss right on my hip-bone that sends a chorus of angels singing in my veins. It was then I started to think that maybe he was awake after all.

"Jack," I whisper, tugging loosely at his hair.

I get no response.

"Typical," I sigh and start to ease myself from his crushing weight. I do it slowly, so slowly, that by the time I'm standing by the bed, Jack had started to drool into the bedsheets.

I grin at the lovable image and then frown when I think I may never be able to see it again. Turning away, I try to hold back my sadness.

When I exit the shower, tucking the towel tightly around my body, the last thing I expect is to be confronted by Jack.

He stands by the bed, glaring at me from afar.

"What were you doing?" he bites out, his right eyebrow twitching. Another endearment I usually failed to notice.

"Taking a shower," I say, rolling my eyes and start my quest to find clean clothes.

"Why?" he says, sounding more pissed off by the second. I stare up at him, eyes wide at the malevolent creature who has replaced my husband.

"Why do you think?" I splutter. "We need to be in another country by nightfall!" Finally I locate a pair of violet panties and I start sliding them on, under the towel.

Jack watches all this with barely suppressed fury. "Another country?" he says quietly-- almost murderously.

"Yeah," I say as I spot my denim mini-skirt halfway across the room. "Why, what were you planning? To keep me locked up in this room and fuck me raw?!"

I'm laughing while I say it, but then stop when I realise he's not laughing with me.

"Oh god, You're serious," I blink, paling rapidly. I almost trip over my open suitcase when he takes a predatory step towards me.

"Why not?" he growls. "We haven't fucked in six months now. What would one more do to hurt?" Jack laughs bitterly. An earlier echo of my own but this time it sounds evil.

"Come on Cassie,...For old times sake." He mockingly cajoles as he takes another step. I feel like crying. Sex was the last thing I felt like right now.

"Jack! Stop!" I shrilly cry as he steps even closer. I reach out blindly behind me and pull out a chair in front of me. Another barrier that would helpfully stall him.

The rocking frenzy of the couple next door has gone oddly silent. I can't even hear a bed post creak. The odd glimmer in Jack's eyes is almost maniacal.

The Jack I knew would never hurt anyone, let alone his own wife, so why did I get the feeling that this Jack wouldn't give a shit?

"Jack!" I say. "It's me! Cassie! Just please...Think of me as your Cassie...Do you...Do you remember? That time we first met? You said my eyes were the closest to think to wank- material you had? And...And remember..I was so repulsed....but then I realised you were just kidding...And we..we hit it off like oil and sparks...And then that other time..."

The memories are getting harder to come by now. A blank fog descending upon my brain. I can barely remember his name now...except it started with the letter J...

He stops, listening to my every word with a pained expression. "You remember that?" he asks incredulously and I nod furiously, although I didn't know what I was "remembering."

He sits down heavily on the bed and starts to cry. Silent tears that start to flow down his cheeks. I don't know what to do. Go up to him and hug him? But I didn't even know his name!

Gulping, I decide his distress is more important than me not knowing his name. So I warily make my way to his side and timidly take hold of his hand.

The tears keep falling down. I start inspecting his hands and come to decide they are nice hands. With short clean fingernails and healthy nailbeds.

My eyes go wide when I see the ring around his fourth finger. "Are you married?" I blurt out and then come to notice, what I'm wearing. I'm topless with just a mini-skirt and panties on.

I look at him and realise he's just in his pants. Then I look at the bed and with horror, see it's rumpled as if somebody (plural) had spent the night writhing around in it.

Oh my god. I hyperventilate. I'm having an affair with a married man.

Suddenly Jack faces me and I cross my arms over my breasts. Trying to hide them. His eyes flick down to my arms before flying up to catch my own.

"I'VE SEEN THEM BEFORE!" he yells so abruptly that I jump back, startled. "What?" I say stupidly before staring deep into his anguished eyes.

"I've seen them before..." he says again. But this time quietly and something in his eyes make me want to trust him. I lower my arms and am pleased when he continues staring at my face.

Or more likely-- my lips.

He looks away as if ashamed and starts to get up. Reaching down to grab the towel I'd dropped before.

His back is to me, and I start to notice how good-looking he is. His spine coiling downwards through his taut flesh.

When he speaks again I come out of my daydream with a start.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you," he says quietly. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry."

And with this ambiguous statement, he strolls out of the room towards the en-suite bathroom.

Thanks to : UnluckyXStar

So, what do you think? It's not too far from the end now....and I think all of you know what's gonna happen :(

Reviews, PLEASE! :)