I groan, scrubbing at my face with both hands. In the discussion about who can and can’t see me, I left out one small but important detail; the supernatural is real, and I don’t mean just my ghost self. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. And what will probably be the most important to Callie, Nephilim; the other beings that can see ghosts, emotional attachments or not.
It’s obvious Callie knows nothing about the supernatural, which means I’m going to have to break the news.Hey, Callie. On top of whatever crap your family dumped on you, they also left out that you’re descended from angels.Yeah, that’s definitely going to go well.
I flop back onto the floor and stare up at the ceiling, the light turning it a pale yellow. One thing for sure, I really like this girl. Some of it might have something to do with the fact that I haven’t talked to anyone outside of my best friends for the past four months, and a beautiful, funny girl they’re not, but I think there’s more to it.
In a way, she makes me forget I’m dead, which is weird since we talked about it quite a lot, but it’s like my ghost status is some odd quirk and not the crippling reality that leaves me unable to interact with the world. Something I forgot when I attempted to sit on the kitchen counter earlier and fell through it.Sigh.If I’m thinking about it, I can kind of hover over things to appear like I’m sitting on them, but as previously stated, Callie distracts me.
The embarrassment was worth it, though, when Callie started laughing so hard tears streamed down her face. Her aunt was so shocked; as the saying goes, you could’ve knocked her down with a feather.
A sad ache clenches where my heart used to be. If I accomplish anything in my remaining time, it’s going to be to make Callie laugh so much that it’ll be as natural as breathing.
My mouth twitches remembering Callie trying to come up with a reason for her peals of laughter; something about how an old classmate had shot spaghetti out his nose during lunch one time. They were having spaghetti for dinner.
Her aunt didn’t seem to get it, probably because it was a lie, but there was clear relief in her gaze hearing the unfettered sound of her niece’s laughter. At least it appears that whatever Callie’s complicated family stuff, her aunt doesn’t have anything to do with it.
Stairs, however, do. A combination of sorrow and anger builds inside of me recalling the open terror that gripped her when she stood at the top of the stairs. Her knuckles were white as one hand clamped down on the banister and the other curled into a fist. Her golden skin paled, and her whole body shook. In that moment, I hated being dead in a more visceral way than normal. I don’t like being dead, but this… was so much more. I hated that I couldn’t reach out and hold her hand. Uncurl her fist and lace her fingers with mine. Or hell, pick her up and carry her downstairs. She’s so small, I’d be surprised if she was more than 115 lbs soaking wet.
I just met this girl, and I’m already imagining what it would be like to hold her. To breathe her in and run my fingers through her hair. Imagining impossible things.
I release a frustrated growl. I really hate being dead. Meet the girl of my dreams, and I’m a freaking ghost. Fate really was a cruel bitch.
Callie opens the door and pads in with bare feet, thankfully interrupting my downward spiral into self-pity. Had that party a while ago, and it sucked. No one came, and I couldn’t eat the cake.
She smirks down at me, as I lean up on my elbows, my legs splayed out on the floor. She’s wearing red flannel pajama bottoms with a matching red, long sleeved shirt. Her streaked blonde hair hangs wet and loose down to the middle of her back. I resist the urge to sigh like a twelve-year-old girl with a crush on a teen pop idol. That would be embarrassing.
She flips off the light, the moonlight shining through the windows more than enough to see by. She walks around my legs, which is nice, since she could technically walk through them without issue. Her actions only reinforce my feelings of real boy status.Crap. There’s that ache again.
Callie pulls back the blanket and sheet on the bed and climbs under them, immediately rolling onto her stomach. She turns her head to face me.
The bed frame is mine... or was mine? …but the mattress and bedding were replaced. All my stuff currently resides at my friend, Nolan’s place, his McMansion having plenty of space to house it.
My great aunt Gertrude inherited the house after my family’s untimely demise. My friends helped her clear out the place and get it ready for renters. I think Aunt Gertie hopes Callie’s aunt puts in an offer to buy the house. She’s a widow and can’t keep up with the place. Now that I’ve met Callie, I hope she does too. I like the idea of Callie making a life here. Of making my old room hers. I’m not ready to think too hard about why I feel this way.
A wry smile tugs at Callie’s full lips, but there’s a tightness in her eyes that worries me.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says after a moment, “but, uh, I don’t think we’ve reached the Edward Cullen stage of our relationship.”
At first, I don’t get it. What does an emo, sparkly vampire have to do with anything? Then it clicks, and I bust up laughing.
“Got it,” I snort. “No creepily standing in the corner watching you sleep.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I nearly groan. Being dead really, really sucks.
“I could, I don’t know, turn on the TV downstairs or something,” she offers. “I’ll tell my aunt I need the noise. This placeisweirdly quiet.”
“No, it’s okay,” I reply, warmed by the thoughtfulness of this girl I only met a few hours ago. “I can creepily stalk one of my friends. Need to talk to them anyway.”
“About me?” she whispers, her brows furrow and her gaze is anxious.
“Yeah.” I get up off the floor, walk over to her, then crouch down so we’re eye level. My fingers tingle with the desire to smooth out the worry lines painted on her face. “Don’t worry, though, okay? You can trust my friends. They’re a little weird…”understatement of the century, “but they’re as solid as they come.”
She snorts. “I think I work better with weird.”
Let’s hope.I offer up a wink and a grin, before whispering, “Goodnight, pretty girl. See you bright and early tomorrow morning in front of the school.” Luckily, there’s only one high school in Twin Cedar Pass.
She giggles, the sweet sound chasing away the tension in her eyes. “Goodnight, Casper.”
I chuckle, and after she closes her eyes, I reach for the anchor that I know is Kaleb. He feels the most unshakable of the bunch, like a mountain or a redwood; not because he’s a better friend, just because that’s the way he is. He’s like our Obi Wan; the more mature one from A New Hope, not the snarky one from the movies that shall not be named.
