Ghost of Mine

Look

I'll never leave him. I'll stay here as long as these bricks will keep me. But should I show myself to him?

I once showed myself to a lady who had only lived here for a month. She wanted to renovate the entire house. I couldn't allow that. It's my house! Well, it never truly became mine, but since I've been here longer than my parents or grandparents or anyone else, I think I'm allowed to take ownership of it.

I showed myself to her once. She moved out that same night. She didn't have many things to run with.

Once a couple lived here. An elderly couple. I actually liked them. They were sweet, nice and quiet, without being too quiet. I allowed them to live here peacefully. I only messed with them a little and played tricks with the woman's things. She told me to stop. I really liked her.

Sadly, she died at a young age. Only 53. The man moved out and the house stayed empty – with the exception of me – for years before a drunk moved in. He must've inherited a lot of money and bought the first house he saw. All he did was drink; until he died from it.

That's why I don't want Gerard to drink. I don't want him to die like that. I don't want him to die at all.

I should show myself to him. He wanted me out of his head, so I should let me into his eyes instead and then leave him alone.

I walk over to him. He's sitting in the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His hair is tangled in his fingers. It looks uncombed as always. My mother would hate him. I love him.

I stop and stare at his black locks and his pale fingers.

I love him.

I close my eyes and focus on the real world. I focus on the world as it used to be, not as it is now. I remember how this room used to be; how my mom would sit with her friends and chatter all day; how my dad would read his newspaper with a pipe hanging from his mouth; how the servants would scrape and bow for us every time they entered and exited the room.

When I open my eyes, I'm back in the present world. I'm back in our house, decorated and furnished by Gerard.

He's right in front of me. He hasn't seen me yet. I know that he can, if only he'd look up.
I try to reach out and touch him, but I only go right through his delicate arm. I try to speak, but stop quickly. My voice has been unused for centuries, but that's not why I stop – I stop because I don't want to scare him.

Slowly, he untangles his hands from his black spider-web hair and looks ahead.

He sees me.

His head shoots up and his eyes fix on me; his wide, wide eyes. I can hear his heart stop, then pick up again at an irregular and high pace. His breath seems reluctant to get out and by the way his lips move, I can tell he's at a loss for words.

I try to smile.

He suddenly regains his breath and his ability to move and flinches back in his seat – away from me – and even though ghosts can't feel pain, my non-beating heart hurts.

“You,” he whispers. I look down. The carpet looks softer, cleaner and brighter from this side. His shoes looks shinier. His pants look just as worn as they do from the other side.

I look up at his face again to see that his lips are in the form of a smile. I look up into his eyes to see them sparkle.

“You showed,” he says, relief being the only feeling in his voice.

I quickly nod and look down again.

“No, ple-” he stops talking abruptly when his hand goes through my chin and my entire face. I glance up through my bangs to see him stare at his hand, as if he was unsure of its existence.

His breath is so heavy.

He looks up at me and I avert my gaze. I hear him breathe slower, but still fast enough to make it sound erotic and sensual. I can tell by his presence, his breath and his heart beat that he's...indescribably amazed and confused.

“Don't hide.”

I'm not. I'm showing myself. That's not hiding. That's...showing myself!

“Look at me.”

I close my eyes as I raise my head. For some reason, I cannot fight his wish. I open my eyes and go weak at the knees, but they don't buckle. They can't do that anymore.

The room goes a bit colder and silent while his breath stops escaping his lips and his heart stops beating. It's only for a second or two, but when you have lived over 3 life times as a dead man, seconds start to feel like hours.

“You're so perfect.” I can hear the insecurity in his voice – as if he suddenly doubts himself – but his exterior reveals nothing. Almost.

He suddenly moves fast. He jumps over to his blank canvas and starts going over all his supplies. He's got everything perfectly lined up as he has had for days now, but he still fusses over each and every brush and pencil. I step up to him and blow the air in the room against his face. I have no air on my own to blow.

He stops. He calms. He looks at me.
♠ ♠ ♠
Today, I will update as many as my active stories as I can.
I think you all know why... =D