An Undead Boy

The walk to Danielle's house is uneventful, which is one thing that I will never take for granted again. It's kind of nice, knowing that nothing will jump out and surprise us, or not having to worry about anything else for once. It's just me and Danielle, acting like how teenagers should and talking about things that don't revolve around me being dead or her being alive. We are just two kids, pretending that we are the world, even if it is just for today.

"Favourite song?" Danielle asks gleefully, trying to balance a stick in the middle of her palm as we walk.

"I don't really have a favourite song. Yeah, there are songs I love more than others but there's too many to count."

She spins around, walking backwards on the path, the stick falling from her hand. She's shaking her head at me in mock disappointment.

"That is such a cop out, Charlie. Come on, you have to choose one. Any song at all. I'm giving you the entire music industry to pick from - it doesn't even have to be a song you like. Just say a song and quit with the generic answers."

I cluck my tongue, thinking hard. I don't want to offer her a song that I have no emotional attachment to. I want her to learn more about me, to know about the Charlie who isn't just a walking corpse. I want her to know that I'm more than just skin and bones; I have memories and expectations and I screw up just as much as any other person my age does. When it comes to Danielle, I can't lie - I can't even exaggerate the truth.

"Okay, here's something. My mum has this huge collection of records, we have a wardrobe in our house just full of vinyl. When I was younger, she used to haul out all these boxes of albums from her youth and blow off any cobwebs or dust and just spend a whole day playing them - she didn't even do it on special occasions, they were totally random days - and all you could hear, in every room, was some lame eighties singer croon about love or something." I explain, breaking off for a second to reminisce.

"And one day, I came downstairs when my mum was in the living room and she had the volume turned up as loud as it could go. I think it was Depeche Mode and it was so weird seeing her because she was singing into the remote controller and had no clue I was in the doorway, watching her. At the time, I never really thought about it except that it was hilarious to see my mum acting like she was a rock star. But later on, it just hit home that she wasn't just my mum, she was her own person. She was somebody's daughter, she had her own life completely separate from mine. She'd had best friends - vanished off the face of the earth - people she didn't talk to anymore because of reasons that I'll never know or...or boyfriends, all of whom she thought was the one but they turned out to just be misjudged feelings or something. Seeing her in the living room, singing into that controller, it was like seeing her at sixteen or seventeen or whenever that record was out and hearing that song makes me remember all over again, it's just so clear in my mind."

I stop, taking a breath that I don't need, and look over at Danielle to gauge her reaction.

"Wow. That certainly wasn't a generic answer..." she finally says, beaming at me and nudging my arm with hers.

"Your turn. What's your favourite film?"

Danielle is quick with her reply, as if she already knew what I was going to say and had it mentally prepared in her mind.

"You know the film 'Rebecca'? With Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine? There's this part where they're in the car, driving around Monte Carlo and it's all very romantic and Joan Fontaine's character says this really cool thing: 'If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like a scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.' I mean, how amazing is that? Just the whole concept of it is so beautiful. I wish people really said stuff like that."

I laugh, splashing through a puddle in the road. The water cascades into my shoe and my sock drinks it up, squelching beneath my toes as I walk.

"How come? Seems kind of long winded to me. Why not be straight-forward? Why not say exactly how you feel, without all the words. 'This is amazing, I feel alive, let's do this forever.'"

Danielle rolls her eyes at me as we approach her house; it is still as charming as it was at Christmas but the sight of it invokes an unnecessary feeling of dread inside me, the habit of hiding away from people as strong as ever despite the fact I am trying to overcome this.

Danielle is oblivious to my inner battle with my conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to sail head-first into the closest bush, whilst the other wants to storm staunchly through her front door and straight into the house.

"I know who to turn to if I want a moment to be to the point and unromantic then." she snorts. "It's a dying skill, Charlie. To be so emotive with your words, in a way that makes people really feel, instead of a quick text saying 'Hey, love - this is rad'. Ugh. What happened to communicating?"

I pause the internal argument with myself - a figurative half-time whistle - long enough to reply.

"You know, I don't think it really matters what you say, more like how you say it. If you have enough conviction, you don't need all those pretty words to affect people."

We're at her door now and she's turning the key in the lock. For now, the braver side of me seems to be winning out - at least, I haven't decided to run for the hills yet.

"Here we are. After you - " Danielle says, gesturing for me to go in. I manage to catch a glimpse of wooden beams and the sunny decor before she skirts around me to climb the stairs, beckoning me to follow.

She redirects my attention back to our conversation as we reach the landing.

"I guess you have a point, about the whole saying it like you mean it thing."

We stop by a door; Danielle's name engraved on a small wooden plaque is pinned up on it.

"You should know. It's how I feel when you talk to me." I tell her, pleased at the blush that is spreading across her cheeks.

"Really? You honestly think that about me?" she's keeping her tone light and nonchalant but I can tell that there's an earnestness deep beneath it all.

"Really."

She looks thrilled and I barely register her door swinging open before us.

"My room." she announces, leading the way in.

When I walk in, I let out a hoarse laugh. It's bright. The walls of her room are painted in the most brilliant yellow I've ever seen, like she's captured the sun and has decided to carve her room inside of it. Everything is floral and sparkling and luminous. There are stacks and stacks of books, in a multitude of colours and sizes, piled up alongside her bed, table and cupboard. You can't get away from them. And she has about a gazillion dreamcatchers hung around her room.

"Wow." I mouth, catching her eye and pointing at the dreamcatchers. "Have enough of them? Or have you acquired every single one available in the United Kingdom?"

"Funny. It's a hobby. My mum bought me my first one when I was four because I had this recurring nightmare about a giant coming to eat me - "

I make an undignified sound in the back of my throat and Danielle shoots me an unimpressed glare but keeps talking, looking a little ruffled.

" - and ever since, I've been collecting them and yes, it's kind of got out of hand. But I like them. So there." She sticks her tongue out at me and my eyebrows shoot up.

"Real mature, Danielle. Better keep an eye out for those giants though..." I tease, cackling when she hurls a sole sock at me.

Something - another mass of colour - draws my attention.

"What's that?" I say, peering around her at the heap of envelopes on the side of her dressing table. There's a rainbow variety of them and recognition sparks up in me.

"Nothing - " Danielle gasps, trying to block my view but I swerve past her and snatch up the envelopes. They're all open and inside, the cards are addressed to her. It looks like it's her birthday today; she is sixteen years old now.

I hold up fistfuls of the cards and silently offer them to her. She takes hold, tugging them with effort from my tight grip. I watch as she hastily shoves them under the pillows on her bed and when she turns back to me, her face is as white as a sheet.

"I - I don't know what to tell you, Charlie." she murmurs, looking abashed.

"It's your birthday. Why didn't you tell me?"

It's all I want to know. Why would she want to keep her birthday from me? I thought we were friends and that's something friends usually know, isn't it?

Her face is flooded with colour now, going from one extreme to the next as she promptly starts to talk, stuttering over the words.

"I just - I thought it wasn't important. My birthday is so...so insignificant compared to everything else going on. I didn't want to bring it up and I didn't know if, well - if me being older than you would be an issue..." she trails off pathetically, appearing twice as awkward as I feel.

I'm shaking my head and I rub the back of my neck self-consciously. Suddenly - being here in her room - it all seems too much. I take a step away from her, numbly heading for the door, but she wraps her thin fingers around my arm and pulls me back with surprising strength.

"Please don't leave. Please."

When I show no signs of moving, Danielle steers me over to her bed and I let her. The small pressure of her hand pushes down on my shoulder and I allow myself to drop onto the mattress, sinking low into the sheets. My body slants a little when Danielle cautiously lowers herself onto the bed beside me.

"Are you mad?" I think she may be wondering out loud because her voice is almost inaudible, a minuscule squeak in her otherwise silent room.

I stare at my knees, remembering the events of the last several months and the momentous changes that I've had to endure. I think about September, about my abandoned birthday, and I think that this is what bothers me the most.

"You should never consider your birthday to be meaningless." I say swiftly. "I never got to become sixteen. Here I am, forever fifteen."

"Oh Gosh - Charlie! I'm so sorry, I never realised - " she frets, her hand over her mouth.

I wave it off, not wanting this to spoil our day. "Quit apologising, Danielle. It's all you ever seem to do around me. You have nothing to be sorry for. Happy birthday."

Her fingers lace through mine and we both gaze down at our interlocked hands, like we can't believe it's happening.

"I mean it, though." she says softly but I don't know if she's talking about her apologies or her holding my hand.

I've gravitated towards her and, in response, she's leaning into me. Our faces are so close that my eyes could be crossing over but I don't care. If I had known where this day was going to end, would I have even come here?

The beat of a heart stuns me before I realise that it's Danielle's. It's pumping so fast and hard beneath her rib cage that I can feel it hum against my chest and I acutely note the absence of my own. This triggers something calamitous in me; a heartbreaking epiphany.

"We can't do this." My forehead tilts down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds; I'm being selfish, I know I am. I just want to feel that familiar warmth of hers on me before I inevitably hurt her. It's all over my face - warming my cheeks, exuding from her onto me - I could almost mistake it for blushing if I were less rational, less aware of myself.

"It's fine, my parents are out. They're not going to burst into my room any time soon, they won't even know you've been here." she breathes, her eyes darting back and forth between my own.

"No, really - we can't do this." I pull away. It's a lot harder to do than I thought it would be, especially seeing as I'm the one instigating it. The cold rushes back at me from all directions as the heat seeps out, my body reclaiming its natural iciness. I can't stand to see Danielle's face; I fall back onto her bed and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to lock out the world while I'm at it.

When she speaks up, her voice isn't quivering or faltering as I expect it to be - quite the opposite. In her voice, I hear the ferocity she had that day in the library when she told me to stop despairing over the future.

"And why not? Why can't we? This isn't just about you, Charlie."

I open my eyes and look at her. She's right, this isn't just about me. It never was and it never will be. Danielle has been altered by our friendship just as much I have and this is exactly the reason why I'm doing what I am - for her own good. For her, not me.

"We shouldn't - we can't - do this because you're right, it's not all about me. You think I enjoy doing this? You think I don't care that I can't...can't even kiss you without knowing the repercussions? Because I know. This - " I flap a hand between us, despising the distance. " - this will not end well."

The energy behind her eyes dwindles away until I'm left staring at someone hopelessly lost. I force myself to keep looking at her because I deserve every last bit of misery I can get.

"I'm not going to get any older, Danielle. We can't be in - " I suck in a breath, unable to say it. To say that we can't be in love. " - you need to have your own shot at life."

"But I - but we - " she whimpers, tears springing up in her eyes.

No. This is where I draw the line; I'm not heartless. I seize her and we tumble back into the sheets together, drifting alone in an ocean of our own failings and her vibrant-as-the-sun bedroom. We're not big, we're not clever and we certainly should never have fooled ourselves into thinking this relationship would be a good idea.

Danielle is curled into me, her face buried in my chest and her tears dampening my shirt. I grip the back of her blazer, bunching it up in my hands, gulping at the air with unsettling wheezes.

"I'm sorry." I say, over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I guess we are a couple of normal teenagers after all: desperately and wretchedly in love.