A Fading Memory

"Need anything?" Josh asked, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. He yawned, before leaning down to kiss my cheek. I shook my head to my best ability, with the plastic board strapped to my head to keep my neck in place. "Alright. I'll be back in a second, going to get a coffee."

It wasn't just the board that restricted me. Going into my forehead was a clear plastic tube, that apparently reduced the swelling in my brain. The swelling had caused so much damage: bleeding, amnesia, migraines. My skull had been fractured, that only needed antibiotics because it's supposed to heal itself, it can just get infected. My pelvis was being held together by pins and bits of metal while I waited for surgery. Inside, my body was ripped and wrecked, held together by shoddy stitches that would be replaced in due time. Worst of all, I'd never walk again.

The dull pain that had taken over my body was all I could feel or remember. I lost all my anger towards Chris, all my love for Josh. I felt nothing but pain. I wanted to look at Josh and feel the crazy butterflies again. I lay on the hospital bed, just praying for it all to end, when Stella came in with a stranger. She looked a wreck, her face red and puffy.

"Sean, this is Dr. Stone. He's a psychologist. We've been having talks and now he wants to talk to you." She explained, rolling her sleeves up. The old doctor sat in Josh's chair and smiled sympathetically.

"Sean, your sister's told me a lot about you. Tell me about Christian." He instructed, clear authority in his voice. He sounded genuinely interested. I was quite taken aback.

"He's my friend." It was only a half lie. Chris was my lover, tormentor and enemy. He was the most beautiful person I'd ever laid eyes on. He made me feel amazing.

The doctor nodded and took notes. His blue eyes were filled with kindness and understanding, making me trust him. "What was your very first encounter with him? I mean, when did you first learn of his existence?" He asked.

I thought hard, back to the first day in the new house. I remembered Jay playing on his bed, the Rise Against posters on the wall, the photo under the pillow. "I found a part of his photo dairy on my bed." I croaked. He fumbled with his papers and pulled out a photo of a handsome young boy with fluffy ginger hair and bruises on his face.

"This photo?" He asked. His eyes sparked. I attempted a nod in disbelief. "This is Christian Monroe? What happened next? When did you learn his name?"

"When I found the newspaper clipping." I replied.

The doctor paused and clicked his tongue a few times. His eyes darted around the room, his lips mouthing words he was planning on saying. From my position, I couldn't make out the words. "Sean, do you believe in ghosts?" He asked finally, after a long, tense pause.

"I didn't until I met Chris." I replied truthfully. My voice was becoming weaker as all my energy was channelled into waiting for the purpose of his visit. Why did he want to know about Chris? Did he know him? He was an old man, the remnants of his hair were white.

"So if you didn't know Christian had died, you wouldn’t believe he was real, correct?" He asked. I tried to nod, my neck aching.

The doctor looked back at Stella, who was in tears. Josh was stood by her side, looking equally troubled. He sighed, his understanding eyes clouding with sympathy. "Sean, you can argue that Christian was a ghost if you believe that, but," he paused, looking for words. "Christian isn't real. He was before, but you said yourself you wouldn't believe in ghosts if it weren't for him."

I stared at the doctor, dumbfounded. Chris was real, Chris was a ghost that befriended me. "What I mean is, you started to see Christian once you knew he was feeling your pain, right? What we believe happened was, you created a friend who understood how lonely and upset you were after the death of your parents." He explained.

Every sensation Chris ever gave me came flooding back to my mind, rolling away as tears. Everytime he kissed me, touched me, whispered those comforting words through my month long coma. Every one of those cheeky smiles and heart warming English giggles, they were so real. I remembered the way his touch could bring warmth to my freezing skin, the way he moaned in ecstasy on the cliff. It was so real, he was real. There was no breath in his lungs, but he was real, and he was perfection. All the anger he built inside me was replaced by love.

"I'm sorry Sean." The doctor said, standing to leave the room. A tear slipped from my eye as Chris’ words began to make sense. 'You made me up to hurt yourself.' He was warning me.

Stella and Dr. Stone left the room, leaving Josh staring at me. Cautiously, he approached me as though I was some crazy, out of control loon. "You... he... Christian...?" He was lost for words, shocked and scared. "Christian?!? You fucking whore!" He screamed, tears streaming from his eyes. "I knew I'd heard that name before. You slag! I obviously wasn't enough for you then!"

I wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to tell him how sorry I was. But Chris, real or imaginary felt my pain. I was too weak to argue with Josh, my head was pounding and my eyes could barely hold themselves open. Josh turned and stormed from the ward, leaving me alone with my pain and my loneliness.

Hours passed and I slowly began to accept the doctor's theory. Nurses came and went but made no effort to comfort me. All I really wanted was Christian. I wanted him to sit with me and comfort me, like he did in the blackness. The doctor's theory made sense. I had control over him. He could read my thoughts and he knew everything about me. He was always there when I was most alone.

Stella came back after a while, her eyes still red and tired. She smiled sadly and sat by my side. "You should sleep now. You look exhausted, boy." She chuckled. I groaned and tried to wiggle, my body aching. "Do you believe him? I mean, do you believe Christian’s a ghost?" She asked.

I didn't answer. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "It's okay, Sean. It's always darkest before the dawn." She kissed my forehead softly and stroked my greasy fringe from face. "Maybe you'll never see him again and it'll all be okay."