Ghost in the Mirror

He...He saw me.

For the first time since I died, someone has seen me.

And I'm not sure how to react. Happy? Shocked? Confused? All of those seem mixed together at the moment, my head is a mess.

I'm sat in the far corner of my room, my knees pulled into my chest and head resting against the wall. My head is working on over-drive, my thoughts clouding my vision and emotions radiating off me.

He saw me in the mirror, but when he spun around he looked straight through me. He could only see my reflection...a ghost in the mirror.

I bang my head against the wall in frustration, why did I feel the need to look at his ass? I've lasted over 10 years, so why the fuck now?

I'm too deep into my thoughts to notice the sounds of footsteps getting closer. In fact I don't even notice until the door is pushed open gently. My head snaps up as the light turns on and I frown as Richard and Chris walk into the room slowly.

"So what exactly are we doing in here again?" Chris asks while wandering around the room.

"Trying to find out something about the old home owners." Richard answers, making me tense up and clench my fists together.

"Why?"

"It's for History class?" Richard lies quite obviously, but Chris doesn't seem to care as he stares out of the window.

"Let's get started then." Chris spins and smiles, I stand up and watch them from where I'm stood. Because my room hasn't changed since I died, still the shelves, desk and bed are still in the same place.

"Also look for dodgy floorboards, that's where we found the diary." Richard tells him, I look at them both frantically, hoping that Linda calls them down or one of the other boys comes to get them.

I try to calm myself.

Why am I so worried? Because they'll find something that affects their opinions on me? Because I'm scared that what they find will bring up old memories? Because I don't want them to freak out and leave? Because I don't want to be lonely?

As my brain comes up with these ideas, I get more panicky and nervous, my breathing becomes heavier and ragged. I wish my stupid anxiety disorder had died along with my body, but it seems that I don't deserve it.

My eyes flicker to the desk, where my old best friend sits. Forgotten about after all these years, probably rusted and blunt. Useless to me now.

I flinch lightly when some small memories flood into my thoughts, I try blocking them out again but it's too late.

I sink to the floor, my knees too weak to hold me up any longer.
Feet stop in front of the desk, and I whimper lightly. Please don't open it. Please don't open it.

Please. Don't. Open. It.

But as I'm not a master in mind control, Chris opens it.

Fuck.