Author: Catastrophia PM
Edward's been dead for years, trapped in his former home that was just purchased by Bella Swan, a woman more perceptive than most. Will he scare her away like the others, or will they form an unusual bond between the living and the dead? AU AH… and ghostRated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Romance - Edward & Bella - Words: 7,212 - Reviews: 94 - Favs: 200 - Follows: 50 - Published: 04-07-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7998809
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Tales From The Void Contest
Pen Name: Catastrophia
Word Count: 6,890
Summary: Edward's been dead for years, trapped in his former home that was just purchased by Bella Swan, a woman more perceptive than most. Will he scare her away like the others, or will they form an unusual bond between the living and the dead? AU AH… and ghost
Disclaimer: All things Twilight are Stephenie Meyer's, I just play with her toys.
***** 2nd place winner in the Tales From the Void Contest*****
Seven years, three weeks, six days, fourteen hours, fifty two minutes, and six seconds – the length of time I've been trapped here.
The length of time I've been dead.
And it sucks.
Even now it sounds wrong, foreign.
Killed in my prime by a damn disease; stupid cancer.
Strangely, I don't look like I did when I died, but before it took over and ate me away. Maybe that's my mind's eye, remembering how I used to be.
I always thought when you died you went on to a better place: twenty seven virgins and all that crap. But I'm still here. I don't have any unfinished business, so why haven't the pearly gates opened? Where is the bright light for me to follow? What keeps me locked here in my house?
I can't leave, stuck here. Annoying to watch people move in and out, abusing my home. Bought and sold three times over now, and the newest purchaser is due to move in today. I haven't seen them; I was avoiding my newest possible roommate when they were showing it, hiding up in the attic.
Yes, I say roommate. This is my house as long as I'm still here.
It wouldn't be so bad if I could leave, go see the world, but no. My anger and frustration rise, and I lash out at the only thing left in the house. My hand rakes through the blinds, jostling them. I really wish there was something breakable, because the blinds moving is pathetic.
I roll my eyes, watching as they swing back and forth. Through the small slats I see a moving van parked out front. A small figure moves toward the door and so do I.
I'm angry, and I want to welcome them to my home. I want to scare them, because it's the only thing I have left in my lonely existence.
The handle moves, the door creaking open, and just when I am ready to strike out at the intruder there is a yelp, and suddenly they are on the ground. Long brown hair is sprawled out on the floor at my feet; her toe caught the door jamb and she tripped, falling to the hardwoods below.
I stare down at her curiously as she groans, pulling her body from the ground. Her head tilts up, and I am met with large brown eyes staring up at me. Eyes that lock directly onto mine, and I stumble back in shock.
A voice calls out to her, drawing her attention away from me.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine, fine," she says, turning to reassure them. Her head snaps back to me, a confused look on her face. Her gaze darts around, but this time she doesn't see me anymore.
Did she really see me or did it just seem like it? No one has seen me… not since I was living.
I retreat to the attic, watching from the window as they unload the truck and move everything inside. I tell myself I sit on this perch because I can't stand to see another person move their stuff in, but really it's because I can't shake the feeling she saw me, actually saw me.
She's alone, that much I can tell. Not enough stuff for more than one. After the movers leave I decide to head back down. I want to get a better look at her.
There are boxes everywhere, sitting on the ground, on tables, stacked against the wall. She's in the kitchen, unpacking the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.
She is… beautiful. It's a subtle beauty, not overstated or overdone. Heart shaped face, pale flawless skin, big brown eyes, and plump lips. No makeup, just natural beauty. Her hair is thrown back into a messy bun, loose strands flying every time she moves.
I watch her flit about the kitchen. She knocks into almost everything; the counter, drawers, the boxes at her feet. Her brow scrunches with some, others she doesn't seem to even notice. Can clumsiness be a natural state?
Days pass and I find I'm enamored with her. The whole house is now decorated with her, consumed with her. Books are packed into the shelves; she likes the classics.
Bella. Her name is Bella. Or at least that's what she's called.
The phone hardly rings, and when it does the conversations are short. Some friends are trying to get her to go out on Saturday night, but I can tell from her expression and gestures that it is the last thing she wants to do.
She's a homebody, which suits me. I like her presence… which is a first. I actually dislike it when she's gone for work. I can't take my eyes off her, and sometimes I stand way too close when she is washing dishes. I think she knows she's not alone—she's very perceptive.
Well, perceptive when it comes to the unnatural. The watching for things right in front of her eyes so she doesn't hurt herself? Not so much.
I notice her about to slam her head into the cupboard and shut it for her. Her eyes widen at the movement, and search for the source. She doesn't find me, even though I'm standing less than six inches from her. Another time her shoes are haphazardly thrown about the room, like usual, and she nearly trips on one. I move it out of the way, and she doesn't even notice. It doesn't take much energy, and this way I don't have to see the bruises blossom on her ivory skin.
After a few days of moving a multitude of items out of her path, I kick a pillow she is about to step on away.
She smiles, watching the fluff stuffed cloth topple across the floor. "Thanks. I was about to step on that, wasn't I? Probably end up twisting my ankle."
Most of the time I sit in the chair opposite her when she's curled on the couch, watching her while she reads or works on the daily cryptoquip in the paper. Every day I move closer, little by little, until I am sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She doesn't even notice me. I haven't let her know I'm here yet. Unlike the others, I don't want to scare her.
Unconsciously, my hand reaches out to touch her arm. She shudders, goose bumps pebbling her flesh before she pulls the blanket over her arm. My gaze moves to her face and I'm greeted by her eyes staring at me again. I jump back, knocking her glass off the table, sending it spilling all over the floor.
She curses, jumping up to grab a towel to soak the water up from the hardwood floors. The glass remains intact, and she takes it along with the soaked rag into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," she says softly from the other room. "I didn't mean to startle you."
My brow scrunches; she didn't really see me, did she?
I retreat back to the attic, unable to fathom that the beautiful woman living in my home can actually see me. At the same time I wonder what I did that she was able to do so, and if I could do it again.
She comes home with a box a few days later, the contents dinging as she pulls them out; wind chimes. She hangs them in the window in the living room, by the couch. I stare at them, wondering why she put them inside the house. They sing when I move my hand through them, chiming away, and she smiles.
"Hi," she says, and I realize the wind chimes are for me.
She's accepted my presence and doesn't seem to be afraid in the least bit. Aren't women supposed to get all spooked? Yet every time I move the wind chimes, she smiles.
I can tell she's tired today. She returned home much later than normal and I find I miss her very much when she isn't here. Her eyes seem to be reading the same passage over and over, unable to focus.
She sighs and folds her book up. "You know, staring at a girl when she's trying to read can be a bit unnerving."
I kick her shoe that's sitting on the ground.
She quirks her brow and puts the book down on the table as she sits up straight.
"Are you bored?"
I roll my eyes. Too bad she can't see it.
Of course I'm bored! I'm dead! Stuck in my house for apparently all eternity!
My mood is sour; I know it's because all I want to do is take care of her after a long day, and I can't even fucking touch her. I'm grouchy. A grouchy mother-fucking ghost.
"Well, I'm going to go take a shower," she says, getting up from the couch.
I can only see her profile, but the smirk on her face is noticeable, even at that angle.
Silently—because I'm always fucking silent—I follow her up the stairs. It's like she has some magical pull on me, I always want to be near her. She heads to the adjoining bathroom in the master bedroom, and I slide down the wall just outside the door.
Listening to the sound of the water splashing, hitting her skin, awakens parts of me I thought long gone. I know I should go, give her privacy, but I feel like she invited me up here for some reason. It was that smirk, I know it, but I just don't understand why.
My head snaps up as a low guttural moan cuts through the spraying water, followed by another. They pick up in frequency and volume, crescendoing up an octave. If I could blush, I would. My head slams back into the wall, over and over, as the thoughts of her touching herself fill my mind. Without realizing it I've moved into the bathroom, staring at the figure obstructed by the ripples of the obscure glass of the shower door.
My fingers are itching to touch her, to feel her skin beneath them. Her sensual cries pick up and I can make out her hand moving furiously. I don't even stop myself from moving, though I should. Stepping into the shower I would get wet… if I were alive. Instead the spray falls right through me.
She is the most divine woman I have ever seen in my… existence. Her feminine curves are so alluring, and I want to touch her. The back of my hand runs along the side curve of her breast, but I can't really feel her.
She draws in a shuddering breath and her eyes open, locking on mine. One hand pinches hard at her nipple, while the other frantically brushes over her clit. Her face scrunches up as her mouth opens, a scream escaping as she falls over the edge of her orgasm, all the while her gaze never leaving mine.
My… ethereal body reacts to her display in a way I didn't know possible and I find myself not knowing what to do about it. Can ghosts masturbate? Or is this just some sort of mental reaction, knowing my body would have reacted this way? And why the hell isn't there some afterlife handbook? That could really come in handy with situations like this.
The sad look seconds later on her face tells me I'm invisible again, that whatever brief moment of clarity into the beyond she had is now gone.
She gets ready for bed, and I sit there at my wall perch, watching as she puts on her night shirt and crawls under the covers.
"Goodnight," she whispers. "Hope you enjoyed the show."
That I did and I really wish I could show her how much, but instead I stay against the wall and watch her as she dreams.
The next morning she gets ready to leave and heads for the door. I reach out to her, grabbing for her hand, not wanting for her to go as she steps through.
And takes me with her.
I stand on the front stoop, surprised at being outside the front door for the first time in eight years. A large grin spreads on my face, the barrier that held me prisoner broken when she pulled me through with her. She's hundreds of feet away when I break from my euphoric bubble, and I run to catch up to her.
Though running doesn't have any of the side effects it did when I was alive. It feels weird. It should be hard to breathe, but it's not. I should feel the endorphins pumping through my veins. Then I remember I don't have veins any longer.
Once at her side, I look around and am startled by how many others I see.
I'm not alone after all.
A young girl smiles from the top of a picnic table where she is watching a chess game. Her little hand waves at me, and I can't help but wave back. An elderly man sits next to an elderly woman. He moves to take her hand in his, but it falls right through. I can see the sobs that shake his body, and know the need he has to touch her… because I suffer from the same affliction.
I wonder if it's worse, to have actually touched the person and not be able to, or to be like me; wanting with barely a memory of what another's touch feels like.
There are so many of them, but with almost each of them I can see why there are still here. There is someone they are waiting for. I don't have that, and once again I question my role in this dead lingering life.
There are others like me though, one even screaming out to me, begging for an answer of why she is still here.
I wish I knew, I'd gladly tell her, but I don't. So, I follow her and let her lead me around the outside world.
Amazing what has changed since I've been locked away in my cage. The sign outside the building says it's the public library, but it isn't the library I remember. Inside it is state of the art, and futuristic.
She's looking for a new book; the last one didn't inspire her I guess.
We move around the library as she looks at different sections before she stops, her slender fingers flipping through pages. I don't think anything of it until I look at the titles of the books and then look at the one in her hand.
'How To Speak To The Dead.'
My eyes widen and I laugh out loud. Her gaze flitters about and I wonder if she can hear me. She is so cute, researching ways to talk to me.
"Shut up, you," she whispers through gritted teeth, smiling, and I laugh louder.
I settle down and read through the spines as she takes a seat at a nearby table. There is one I find might be interesting and I pull it down from the shelf letting it tumble to the ground.
She sighs and gets up from her chair to walk over and pick the book up.
"This one?" she asks. "Hmm, let's see."
I smile as she delves into the book, searching out answers to her questions.
I sit with her, reading over her shoulder, and find most of it is gibberish. All written by the living and having no real idea of the dead. Some things I find accurate, and some maybe even helpful. Her hand blindly scribbles notes down on a pad, and I can't help but lean forward and breathe her in.
That's when I feel it: someone, or something, watching me. It's odd, because that is the feeling I evoke in people.
My head spins around, searching out whatever it is, and stops on the floor below. A shadowy figure cloaked in darkness.
I don't know what it is—another reason for that damn manual—but I can tell it's not friendly.
Its eyes are trained on Bella and I need to get her out of here. Pushing all of the books onto the floor to gain her attention, she yelps in confusion, startled by the sudden action. I need to impress upon her how imperative it is we leave, and this is the only way I can find. Gathering up all the energy I can summon I pull on her wrist, hard, trying to get her to move, to leave.
She seems to understand and quickly gathers her things before we rush out. Looking over my shoulder I watch it advance, its eyes glowing from the darkness. It moves slowly, but it still shifts through the shadows, following after us, until we break through into the sun.
That night I lay in bed with her, watching over her, my gaze never leaving her. I don't know what the figure in the library is, but it seems menacing. I really don't like the way it looked at her. Why would something want to hurt her?
"It's kinda hard to sleep with someone staring at me, you know," she whispers, and I'm confused until her eyes open and she looks at me. Her features soften and I know she sees.
My hand moves a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I'm sorry, I'm just… scared of what I saw today," I respond.
"Me too. You being scared of something… frightens me."
I'm stunned—she heard me and responded. How did this happen? My chest tightens. I don't want her scared, or upset, and the thing I saw today could do both. In my peripheral I see her hand reaching out to my face and my gaze moves to hers. A thrill runs through me over the prospect of her trying to touch me… and succeeding.
"Ssssh," she whispers. Her hand tries to cup my face, but her fingers fall right through.
I'm disappointed, though it's not a surprise by any means. I want her touch, I want to feel her… feel anything.
"A bit ironic, trying to comfort a dead guy," I say, trying to lighten the mood a little.
I see tears welling in her eyes, pain evident, before her expression suddenly changes, her eyes darting around, hand hanging in the air, grabbing for me.
I really wish I knew a way to control it, but I also know I shouldn't want it. She's alive, I'm dead. How could that possibly work or be good for her?
And now I'm a depressed ghost.
Moving to lay on my back so that I'm not staring at her, but still close, she eventually falls asleep.
The next day she heads out to work and I want to go with her, but I know I shouldn't even attempt that. I'm becoming too attached to her, it's better to keep my distance. At the same time I'm also afraid that it will find her and I won't be there to warn or protect her.
I interchange between pacing in front of the window and sitting at my attic lookout. It's boring without her around and I'm worried.
My worry doesn't let up when I see her running down the sidewalk. She's going to fall, I just know it. Somehow, she manages not to trip and flies up the porch steps, bursting through the front door.
"Is this you?" she yells out, her hands thrusting forward.
In one hand there is a voice recorder while in the other a photo… of me.
I step forward, my hand reaching out to touch the picture. The paper ripples slightly, a motion that doesn't go unnoticed.
"Yes," I say in a low voice.
I concentrate and lightly push the hand holding the voice recorder.
"Oh! Umm, EVP?" she replies, but it sounds more like a question. "Maybe I've watched too much Ghost Hunters, but I thought we might be able to communicate a little. I mean, we did the other night, but it's the same as seeing you; sporadic. The theory is that if you say something, I'll be able to hear it in the playback."
Why does she want that?
As if reading my mind, she says, "I want to know what you're saying. I want to know you."
She beams at me, and my heart nearly explodes. But then I realize this will keep her from going out even more and finding a nice guy, a living guy, to date. Somehow I don't care about that, because I want her for myself. It's selfish, but it's a feeling I can't fight.
"I want to know too."
Her face pinks in embarrassment, and I can't help but run my finger down her cheek. Her eyes close, a smile forming on her lips. I lean close to the microphone and pull energy from around me in hopes it will be heard. Her skin pebbles with goose bumps as the temperature drops.
"Hi, Bella. My name is Edward."
Her eyes widen, probably from the cold. Simple enough, but the act drains me some. I hope she can hear it, because I want her to. I conjure up another small movement, the wind chimes, to signal that I'm no longer there. Slumping down on my chair, I wait for her to follow.
"I brought a couple of things for us to try as well, but I want to try this first… I guess I should listen to it first, huh? Save us some time, and me some embarrassment," she says while walking to joining me in the living room on her usual perch.
"But you're so cute when you're embarrassed," I say with a chuckle, hoping it picks up on the recording so that I can see her cheeks pink up.
She plays the tape back, the ghostly 'yes' barely heard, but my introduction is loud and clear. So much so I'm surprised she didn't actually hear it.
"Hello, Edward," she says, smiling an almost reverent smile. I freeze as warmth spreads through my being from the tightness of my chest. I haven't felt anything in so long that the sensation is strange.
I get my wish when my compliment and tease are heard, not as loud and clear, but understood. She bites down on her lower lip and holds up my picture.
"I didn't need this to tell me the same thing about you. You were and are very good looking… as you know."
Her remark catches me off guard. I know she has seen me a handful of times, but her words imply more times than I remember.
"That was… awesome!" she exclaims as she finishes up listening and hits the power button on the recorder, a grin covering her face.
I love that she wants to talk to me, that she wants to interact with me. I wonder if she… No, she's alive. She has no interest in a fucking ghost, you moron.
"Ok, don't laugh… though I think you might. I read up on you a little, I hope you don't mind. So sad, I can't even imagine going through that. I'd like to know more about you… I mean, we are… living together," she begins, leaning over to pull something out of her bag. Out comes what looks like a board game, and then I read the name… she has to be kidding. "The recorder is a lot of talking and then listening, so I have another idea that is more… instantaneous. I thought we could give this a try."
A Ouija board.
Opening the box, she takes it out and lays it on the coffee table, while I hang my head. It's so cliché, but I suppose if it works…
She places her finger tips lightly on the curser. "Ready?"
Sighing, I move forward and poise myself to move the piece of plastic.
"I guess I'll start off with something easy. I heard this house was haunted, things being thrown, things destroyed, but you've never been anything but nice and sweet to me. Why?"
I grimace. I don't want to tell her I like her, but there is no reason not to. Moving the curser I spell out that I like her… unfortunately she reads that I lied to her. I have no idea how, but I have a feeling it's not landing in the right place, my view different from hers. It's frustrating trying to get it to land just right as the letters are so close together.
Eventually I get her straightened out, but I'm so pissed off at the damn thing I end up throwing it across the room.
"Well… that didn't work so well," she says dryly, looking at the bits piled on the floor.
I'm not sorry, I hate the damn thing, and she's muttering about other avenues. I want to shake her and ask her why. Why does she care about me? She shouldn't. We should just stop trying to interact, it would be better not to get attached.
I sigh, knowing I can't leave her alone now even if I want too. I like interacting with her.
I like her, and far more than I should.
She doesn't try to talk to me any more for the rest of the night. I stare out the window, watching as life moves around in the darkness. A flash of dark covering the lights catches my eyes, and I watch it move around, growing ever nearer.
Suddenly, it's staring at me from the other side of the glass and I stumble back in shock. It's glowing eyes staring me down before moving to Bella.
A resonating bone chilling low voice emits one word before flying away and out of sight.
I don't know what it means, or what it wants, but it made me even more fearful for her safety. It is definitely trained on her.
I run over to her and stare, she looks up and her eyes widen.
"What's wrong?" she questions, and I have never wished more that she could hear me, so that I can tell her.
Bella scrambles around to find the audio recorder and begs me to say what has me so upset.
She pushes record.
"Danger," is all I can muster.
My quiet mutter barely comes across on the recording, and it was definitely inaudible to her ears when I spoke. She shudders with fear, rubs her arms like she's cold, and finally nods that she got it, though she has no idea what to do about it. Neither do I. She retires to bed, unsure of what else can be done, and sleeps fitfully all night long under my watchful eye.
A few days pass, and I haven't seen the figure again. I watch for it almost as much as I watch her. She's tried the voice recorder a bit more, and we trade questions, but it is very draining on me and only lasts a short while.
Nearly a week later, she comes back from the day out, rushing into the house, a huge smile on her face.
"Ok, that Ouija board was kinda slow and a disaster. So, I came up with this after visiting my friend Alice. She has a toddler," she says, rushing into the kitchen and throwing her bags onto the counter. I move the table back slightly before she bumps it with her leg. She smiles before continuing, dumping package after package of colorful magnetic letters out and opening them.
"Sorry for the colors, they only come like this. And I don't know if this will work or not, but I thought it couldn't hurt to try," she explains as she begins placing the magnets all over the fridge door.
Standing next to her, I reach out and the pieces move under my fingers with ease, taking no real toll. She gasps and freezes, watching as the letters swirl around.
Her expression softens and she smiles. "Hi, Edward. How was your day?"
BETTER NOW YOURE HOME
I stop myself from spelling out what I feel. She notices the pause and waits.
"Please, don't stop. Tell me," she pleads.
I sigh and begin spelling out the words.
I MISSED YOU
Her hand reaches out and lightly touches the letters, smiling sadly.
"I missed you, too. Is that weird?" she asks and I chuckle.
Her eyes glance around, she must have heard it.
NAH JUST CRAZY
BUT IM HAPPY
By the end of the week there is a magnetic board filled with colorful letters in the living room and her bedroom, and the ones on the fridge. She even found punctuation magnets and other shapes on the internet; they're on the way.
It's amazing, being able to talk to her in some capacity. We interact now, instead of me just staring at her. Though I still stare… she's too beautiful to look away.
It's in this time I find just how… good her senses really are. She sees me a lot more than I realized. She's special it seems, and not just to me. Ever since she was little she's been able to see more than most: able to see the spirits that roam, the things not of the earth.
She was surprised to see me in the house, but she wasn't afraid of me. The look of utter shock on my face when she looked up apparently discredited my menacing ghost reputation I had worked hard to acquire.
She also hears more, not everything, but more than I thought. The tape recorder wasn't necessarily needed, but still helpful. She thought she just couldn't hear me, but it was actually because I rarely speak. I wasn't used to talking to the living. Why talk to someone who can't hear you? Utterly frustrating, like talking to a wall.
She asks a lot of questions about me, about the man I used to be, and about the sickness that claimed me. I'm shocked at the amount of times I have difficulty recalling the memories. It's as if over time they are fading away just as my existence fades away. I remember how my cousin used to stop by the house a lot. She's the one who did most of the clean out after I died, but I would often see her after that, sitting at the park across the street. She was the one who stayed with me, cared for me, up until the moment my heart stopped beating.
She hasn't been by in years… and I'd forgotten all about it, all about her. Esme.
I'm shocked and frightened more when Bella describes the shadowy figure, and asks if that was what I saw at the library. She's only seen it for the last few weeks, but it's been more and more often. A flash here, a flash there, not much, but still... I tell her I have no idea what it is, but that I have also seen it multiple times.
We are both silent after this conversation, lost in our thoughts.
I try to lighten the mood, saying her clumsiness will probably get her before any strange darkness does.
It makes her laugh, agreeing that I am, unfortunately, correct.
Days pass, and conversation picks up. We talk every morning before she leaves for work, and at night when she cooks she asks what my favorite foods were. I should be concerned that she spends more time with me than with the living, but I've become selfish when it comes to her.
She goes to change her clothes after making dinner, and I give her privacy, waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Coming out, she's smiling as she moves to descend the stairs. I can't call out to her as I see her foot is centered wrong on the step, and she starts to fall. I rush up, gathering all the energy I can, and push against her falling form.
It works, so well that I have her pushed against the far wall, my hands pinning her arms, my chest pressed against hers. I feel her.
Looking down I find her staring up at me. At me. She is bewildered and… happy. An emotion, a pull, that I haven't felt since I was alive, comes over me. I want to kiss her.
I lean down, placing my lips against hers. She responds in kind, a small moan escaping her beautiful mouth. It's short lived, everything fades and her arms fall limply from the wall where my hands lay still.
I step back, screaming in frustration and anger at my state. Tears form in her eyes, and I can't even wipe them away.
Sliding down the wall I slam my head back against the plaster, repeatedly.
Why? Why can't I be alive? I just want to be with her, touch her, protect her.
In my peripheral she moves toward the banging sound of my head and sits next to me.
"Please stop, Edward," she begs and I do as she asks. "Thank you… for saving me."
I turn and attempt to place a kiss on the top of her head. She shivers, so I think she feels something.
It was her usual clumsiness that nearly sent her tumbling, at least I thought. The glowing eyes peering from the black outside the window in her bedroom make me believe different.
It's stalking her.
I want to pull her into my arms and protect her from the unknown lurking in the dark. I'm afraid… afraid it will hurt her, or take her from me.
Then I realize… I've fallen in love with her.
I, a mother-fucking ghost, am in love with the very much alive woman living in the house that I am haunting.
Could my death get any worse?
Oh, that's right, and my love is being stalked by a massive black figure with glowing eyes.
We sit side by side and if I was alive, I would feel the warmth coming off her soft body. Instead, she can't even see how close we are, and all she feels is cold.
I'm lost in thought… after my epiphany. She's still a bit shaken, I can tell, lost in her own head.
I stare at the board in front of me, the colorful letters staring at me, and I absently move them around.
CAN A GHOST FALL IN LOVE?
I stare at the question that I'm only asking myself, and before I have the chance to move them back around, I hear Bella behind me.
Her brow scrunches, reading the words I hadn't intended for her. "I don't know. You're the ghost, you tell me."
I ponder it for a moment. Had I ever really known love when I was alive, besides the love for my family? Sure, there had been women I liked, but none made me feel the way Bella does.
I THINK SO
I move to stand in front of her, my fingers glide down her cheek and across her lips. She shivers, and I don't think it's all from the cold, because her eyes darken slightly. Could it be true? Could a ghost and a living person really form this kind of connection?
"I think I love you too, Edward," she says softly, and my soundless heart stops. There are tears in her eyes, and her expression is pained. "Do you think… if it kills me… that we will be able to be together?"
I don't know what to think or feel by her question. Part of me is elated she loves me and wants to be with me forever, but the other part is horrified she wouldn't fight it in hopes we would be united physically. That she would let it kill her.
"Don't look like that," she begs. "I'm going to die eventually, Edward."
I sigh, knowing she's right, but not wanting her to die just to be with me.
We don't talk anymore about her death, but I do tell her I love her. Tears form in her eyes, and I see the love she has for me shinning in her eyes.
A few days pass, and neither of us see it again. My feelings for her grow day by day, and I use them to gain the strength to touch her, kiss her. Small at first, but one time I am able to gather enough strength and energy to wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her soundly. It is almost rough, knowing it won't last long and wanting as much of her as I can get. Her arms are able to wrap around my shoulders, and she says she can feel me… all of me… as I press into her.
It's embarrassing to describe to her that my ethereal being reacts to her just as my body would have.
I watch the blush spread on her cheeks, her eyes darken, while her lips part, tongue peeking out to wet them. She is a goddess of lust and desire, and I groan, because I put that look on her face.
That night I am introduced to her friend B.O.B. It's torturous to watch it touch her in a place I desperately want too. Making her cry out, writhe, and, finally, come. All the things I want to be responsible for.
I hate my death so much on these days. If I were alive I could hold the woman I love. I would be able to touch her, kiss her, and make love to her. Instead, I'm stuck looking at what I want, and unable to touch what I want most.
I'm watching her read in bed when I see it out of the corner of my eye: the dark mass that has been missing these past days.
I run to the window, just missing it as it moves away. I follow it from room to room, window to window, until I am in the living room, gazing out the bay window.
A chill runs through me, and my eyes widen as I turn around. The glowing eyes are staring straight into mine, the blackness obstructing my view of anything.
I realize right then that it is much stronger than I am… than I will ever be. I step back, moving toward the stairs, putting myself between it and her.
"What do you want? Why are you here?" I question it, trying to delay, to figure out any way to stop it.
"It's time," the dark figures low voice says.
"Time? Time for what?"
"Hers is up."
I freeze, staring at its dark mass. It is here to take her.
"A reaper?" I question.
"No! Please, don't take her!"
"It's time. You will not stall me again," it growls, its darkness expanding, moving toward me.
"No!" I scream as the darkness surrounds me, dark tendrils grabbing my arms and legs, locking me in place.
"Time," it repeats. "You cannot stop death."
It creates a strange noise, scratching nonexistent nails against the glass panes of the windows, drawing her out of the bedroom.
"Edward?" she questions from the top of the stairs.
I want to tell her I made that noise, but I didn't. She stares down the steps, straight at me, wide eyed. And I see its glowing eyes as it floats behind her. The dark mass reaches out and I'm helpless, forced to bear witness, as he pushes on her back, throwing her already precarious balance off. There is nothing I can do but watch in abject horror as her body tumbles down the stairs.
I hear everything, including the crunch of her neck as it breaks.
Her body lands at my feet, her eyes staring blankly out at nothing. Her body is twisted in un-natural angles.
I am about to scream, throw up, cry… I'm not really certain what… when I feel a hand on mine.
The darkness is gone, no longer trapping me, no longer anywhere.
I turn and see Bella standing next to me, her brown eyes shining as she looks up at me, a smile on her face.
Her gaze moves from mine, and I turn to see what has caught her attention.
The brilliant white is blinding, something I definitely wouldn't have missed before, lighting up the house.
"Huh, all this time and I never knew I was waiting for an angel to guide me," I say, smiling down at her.
She smiles up at me. "Can I keep you?"
My hand moves to cup her face. "Forever, my love. Forever."
I lean forward, and press my lips to her for our first real kiss. My being lights up as warmth spreads through, and everything comes together. I'm home. Bella is my home, my life, my existence.
My soul mate.
"Come on, let's go," she says, squeezing my hand.
We walk toward the light, hand in hand, heading to our forever, together.
Never did I ever think my death would turn out the way it did, but the love I have for Bella is transcendent. Nothing will separate us now. No more magnetic letters, or recorders. Just me and her forever.