Page 22 of Come Out, Come Out

“Don’t leave me here alone.”

“Skye . . .”

I’m unraveling. It’s as if I can feel the phantom heavy breaths and rapid pulse of past breakdowns but without the comfort of knowing they’ll recede eventually. Mentally and emotionally, I’ve untethered from the sense of peace and control I’ve found since Skye’s arrival.She’s leaving.She’s leaving, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I want to rage, I want to scream, I want to get on my knees and beg her to stay, but I can’t.

Like a lost puppy, I follow her back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom as she gets ready for the day. I’m terrified to take my eyes off of her; I can’t afford to lose a single moment with her. This is so cruel, it’s so unfair. It’s unfathomable that she was brought into my life, and now she’s walking out and has no idea what she’s leaving behind.

She starts placing her items in the hall and I follow her again, watching her as my mind scatters in a million directions despite how hard I’m trying to hold it together. I fight the urge to kick the stack of boxes waiting at the top of the stairs. It wouldn’t do any good. Plus, I don’t want her last memory here to be a bad one. Losing control and scaring her is the whole reason I’m in this mess.

Instead, I stand helplessly as she takes boxes down two at a time and sets them by the door. Flashbacks of those lonely weeks I spent in this barren house sink their fangs into me and inject their venom into my spiraling thoughts. What am I supposed to do without her? I can’t possibly go back to the way things were.I’m notgoing back. I have two days to figure something out. I need to give her a reason to stay. I grab that hope with a strangling grip and try to force myself to focus on the only thing that matters. I resign myself to sitting against the far wall where I can still watch Skye work but feel slightly less chaotic out of the fray of it all.

Unfortunately, two hours later, I still have no plausible ideas. I need to understand how I’ve been able to become corporeal those two previous times; that’s the key to making this work. I need her toseeme. I need her tohearme. If she knew . . . if she knew, maybe she’d stay.

Finally, Skye calls it a day. Her cheeks are red and sweat coats her brow as she surveys the progress she’s made. She did a lot.Too much.There’s so much empty space, now. The house feels as hollow as I do.

My eyes are glued to her as she strips off her dirty clothes. I memorize every inch of her body—each freckle, the dips and curves, the faded scars on her ankles and wrists. My heart twists at the possibility that one day, I might forget all the little reasons I fell for her and all I’ll have is the ghost of our memories to keep me company. I want her to be more than that. I want us to have more than that. What I wouldn’t give to trade a lifetime of pointless fucks and puppy love for a chance with her.

The spray of water on the tile breaks me from my thoughts and I move to the bathroom. I perch on the countertop and lean against the medicine cabinet for the best vantage point. Her shoulders sag with tiredness from the exhausting effort of going up and down the stairs all day. My fingers flex with the urge to rub the knots out of her skin. They clench around empty air as always.

Stepping out of the shower, Skye wraps herself in a towel as she approaches the counter, and stops right next to me. I can almost convince myself that I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. I slide off the counter and stand behind her, capturing this mental image of us standing together, the one she could never see. I lean around her, bringing my finger to the fogged glass and write the word I want to scream.

Her eyes flick up to the mirror as she stops mid-lotion when I get to “y.” I can hear her swallow thickly and I don’t miss the chills that erupt over her exposed flesh. I stop, standing absolutely still and leaving the letter incomplete. The tail is short, but there’s no mistaking that it says“Stay.”

Skye stands frozen as she trembles. Her gaze shifts slowly to just above her right shoulder, exactly where my own reflection would be if she could see it. Neither of us does anything for several seconds.

“What—” Her uneven voice is barely above a whisper, but I’m close enough to hear. “What do you want?” A single tear slips free, and she clutches her tucked towel to her chest.

Everything.I respond, but despite our proximity, she can’t hear me. Instead of waiting for a reply, I write the same word again. She shakes her head and it might as well be a physical blow. I move over to the right, where there’s still undisturbed steam on the mirror. I move my finger quickly across the wet glass and write the word “Please”.

An uneasy laugh leaves her lips and she slaps her palm over her mouth in surprise. Her breath echoes in the cup of her hand as she tries to suffocate the mounting fear that’s clear in her eyes. Still, she doesn’t move.

This is my chance.

I bring my finger to the mirror again and write,“I won’t hurt you.”I pause then add, “I’m sorry.”

Skye’s large brown eyes widen in disbelief, but her hand slowly falls from her mouth, revealing reddened lips she’s clearly been biting to hold back her terror. Her gaze searches the mirror and stops several inches above her shoulder, as if she can detect me in the empty reflection. If I had a beating heart, it would have stopped. The breath would have stilled in my chest. Instead, I become rigid and try to keep the hope at bay.

“Please, please, please, please . . .”I chant in my head.

When she starts to scan the mirror, her eyes shifting quickly, it’s obvious she doesn’t see me. I try not to deflate completely. I know shefeelsme. I’m as present as she is right now.

Several moments pass and I worry she’ll run, but she takes a slow, deep breath and then lifts her hand. The letters she draws on the mirror below mine are uneven.“Why?”

“Because I want you to” is what I really want to say; it won’t do. Instead, I appeal to something I know she’ll relate to. I write back,“I’m lonely”.

There’s a moment where I worry it was the wrong thing, but then her shoulders drop. She sees herself reflected in those words even if she’ll never admit it out loud. Her pink tongue swipes across her down-turned lips. Her lashes soften with tears as she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” The words are a whisper, but it doesn’t lessen the blow.

I knew and yet, I hoped.

It’s over. She’s made her choice. I should let her go. Ihaveto let her go.

That’s what you do when you love something, isn’t it? Everything within me bucks against the notion, but I don’t know what else I can do. For months, I’ve taken every opportunity I can to make this work. I’ll admit, some of the moments were not my best, but I did,try.Was I really so delusional in this space between life and death that I thought maybe things would work out? It’s like they say, I guess, lonely people are desperate.

As the reality of our situation sinks in, the bleakness weighs me down, and for the first time since she arrived, I feel genuinely hopeless. Succumbing to the truth, I remove myself from the situation. I can’t watch her go.I won’t.

Instead of inflicting more torture, I resign myself to the basement, the only place I know I can go in this cursed house where I won’t see her. With one last look over my shoulder, I soak in the tragic beauty that is my little wraith.

Skye

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