Page 15 of The Ghost of You

I walk into her room and she flies off the bed. She crosses the room within seconds, getting right in my face. She pushes against my chest to get me to leave but I stand my ground.

“Get out!”

I give her a smirk, knowing it will just piss her off more. “I kind of like your hands on me. Why would I get out?”

That causes her cheeks to flush again. And I like it. I wonder if I could get her to flush like that by doing other things to her body.

The thought leaves me as she removes her hands from me and starts pacing. “You are infuriating!”

“I just came in to ask for some towels,” I say, ignoring her comment.

“Oh,” she responds and stops pacing.

She grabs a step stool from the side of her dresser and opens a door to extra storage space above her closet. She grabs a few towels and I take them from her so she doesn’t fall off the step stool.

“Sorry. I—ah, I didn’t think about that. Sorry for yelling.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I nod toward her bed. “Take a nap. I’ll try to have this fixed in a few hours.”

I walk out, shutting the door behind me.

I head back into the bathroom and lay towels down on the floor in case there is any water left sitting in the pipes.

I take it apart and discover more problems than I expected.

I knock softly on Anna’s door to let her know the problem but she doesn’t answer. I open it slightly and see her face down in her pillow snoring softly. I shut the door and head into the kitchen. I look around for a piece of paper but can’t find any. I remember the last time I was here we walked through her back sunroom. If I recall correctly, there was a desk in there.

I make my way to the sunroom and find a pad of paper. I rummage through her drawers and find a pen along with sheet music, some filled with notes, others blank, scraps of paper with words written on them and scratched out in messy handwriting, and guitar picks. I take the time to look around the room and notice three guitars and a keyboard. The walls are filled with records and other music memorabilia, the story of my neighbor becoming more of a mystery.

I close the drawer, not wanting to pry too much. I know from my brother, music is personal, and a lot of musicians don’t want others hearing their music until they are ready.

I write a note and push it under her bedroom door before heading out to the hardware store.

When I get back, the house is still quiet. I peek into her room again and she is in the same position I last saw her in. I pick the note up off the floor and throw it in the trash before heading back to work.

A few hours pass and I think I have everything fixed in her shower. I even bought her a new showerhead because the one she had was looking lime stained and old.

I head out the back and make my way to the basement to turn the water back on.

When I head back into her house, she is standing in front of me in tiny-ass cotton shorts, her tits nearly falling out of her tank top. She rubs her eyes and yawns.

“How long was I asleep?”

She clearly hasn’t looked in a mirror or else she would be embarrassed by the way she looks right now. “A few hours.”

“I was so tired.” She yawns again and covers her mouth. “Sorry, I should have helped you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I woke up to the pipes moaning. Did you get the water back on?”

I nod. “I turned it on. Now is the moment of truth to see if it actually works.”

She follows me into the bathroom. I grab a towel and hold it near the base of the showerhead where it’s connected to the wall just in case everything I did doesn’t work.

I turn the nobs and after a few seconds a steady stream of water comes out of the showerhead. “Good as new. Hopefully. Let’s give it a few minutes to see if it flies off again.”

“Okay,” she says and then turns to look in the mirror. “Oh my god!”

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