Page 15 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Slowly, I start making a list in my head: Visiting Paris, sailing one of those fancy yachts you see in movies, stargazing on the beach. But those seem like really stupid things to be on a final bucket list. Is that really all I can think of that I wanted to do?
I groan and press the heels of my palms against my eyes. Are bucket lists supposed to be dumb shit? When I thought of them when I was alive, they didn’t seem so silly. Though now, I can’t imagine how a trip to Paris is going to send me to the after.
Ophelia lets out a soft sigh and pulls her legs to her chest, shivering at the cold that I seem to be feeling as well. Was I always this cold? It’s as if I’m only now realizing how cruel my existence has been without her. I’ve never been so warm and satiated by another’s presence.
I grab the folded blanket at the edge of the couch and approach her quietly, laying the blanket over her and letting my eyes linger over every part of her face.
I wish I were more like Liam. He always knew exactly what to say to women. Even Jericho has a way of clever conversation. Perhaps, once upon a time, I did as well. But in my death, I’ve found I just want to be silent and listen to the world as it ticks on without me.
She’s different though. I don’t feel like the world is moving on while I remain stagnant. No, with her, it’s as if the world tilts around us—our gravity too immense for the living. We orbit one another, hands reaching and seeking the light.
Her eyes flash open and I flinch because,fuck,I’m standing above her, staring at her face like a creep.
“I um?—”
Ophelia sits up, her mauve hair tousled on the left side she was lying on. “Careful, Lanston. I’m known to throw men into ditches for touching me.” She bristles and a darkness settles over her gaze.
I swallow hard. Jesus, she’s like the female version of Liam. Why does that excite me?
“You seemed cold, so I—” I awkwardly motion at the blanket, but as I do, she adjusts her position and my hand brushes herbreast. Heat flares across my cheeks and I swear I’m just going to go outside and face Those Who Fucking Whisper instead.
My foot gets caught on one of the coffee table legs and as if things couldn’t get worse, I fall ass first on the table and it shatters beneath me. Glass and wood scatter across the floor, loud enough to wake the whole damn city.
Not a second later, Ophelia has me pinned to the floor beneath her. Her thighs are on each side of my torso, one hand to my throat and the other gripping my wrist as if she thinks I have a fucking knife in my hand.
All reason leaves my mind and my eyes widen as I stare up at her. Her breaths are hard and she looks absolutely feral. There’s not a lick of fear in her eyes, only searing rage. All her lithe and tender features have vanished.
It only takes me a moment to piece it together.
She doesn’t trust men.
I want to be hurt or offended by her brutality in pinning me so ruthlessly, but I know better. I know that it’s probably a deep wound she carries, and her hostility is a defensive measure she’s developed in response.It’s not fair.Nothing in this world is fair. I only know what her eyes and reactions allude to.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, gritting my teeth at the sting the glass brings me as it digs into my elbows. At least all things fade quickly as a ghost, especially pain. It’s a mere pinch of what pain in the living world was.
Her expression is stern and pressed, unwavering, yet a soft flicker dances over her eyes.
“I would never hurt you, Ophelia.” My free hand reaches up slowly. Pieces of glass fall from my arm and make broken sounds as they collect back on the ground. She puts more weight on my throat and I take a strangled sip of air as she leans in close, her nose pressed against mine. I stare into her sea of darkness, limp and at her mercy.
“Don’t do that again.”
Her voice is low, lethal in a sense. Chills spread up my spine and I don’t dare look away. I have no doubt that she’d leave me in a pit somewhere, as she claimed to have done, doomed to be stuck forever without escape.
She’s just as cruel as they say.
And for most people, that might be enough for them to wish to stray from her, but it only draws me closer—my incessant need to fix things and people is something I cannot resist.
Show me the gashes in your flesh that remain fresh.
She’s broken in so many ways, but she’s strong. Hides her feelings away like they don’t exist, but I know they’re there. Hidden and locked up because someone had destroyed her at one point in time. Like a titanium locket, she guards herself in the only way she knows how.
I cherish that about her. Cruelness, viciousness, and all.
I manage a crooked grin and say, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Ophelia stares into my soul, searching for the darkness inside me. She mustn’t find it because her hands loosen and she sits back, her ass planted right over my dick. I’m not about to do anything to set her off again though, unless I want to end up in a ditch.
She lets out a small sigh and threads her hand through her hair, stroking it back like she’s disappointed with herself. “Sorry… I’m not trying to be?—”
