Page 23 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
But there’s something to be said for deciding to be so abrasive and outwardly strong, all just to soothe those around you. She suffers inside, like a diseased plant, rotting from the roots—the decay isn’t visible on the surface, not at first. But it’s such a slow, tragic way to let yourself die.
I want to console her. To know all her hidden demons and wrap her in my arms until the darkness leaves us. We’ll banish the shadows that seek us together if we must.
Voices mumble around me, but I’m deep in thought, letting my mind ponder what she could be caging behind that lovely smile. She’s a puzzle; her smile could convince anyone. The way she dances and feels the music could trick any observer.
“Nevers.”
I snap my head up. The thoughts in my head are silenced instantly. “Huh?”
Jericho levels me that concerned look he’s been giving me for years now. He worries about my drifting focus, everyone does. “Isaid it’s your turn. Have you thought more about why you’re still here?”
My back straightens and I shove my hands into my coat pockets. “Right, sorry about that. I still think it has to do with… well, you know, dying so unfairly. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the day, not knowing how much time has passed or what day it is.” I trail off, holding back what I really want to say, but I feel so guilty for even thinking it. I should be with them, the three of us. Why did I have to die?
I’m happy it was me and not either of them, but the sadness and loneliness are too much to bear.
My eyes falter and I glance up at Ophelia. Her rosy cheeks and full lips set an ache in my chest. I don’t want to say this in front of her, but I want to be genuine, and I’m not fucking perfect. None of us are.
We are all ruined in some way, bruised and scarred. But those are the parts I love the most in others, so I want her to see mine too. Love isn’t conditional. The broken pieces of us should be where we start, not what we inevitably dig up after years of peeling back layers, only to be tired and skeptical.
“I think I’m still here because there are things I haven’t gotten to do and experience. I never got to be completely selfish and do whatIwanted. There are pieces of me out there I haven’t found yet, but I want to. There are things peopleoweme.”
Ophelia’s eyes widen on me and a flicker of hope crosses them, like she’s never heard someone be so honest. She leans forward in her chair as if she’s clinging to my words. I can almost see the idea lighting her eyes—the bucket list.
“I want a goddamn apology from the people who hurt me,” I say in a low tone; the pain that spreads across my chest is nothing short of agony. I clench my fingers tightly together. “Is that so much to ask for?I’m sorry. I love you. I’m proud of you. Why? Why won’t they say it? Just once would be enough, even ifit’s a whisper. I–I just…” The knot in my throat grows and I try swallowing it several times to no avail.
“You’re angry.”
The voice is hers—ethereal and void of emotion.
I blink past the tears forming, looking at Ophelia with torment pulling my brows lower. The understanding and sympathy I find there is comforting, and the pain in my heart subsides a little.
I nod. “I’m so fucking angry. At so many people.”
Jericho looks between us. I see something I don’t quite recognize flash across his gaze, a realization of some sort.
“It seems the two of you have agendas outside the walls of Harlow Sanctum. Why not explore that? Why not together?” Jericho says smoothly. He’s leaned forward in his seat, elbow against knee, his hand covering his mouth as if he can see something of potential in us, as though he wishes to say more but thinks better of it.
Leaving Harlow has always been an option, but this is my home. While the paranormal world is daunting, when I think of doing it with a partner it doesn’t seem so bad. The bucket list… it didn’t seem like a viable option when I thought of doing the things on it alone, but when I think of the two of us on this adventure… my eyes widen and an ache grows in my chest. My consciousness whispers “Go. Take her hand and never look back.”
I meet her gaze and it’s as if the world has faded around us. It’s only us and the chairs we sit on, staring at one another, a dream growing in my heart. Ophelia looks troubled at the light in my eyes and that dashes those short-lived dreams swiftly.
The room comes back into focus.
After neither of us says anything, Jericho nods knowingly and moves on to the next person. The mumbling starts aroundme again and I let the fuzzy sounds soften the intrusive thoughts in my head.
I know I shouldn’t be triggered by just a look. She didn’t do anything wrong. I understand that the thoughts and emotions that well up within me are irrational and stupid. But they are still here existing as horribly as they always have. I just want to not think anymore. To be free of the torment of my own doing.
Can a ghost be suicidal? I still think about it often: the urge to leave.
I rub my forefinger and thumb anxiously over the sleeve of my sweater.
That lingering desire to die is still deep inside me, clawing, ebbing. I didn’t understand for a long time, but I think I do now. It’s that I want tofeel nothing.
Tobenothing.
“You were never meant to exist.”Is that where it began? The callous words spoken so cruelly by my father. How long have I yearned to make him proud? I can’t bring myself to visit him. He didn’t even speak or shed a tear at my funeral. Does he pray for me? That I found peace?
That makes me laugh.
