Page 9 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
He smells like a cup of freshly brewed coffee and crisp fall leaves.
Our bodies crush the rose between us, but I doubt he cares. He braces for the impact of the water and I let out a meek little laugh just before the water crescendos around us, engulfing our bodies and swallowing us whole.
Darkness follows. The warm orange light on the water’s surface glimmers and sways, satiated and full before it breaks.
My eyes slowly open once we’re fully submerged. His eyes are still tightly shut, and I take the moment to study him closely. Water raises his shirt, ballooning it up and revealing his tight stomach beneath. His muscles are lovely in the moonlight.
He slowly opens his eyes and stares into my soul, and then—the most damning thing.
A sad smile.
5
Lanston
DidI just jump off a fucking bridge?
Ophelia's hair is like a wave of soft purple, alluring and shimmering with the moonlight. My lips pull into a smile of their own volition. What just happened?
Then, slowly, my senses return to me and I realize I should be more stern with her for being so reckless. I firm my smile into a scowl and swim up to the water’s surface.
Our heads break into the night air and I take in a deep breath, wiping away the water from my eyes before glaring at Ophelia. “What were you thinking?” I grip her shoulders and she lets out a laugh.
My face instantly softens with the light sound of her breathy giggle.
“Have you forgotten that we’re phantoms? You just keep getting more and more curious,” she says sarcastically and pushes away from me, swimming toward the shoreline.
I follow, forcing my brows together again because she’s testing my patience. Somehow, I am both irritated by her and drawn in.
“Ophelia, that’s your name, right?” I wade onto the beach behind her and topple over on my back in the sand, my body already growing weary with the exertion. I let my head fall to the right and look at her. She sits close enough to me that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted.
God, I want to.
She holds up her smashed, waterlogged rose and frowns at it, tossing it on my chest before replying, “Ophelia Rosin, and who might you be?”
I grab the rose, ignoring the sharp thorns, and glower at her. “Lanston Nevers,” I mumble, and then silence falls around us. What am I supposed to say? At first, I was so taken with her that I just wanted to meet her, but now I can’t seem to find the words.
She’s mysterious, odd, prickly.
Ophelia pulls her knees to her chest and extends her hand to me. I sit up and look from her hand to her face.
“Nice to meet your ghost, Mr. Nevers. Still new to death?” She smiles like I’m fascinating, and I’m still not quite sure what it is about her that’s so filled with whimsy.
I take her hand and her eyes widen as mine do at our connection. Her hand is warm and welcoming, unlike other phantoms who have gone cold.
We say in unison, “You’re warm.”
An urge to pull her to my chest and soak in her warmth cradles my mind. Why is she so warm? Another lovely thing about her that will linger idly in my mind for days to come, I’m certain.
I pull my hand back hesitantly and clear my throat. “I’m not new to death. I’ve been dead for five years, and please call me Lanston.” I offer her a grin as I shake sand from my hair.
Ophelia laughs again. It sounds genuine enough, but I’m no stranger to pretending to be happy for people to like me. She laughs too much and smiles too widely, especially for someone like me who’s given her no reason to smile so brightly.
She stands and brushes off her dress. It dries in a moment and so do my clothes. A small reprieve for being a phantom.
“Five years and you’re still acting like you can’t do whatever it is you want?” She practically scoffs. I push myself to my feet and realize how tall I am compared to her. Her eyes barely reach my shoulders.
“And what could I possibly want to do besides move on to the next phase of death?” I say sadly. It sounds broken and pitiful, but the truth can’t be shrouded by pretty words. “I’ll never be able to have the things I wanted.”
