Page 35 of Wicked Bonds
No one sees me. No one ever does unless I want them to, usually. The witches and werewolves pass by me, unaware how close they get. Occasionally one of the more sensitive among them will shiver, or their eyes will narrow as they sense something. They don’t know what, but they still feel it. Feel the wrongness of me being there.
When the hallway goes quiet, I slip through the door. The room is unlit, shades drawn, air filled with the smell of her skin. Oneof the most surprising things about being dead was realizing that I still retained some of my senses. My sense of smell, for one. Being able to feel emotions was another. That was disappointing, as they were something I felt far too much, in my living life. My mother called me sensitive. My father called me a weak.
My atoms adjust to the space. There are advantages to being incorporeal. No longer being crushed by the human condition is one of them. Not having to feel embarrassed should be another, but here I am, standing over the bed of a girl who made it clear she’d like nothing less than my presence.
She isn’t asleep. She’s not even in bed. She’s sitting on the floor, back against the side of the bed, legs crossed, reading a book. She doesn’t look up.
“Let me guess,” she says, “you’re here to deliver another cautionary tale about how I’m doomed.”
“I’m here to apologize.”
She ignores me, turning the page so roughly that it tears a little.
“You were right to be upset. I shouldn’t have been here.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I push on. “I crossed a line. I am… still adjusting to the concept of boundaries.” The words are awkward in my mouth. I haven’t had to say them in a very long time. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t lift her head. “Did you watch the whole thing?”
“If you mean the part where Soren made you, uh, you know, no.” I realize I’m lying and try again. “Actually, yes. I should have left sooner. I didn’t mean to?—”
She finally looks up. “You didn’t mean to what?”
“I didn’t mean to see you like that. It wasn’t my place.”
She sets the book down on the floor. Her fingers drum on her knee. “I don’t buy it.”
“Buy what?”
“No offense, but you don’t strike me as the type to get embarrassed over a little peeping. This is a dorm full of young, nubile witches. If I were a ghost I’d be perving too.”
I ignore her word choice, but I mean, she’s not wrong. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right.” I drift closer. “But you aren’t like the others.”
“Sure” she mutters.
“I mean it.”
“You know, I don’t really care anymore. Honestly, after the last week, that’s pretty low on the list of things that have gone wrong for me.”
She keeps surprising me with her ability to absorb blows and keep upright. Resilient is an understatement for this one. “Really?”
“Whatever. At least you’re not Soren.” A pause. “Actually, no. You should be more like Soren. He doesn’t care if people hate him. You seem like you need me to forgive you.”
I fold myself onto the end of the bed. “Maybe I just don’t want to be the villain in your story.”
She leans back and lets her head thump against the mattress. Her neck looks impossibly delicate. “Look, I get it. You’re dead.You’ve got limited entertainment options. If you want to stick around, fine. But if you ever watch me get off again, I will find a way to exorcise your ass so hard you’ll land in the next universe.”
“Understood.”
We sit in silence for a while, the only sound the rain on the window and the muffled shouts from some idiots down the hall. I wonder if she’s going to make me leave, or if I should take the initiative and fade out, but then she surprises me.
“Hey, Drake?”
“Yes?”
“What’s it like?” Her voice is quiet. “To be dead.”
