Stomach acid singes its way up my throat, sending me into a coughing fit as I choke on it. I don’t know whether to burst outlaughing or start violently sobbing. A part of me knows that’s exactly what he meant—a sense of already knowing it’s true. It’s the possibility I was too scared to admit over a year ago but always lingered in the back of my mind. A concrete reason for Cyrus’s absolute silence, how he disappeared without a trace.
“I mean...I don’t want you moping over some boy,” he sputters, stumbling over his words and confirming my fears. Why would he bring him up now if he didn’t mean Cyrus is gone? “I don’t want my daughter involved with any Gibson.” He pushes his chair back as he shoves away from the table, and it clatters to the floor.
“Since when?” I scream, my voice climbing to a hysterical pitch. “Not in high school, or when he moved to the city with me. Quit lying when I fucking heard you. You saiddead. You said Cyrus is dead.” My brain races to create imaginary scenarios, stitching together the information I know. I haven’t seen or heard from Cyrus since he left our apartment two years ago, not a single phone call, text message, or random sighting of him since. I didn’t run into him last winter, even though I was at his fucking house. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, and no one else has said they have either.
Pop never gave a shit about my relationships. Not once did he ask how Cyrus and I were doing. Hell, if Mama wasn’t the go-between, I doubt he’d even know I was still breathing unless I was taking up the precious air in his house. How would he know Cyrus didn’t just break up with me? How would he know Cyrus is dead? Unless? No, not possible.
“I didn’t,” he denies, shaking his head as he walks away from me. “I didn’t. I don’t know nothin’ about that boy’s whereabouts, and I don’t want to neither. He could be on his daddy’s couch right now for all I know.”
“But he isn’t, is he? Have you seen him at all the last two years?” I choke out between dry sobs. “Tell me you’ve seen him then, during all that time you spend with Elias. Tell me!”
My pop grumbles under his breath but doesn’t reply as he exits the kitchen. I sit motionless, watching him until he’s gone. Now that the room is silent, shock slams into me like a freight train. I want to get up, chase after him, and pound my fists into his chest, demanding he tell me what the hell is going on. Instead, I’m stuck to this chair, waiting for my mind to wrap around this new reality—one in which Cyrus is no longer among the living.
Eventually, my eyes shift to the window, unsure how long I’ve been lost in my thoughts. The sun has long since set, and neither Mama nor Pop has returned to the kitchen. I didn’t expect them to—they’re not big on reconciling or apologizing. They’ll wait until tomorrow, hoping I’ve cooled off enough that they can pretend nothing happened at all. Mechanically, I stand, my muscles going through the motions to carry me back to my room. Each step feels like I’m pulling a lead weight through thick, swampy mud.
The air in my room feels oddly cold, but maybe it’s just lingering nerves from tonight’s revelation. Maybe my heart has finally broken enough that it’s unable to continue circulating the blood keeping my body warm. My eyes find my duffle bag still lying discarded on the floor. Crouching beside it, I toss out clothes and books until I find the little orange pill bottle. I pop the top off and pour one of the sleeping pills into my hand, tossing it into my mouth and swallowing it dry. My heavy body seems to float to the bed, no longer requiring my conscious effort. I cocoon myself in a blanket, letting my eyelids slide closed. As I relinquish myself to sleep, my heart squeezes, aching for Cyrus as the smell of cherry and clove still haunts the air.Maybe it’s my imagination, but it’s like a piece of him is still here.
15
CYRUS
Raised voices filter into the room, muffled by the closed bedroom door. I can’t distinguish the exact words, but the pain in Jace’s tone is unmistakable. Heavy footsteps storm upstairs, followed by an unsettling silence. The situation is uncanny in its similarity to what happened in my home after an argument with my pop. The waiting becomes unbearable, but, finally, softer footsteps come down the hall.
Jace’s exhausted face appears in the doorway, making me bolt upright. I freeze, unsure what to do with myself since I’m no longer hidden inside the closet. She pauses for a moment, her eyes scanning the room before fixating on her discarded duffel bag. There’s no indication she can see me, not even a hint of her sensing my presence. She takes out a bottle of medication, swallowing a single pill before retreating to her bed. The bewildered look upon her face doesn’t fade as she closes her eyes. Her expression only softens once her breathing falls into the rhythmic pattern of deep sleep, though she still tosses and turns.
I crawl to the side of her bed, resting my chin on the edge. She rolls toward me, our faces mere inches apart. She’s ethereal, caught in the liminal space between life and death asshe dreams. I reach a shaky hand out to brush back her bangs, her hair fluttering gently from my touch. Small movements dart beneath her eyelids, her lips parting as if she’s about to tell me what’s haunting her. A soft whimper escapes her throat. She tosses to her other side, making a space between her and the end of the bed. I climb in behind her. My chest presses against the curve of her back like interconnecting puzzle pieces, scooting in as close as possible without moving my spectral form through hers. I drape an arm over her, wishing I could feel the warmth of her body against mine again. She stirs under my arm, shivering briefly before settling into my presence. On some level, my little doe knows I’m here, her body responding to me as though I’m orchestrating her movements. I press my cheek against her temple, feeling her pulse thrum in slow, even beats. The evidence of her life gives new meaning to mine each moment I’m connected to her.
What would life have been like if I had given in to her while I was still alive? Would we be far from this place? Safe and warm on some alternate timeline where I hadn’t left that night? The harsh truth is, I may have caused her more harm than good by storming out of our apartment after our argument. Or did I make a mistake earlier on? What might have happened had I left this wretched place years before, leaving my father and his shit behind when she first left for college? I could have escorted her around her going-away party, arm in arm, instead of sulking and smoking cigarettes on the porch. At the time, it seemed like I was doing the right thing—granting her the escape I longed for, knowing it could never be mine. I knew too much about our previous life; she was blissfully unaware. I thought staying away would shield her further from any fallout. Instead, I sent her careening into it with no parachute to break her fall.
Now, she’s next to me, her body curled beside the ghost of a person she once knew. I inhale, pretending I can smell the sweetscent of her strawberry shampoo, unchanged after all these years. Poor thing may have escaped out into the world, but the claws of who she is were already dug in too deep, pulling her right back. The roots of our past are too fucking intertwined to simply rip out, even though I tried not to let them slowly strangle us as we attempted to branch out. Some things are too painful to cut out piece by piece. Our only choice is to try not to let it take hold completely. Unfortunately, after I was gone, there was no one left to warn her the rumors were true.
My fingers ghost along her cheek, tiny hairs rising on her face as I brush her skin. Her breathing quickens as I move down her neck and over her shoulder. “Are you dreaming of me?” I whisper in her ear, wondering if she can hear me. My heart clenches at the thought that she may not even remember how my voice sounds. She mumbles incoherently, turning toward me. Her nose brushes mine, and she crinkles it, as if she can feel the same tingling sensation I do.
Her eyes flutter open, still half asleep as she tries to focus on her surroundings in the room’s darkness. She gasps, her chest expanding against mine with the sudden intake of air. Her body jolts upright, her arms flailing as she scurries back on the bed.
“What the fuck?” she screeches before slamming her mouth shut, throwing her hands over it. Her eyes dart around the room. Her cheeks flush when her gaze lands on me again. She rubs her eyes furiously with both fists, shaking her head in disbelief, bringing her trembling arms to her sides, her soft lips part in shock.
I remain motionless, lying on my side and continuing to match her stare. Does she actually see me, or did she only startle awake? A lump bobs in her throat, a stuck scream fighting to escape. I wave my hand in a quick hello, one corner of my mouth awkwardly pulling into a shy grin.
“Oh, I’ve gotta be fucking dreamin’,” she mumbles, blinking frantically, as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “I knew taking that sleeping pill was a bad idea.” Her face contorts through a range of emotions, as if she’s trying them on to see what feels right. Without settling on one, her expression remains confused. Jace falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She rolls her head toward me for a second before quickly turning away. “No fucking way, Jace. You’ve definitely lost it this time.”
“You haven’t,” I whisper, hoping she’ll realize I’m really here next to her. Jace’s body goes rigid, her fists gripping the sheet below her, knuckles blanching. She squeezes her eyes shut. We both remain silent for a long while. Finally, she side-eyes me before inching her head in my direction, bottom lip quivering. When she sees I’m still here, she slams her eyelids shut again.
“You’re not real,” she tells me, eyes still closed. Each word comes out louder than the last. “You’re. Not. Real.”
“It feels like that sometimes,” I chuckle, easing my body closer to hers, “but I assure you, little doe, I am very real.”
“No,” she whimpers, shaking her head. “No, you’re just a projection of my subconscious. I’m under a lot of stress, and I took that stupid pill. I was thinking about you as I fell asleep. That’s all. This is just a dream, and I need to wake myself up.”
She says it fluidly, like it’s not the first time she’s said the words out loud. I exhale sharply; her unwillingness to accept I’m next to her wounds me unexpectedly. This is not how I imagined this going, but I’m not sure how I expected it to go either. I think it would have stung less for her to run away screaming than to assume I’m some drug-induced hallucination.
“Well, if I’m not real, then there’s nothing to be scared of, right?” I ask, working a different angle to keep her talking.
“Only myself,” she whimpers, curling into a ball and hiding her head. “Please, just go away.”
A weird sensation washes over me, spreading from my head to my toes. I panic, looking desperately at my body to make sure I’m not dematerializing. I’m still here, the same way I’ve been since the night I died, forever in the same flannel, jeans, and boots I’ve worn for the last two years. I might have chosen a better outfit had I known I’d be stuck this way.
Jace opens her eyes again, but this time, relief floods them, and she sighs loudly. The feeling of loss slices through me, cleaving my heart in two. Her rejection has left me emptier than I’ve ever felt, even in life. I move closer still, placing my body in direct contact with hers, but I know I’m gone to her. “Fuck!” I scream, but she doesn’t react, not even a flinch. Instead, she returns to her side and falls back asleep within minutes.
