Haunted Love

by Jessica Frances

  “You didn’t answer me; is your face okay?”

  “I’ll survive, but I might need to put ice on it when we get home.”

  My throat dries a little from his words. That is the second time Aiden has mentioned home like it belongs to us both. He isn’t saying my home, just home. Does that mean something?

  I shake away the foolish thoughts. Of course it doesn’t mean anything. I have always over-analyzed things. Aiden doesn’t put enough care into his words to try to state something. I’m only a ghost, an invisible murder victim who is here to haunt him. I’m a nuisance who has no doubt Aiden can’t wait for me to be gone.

  I can’t even blame him for that. I would be freaked out if I was seeing a ghost, too.

  Once we’re back at Aiden’s, we walk into the house, and I still find myself shaking uncontrollably. As my mind settles back into what happened, I find every blink of my eyes brings a flash of the gun pointing at Aiden, the loud crack of the bullet as it shoots out of the barrel, and the jolt and strange feeling that went through me as I was hit.

  Why was I able to feel it? Am I sort of real?

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I can see you shaking from here. Are you cold? Do you want me to…? Can you drink coffee?”

  “I think … I think I want a shower,” I say slowly, pulling at my T-shirt that I have worn for many days in a row. Can I shower? Will I be able to feel the water?

  “Oh, okay. Sure.” Aiden leads me up the stairs then into his room to the adjoining bathroom. Part of me finds this strange, given I am aware of another bathroom and shower downstairs, but I quell my over-thinking before it can begin.

  He hesitates at the doorway, appearing unsure when he turns around to face me.

  “Can you…? Are you able to turn the water on yourself?”

  “I’m not sure. I can try.”

  I squeeze past him, and when I reach out and touch the knobs, I am able to turn them until water races out of the showerhead. Luckily, I’m standing to the side, so I don’t get wet. I don’t have any other clothes here.

  I glance down at my shirt again, my eyes remaining on the hole that is now there. How did that even happen?

  “I’ll get you something you can change into.” Aiden quickly turns around and returns a few moments later. In his hands is a spare towel and a fresh T-shirt with some sweats.

  “I don’t have anything that’ll really fit you, but this should do for now.” He shrugs at me, and then his eyes stray to the hole in my shirt, too.

  “Are you going to stay?” I ask him, not meaning it to sound like an offer, but with the way he quickly retreats from the bathroom, I think he took it as one.

  “No, no, sorry. I’ll just be downstairs if you need me.”

  Once he leaves, I carefully reach down and touch the clothes he’s left me, making sure I can hold them. I don’t want to remove my clothes and then find I can’t touch anything. That would make things much more awkward.

  When I’m naked, I stare at my reflection in the long mirror on the back of the door. I look normal, the same as I did before I died, although maybe my hair is a little longer and healthier. I haven’t lost weight even though I haven’t eaten. I have a similar complexion to what I had previously, not the supernatural white I would expect from a ghost.

  Am I really a ghost? How come my shirt was able to be affected by the bullet? Why am I able to touch Aiden? How is it I can use his kitchen and make him meals?

  Nothing makes sense, and I feel saddened by this. Am I going to be stuck in this in-between place forever? Sort of alive yet also sort of dead?

  Did I make the right decision coming back here? I haven’t seen Flynn since Tuesday, and Aiden hasn’t mentioned any future trips to visit him.

  Shivering again, I step away from the mirror and into the shower. The water takes a while to heat my cold body, and I can’t help staring at the pink blotches of skin that appear from the heat of the water.

  It feels so real. I feel real.

  I grab Aiden’s two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, using it to wash my hair. It isn’t the greatest, but it feels nice to do something normal.

  I use his soap, feeling a new heat surround me as his scent moves over me. It feels naughty to be using his soap, smelling him all over me. It is like I am marking myself with him, letting everyone know I am his; which is stupid because he’s the only one who can see or smell me.

  I shake my head, deciding I must be more rattled from the shooting than I realized.

  I finish up, rinsing myself off, and then I turn the water off, drying myself quickly and changing into Aiden’s clothes. Since he hasn’t given me the option of underwear, I go commando. It feels a little strange to do so, but I try not to think about it. I doubt it will be noticeable to Aiden. Hopefully.

  I have to tie his sweats into a knot so tight the pants look a little strange bunched up at my waist. The shirt hangs long, and the neck is a little big, but I’m all covered, which is all that matters.

  I feel that same heat from earlier growing, feeling excitement at wearing Aiden’s clothes.

  Why? What is wrong with me? All he’s done is let me have a shower and given me some clothing. It isn’t anything special.

  I need to get a grip.

  I move back downstairs, taking my clothes with me. I see him sitting at his desk, his focus on the laptop screen in front of him. His hand is against one half of his face, an icepack resting against his sore side.

  “Do you mind if I put my clothes in the washer?”

  His eyes quickly jolt to meet mine. The lighting isn’t the best, but I’m pretty sure he just looked me up and down slowly.

  Is he checking me out? Can you even check someone out who is wearing huge clothes that show off absolutely no curves or skin?

  “Yes, of course.”

  I nod, quickly turning and moving down to the basement. I came down here once when I was bored and Aiden was sleeping. I was simply curious about what Aiden had yet found very little to be excited about.

  Seeing some of his clothing piled up, I quickly place them in with mine and set the machine to wash.

  It is something else that is normal. How many loads of laundry have I done in my life? How many more will I be able to do?

  When I make it back upstairs, Aiden is staring at what appears to be surveillance footage.

  “Is that the footage that clears Nate?” I ask him, leaving plenty of room between us since I’m acting so strangely.

  “No. I should have that tomorrow. This is just more of the other stuff, dead ends most likely.” He doesn’t look up from the screen, skimming the footage of what appears to be a dark, empty parking lot.

  I stand awkwardly for a while until I grow tired, and my mind begins to drift to that gun again.

  I don’t want to think about the near miss.

  “Do you have any movies I can watch?”

  “A movie?” He slowly tears his eyes away from the dark screen, his attention not really on me.

  “Yeah, do you have any?”

  “I do, but only the ones my mom gave me when I first moved out. They were just some DVDs I used to love when I was a kid.” He averts his eyes from me, appearing … maybe embarrassed?

  “You only have childhood movies?”

  He shrugs defensively. “I can’t remember the last time I sat down to watch a movie.”

  “What do you usually do to unwind, then?”

  “I don’t really have much time to unwind between cases. Sometimes, I like to jog, or if I feel motivated, I might go over some old case files I know the cold case squad won’t ever get time to look over. I haven’t had a chance to look at them in a while, actually.”

  “So, when you aren’t working on a case, during your time off, you go back and work old cases? Don’t you go out with your friends, go see your family, go for a walk along the beach, read a book, or even go on a vacation?”

  For some reason, I feel concerned about Aiden. No one should work as much as he does. What is
the point of living if you don’t actually do any living?

  “I enjoy working. That isn’t a crime.” He immediately sounds defensive.

  I roll my eyes. He’s crossing his arms and has that look on his face, like he’s resigned to the fact that we are about to have an argument, and he’s not going to back down. No doubt, his family and any friends he might have—which I’m not sure he has, given the zero evidence of any—have had this same argument with him.

  I decide a change of topic is in order.

  “Fine, pick a movie from your stash and put it on.” I sit on the couch, needing to hold the sweats up when they start to slide down a little.

  He gets up from his seat, turning on the TV, and then crouches down to open the bottom cabinet. I don’t see the DVD he grabs out, but to be honest, I’m not really looking. My eyes are glued to his ass that I have never truly appreciated how much it fills out his pants. Did he always have a great ass?

  “…okay?” he asks me, turning around and totally busting me staring at him. Oops.

  “Yeah, sounds good,” I tell him, not actually hearing what he has said I will be watching.

  I wait for a clue as to what I just agreed to watch, surprised when Aiden moves over to the laptop and turns it off. Why did he do that? Is he going to bed?

  I try not to stare at Aiden, and focus on watching the trailers and the boring parts of the movie. Then, as the actual movie begins, I find it is one I also used to love and haven’t seen in years—Jumanji.

  Aiden disappears, and just as I begin to feel sad that I will be watching this alone, he reappears in sweats and a T-shirt, passing me a mug that is warm to hold as he sits down next to me on the couch. He’s far enough away we don’t touch, but he’s definitely not touching the opposite edge to get away from me, either. I wonder what that means … Over-thinking again, Thea!

  “Hope you like hot chocolate,” he mutters, shifting his own mug in his hands, appearing a little nervous.

  “I love it.” I feel touched that he made it for me. That was thoughtful of him. Who knew I would put Aiden and thoughtful in the same sentence?

  We settle into the movie, and I begin to feel my eyes drooping. A few times, I feel my head dropping, only to wake myself up.

  I really try not to overanalyze when Aiden moves in closer and wraps an arm around my back, pulling me into his side. I definitely try not to notice how comfortable his chest is when I rest my head over him, his steady heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

  Not even halfway through the movie, I fall asleep in Aiden’s arms. Somehow, I need to avoid reading anything into this.

  ***

  Opening my eyes, I feel exhausted enough that I want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes, feeling warm and comfortable, and I drift for a while before my thoughts begin to clear. Suddenly, I realize I haven’t slept or felt tired once since I died. I sometimes disappear, time moves at an alarmingly quick rate, but I never sleep.

  Why am I sleeping now?

  I jolt myself a little, moving away from the warmth surrounding me, and try to get my bearings. I’m in Aiden’s living room, lying on the couch, practically sprawled out on top of him while he sleeps.

  I turn my head carefully, looking back up at him and watching his eyes twitch under his lids. Then he shifts, his arms wrapping a little tighter around me.

  I feel an overwhelming feeling of being safe in his arms, and I’m touched when I glance down over us and see the throw-blanket from the back of the couch over our legs.

  That wasn’t there earlier, which means he must have put it over us after I fell asleep in this position. Why didn’t he simply move me? Why stay sleeping on the couch, which is most likely not all that comfortable for him with his neck over the armrest, when it would have been simple to move me and go back to his own bed? I wouldn’t have been upset or annoyed if he had.

  So, why does the fact that he didn’t do it and instead stayed with me while continuing to hold me tightly to him in his sleep make me feel so happy? So giddy? So content?

  I can’t actually be forming feelings for Aiden, can I?

  I’m a ghost. Besides, while I can touch Aiden, and he can see me and speak to me, I’m still going to leave him, right? I’m not likely to stay here forever, am I? Surely, even if the case goes unsolved, I don’t have unlimited time here.

  Santa never gave me a timeframe, but I’m hoping I have enough time to ensure Flynn is going to be okay. If I’m lucky, I will also be here long enough to find out who stole my life. I don’t have time for anything else, like developing pointless feelings for Aiden. Nothing can ever happen. Liking him will only make things harder for me when I leave.

  It’s too complicated.

  However, I feel hope growing inside my heart. What if I do stay here forever? What if I don’t have to leave? What happens if I stay here and something does happen between Aiden and me? What if he develops feelings for me?

  Hope continues building before I burst my own happy bubble.

  If Aiden develops feelings for me—and that is a big if given how he’s treated me since I appeared—then he will be the crazy guy with an invisible girlfriend. We would never be able to go out together—at least not without him looking insane—and I won’t ever be able to speak to his family or friends.

  It would never work.

  So, as much as I feel incredibly comfortable where I am, I reach over and grab Aiden’s hand, ignoring the warmth of his arm and fingers as I lift him off me then carefully sneak forward until I’m free of him.

  As I get to my feet, I place his arm back where it was, except now it rests over his own chest, and then I pull the blanket upwards to cover him.

  I allow myself a few moments to watch his peaceful face as he sleeps and then force myself to step away. I not only need to protect any slim chance of Aiden’s heart being broken, but my own, too. Therefore, no more falling asleep in his arms, and definitely no more thinking about him naked or even shirtless.

  Without necessarily deciding to be there, I find myself in the kitchen. Accordingly, I begin preparing breakfast, finding the normalcy of doing so relaxing. My life has been changed irrevocably, and only one thing remains the same as before my murder right now—my ability to cook and enjoy it. I begin working on autopilot, relaxing into the peacefulness I find as I prepare breakfast, and my mind drifts.

  When I was younger, I used to cook breakfast every morning for Flynn and our grandpa. I never slept in just in order to always be awake before them. Mom used to love breakfast. It was her favorite meal because it always included her favorite foods and beverage—bacon, eggs, and coffee.

  For the longest time, the smell of cooking bacon made me think of Mom. I would see her cooking next to me so vividly I often cried as I cooked. It has been years since I have given her proper thought. I got used to cooking breakfast without remembering her, and that makes me sad.

  Now, I remember as many mornings as I can: the disasters of burnt meals and broken plates, the laughter and loud singing in our kitchen, and her smile. Her smile was always so bright, so happy, and so loving.

  A tear falls down my face, and an ache grows within me that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a long time. I miss her. I miss my parents.

  Maybe moving on to wherever it is I will go won’t be so bad. It will be good to see them again. I look forward to being wrapped up in their arms, my mom’s smile welcoming me home.

  I shake away those thoughts, needing to focus on the here and now before I get ahead of myself. Soon, I will be able to see them again, but for now, I need to focus on Flynn. I want to be able to tell them he is doing okay and will survive without me.

  I flip Aiden’s eggs, getting a plate and utensils ready for him. I glance at the tray leaning against the cupboard and recall the last time I used it, which of course makes me redden in embarrassment.

  Aiden’s words from last night filter through my mind. I was most definitely not eye-fucking him. I merely did my duty for all woman-kind by admiring the fin
e body Aiden has. There was no fucking to it … I think.

  I shake away that direction of thinking and focus back on the food. Aiden has been surprised each time I have prepared him a meal. Even making him a sandwich for lunch appears to shock him. Hasn’t anyone ever done that for him? Not just during his childhood, but surely he’s had plenty of girlfriends who have cooked for him.

  Perhaps it is only surprising because I am a ghost.

  I nod to myself, plating up Aiden’s food just in time to hear groaning from the living room. I quickly take a peek and watch Aiden stretching. Leaving his arms extended above his head, he searches the room then turns around, and our eyes connect.

  Oh, no, did my heart just skip a beat? That can’t happen.

  I give him a small smile, trying to hide the fact that I am suddenly desperate to rush over to him so I am closer to him, needing to touch him in some way. Why do I feel so cold without his arms around me? And why is it such a struggle to keep my gaze at his eye-level and not moving downwards to see if he’s aroused? I didn’t notice when I was with him earlier. Plus, the blanket covered him up, and the angle from before didn’t give anything away. Right now, though, tears are forming from the mere effort to keep myself from glancing downwards. I need to stop being a creep!

  “Morning.” He returns my smile, apparently not feeling the need to hold back his obvious contentment. This is the biggest smile I have received from him first thing in the morning. Or, if I am being honest with myself, the biggest smile I have ever received from him, regardless of the time. Usually, he’s always a bit annoyed that I’m still here, even if the food I offer him softens the blow.

  “Good morning. Breakfast is ready,” I tell him quickly, turning my back to him and wincing at how nervous I sound.

  This is Aiden—Detective Douchebag—and I need to remember that. I’m only here as long as it takes to catch my murderer and ensure Flynn is okay, if I’m lucky to stay here that long. Then I’m gone.