Chapter 9 Cyrus
CYRUS
Traveling works differently when you’re dead.
It’s hard to explain, but sometimes, I start walking somewhere and then kind of just end up there.
Maybe time warps around me, or I just materialize where I’m trying to go.
If it’s the latter, it would be nice to make it happen when I’m being chased around the damn woods by a fucking monster.
Instead, I’m stuck in some sort of cosmic joke where I’m constantly running for my life—even in death.
There should be a handbook on the rules and limitations of being a ghost. I didn’t get a guide to life, though, so why should I expect one now?
Since Jace returned to my world, the novelty of spending my days making my pop miserable seems superficial.
Thoughts of her and a future we’ll never have haunt the recesses of my mind.
An endless loop of outcomes plays in my head, thinking about what could have been if I had just stayed with her that night.
Before Jace, I never had any serious girlfriends.
I kept everyone at an arm’s distance, never allowing them access to the real me.
Mostly to protect them, but also to protect myself.
There was enough pain in my life without dragging someone else into it.
It would only end up twisting the knife deeper when they got fed up and left.
Not Jace, though—she naturally saw through the mask I put on to get through each day.
She knew the feeling of hiding the pain away from the world, seeking solace beneath the same shroud of heartache used to escape connection from other people.
So of course, I went and fucked it up. Deep down, I panicked at the idea of sharing something real with her.
I needed to go home, clear my head, and cut the last cord of my father’s hold on my life.
Maybe she’d realize I was holding her back, and my absence would give her the chance she needed to cut ties with her past too—a chance she’d never get while still with me.
Then, I died, never getting a final moment to explain or say goodbye.
Shame tangles my gut into knots. The last two years, I’ve only considered how my death impacted me, not what might have happened to her.
In my mind, she had a chance to escape her past—all of it.
She gained her freedom to live without worrying about dragging me along with her.
I assumed she’d be better off without me, never thinking of the void I may have left.
The woods fade around me. I appear in the snow-dusted field just in time to see Jace dart into an old metal shed.
I inch closer, hiding behind the closest tree and waiting for her to reemerge.
After several minutes, she awkwardly steps out, fumbling with a cardboard box between her arms. Her fingers are splayed around the bottom, digging into the sides with her nails, as though the contents are about to break free.
The box looks like no one’s touched it in years.
Each side is coated in dust, water staining the bottom.
I step forward, wanting to help her. My ma raised me right, after all, but I stop myself.
You’re a fucking ghost remember? She might not be able to even see me.
If she can, I doubt suddenly appearing behind her after all this time would work out in my favor.
At least I’d find out if ghosts can be slapped.
Jace nervously looks around like she’s holding a box of secrets.
The sun makes her skin glisten with perspiration.
Beads of sweat, tinted teal with her hair dye, slide down her temples.
She sucks her bottom lip, cheeks hollowing and nostrils flaring as she takes heavy breaths through her nose.
The familiarity of her features makes my core tighten, remembering the way she used to bite her lip as she looked up at me from her knees.
I love the way her pulse flutters in the dip at the base of her throat.
I long to rub my thumb over it, feeling her heartbeat beneath my touch.
Details from our life together consumes my logic with a hungry frustration as I realize I may never have her again. I should have given her more attention while I was alive. Only a fool wouldn’t hold on to what we had. Dammit, Cyrus, only you would find something to live for after you’re dead.
Her wide eyes scan the empty yard again, searching for something—or someone.
I follow her gaze, but it’s still only us out here.
She shifts unsteadily under the weight of the box, adjusting her grip and taking careful steps towards the house.
The winter breeze whips faded tufts of teal hair in front of her face, and her cheeks puff out adorably as she unsuccessfully tries to blow them away.
She looks around one final time, like a nervous animal waiting to be pounced upon by a predator.
Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ as she lets out little puffs of air, lugging herself and her prize up the back stairs into the house.
Hopefully, whatever is inside that box is worth the immense effort she’s taking to keep it a secret.
I follow her inside, close enough to slip through the door before it slams shut.
The loud bang makes her jump, and she almost drops the box.
She steadies herself, leaning against the wall for a moment.
I take the opportunity to brush against her, passing close to her side.
A shudder rolls through her body as it senses my presence, the hair on her neck raising.
Growing bolder, I reach out to run a fingertip along her spine.
She gasps, color draining from her face as she bolts across the empty kitchen.
I chuckle to myself, remembering how easily spooked she is, and then continue to follow her.
Jace turns sharply down the hall towards her room, the same one I used to sneak into each night before she moved to the city.
I can still navigate to it with my eyes closed if I had to.
The room hasn’t changed since the last time I was here.
Her essence still coats every inch of it.
I wonder if it still smells like her, like strawberry shampoo and wildflowers in the spring.
It’s exceptionally cruel to remember such a thing and not be able to experience it.
On the far side of the room, the closet door stands open.
I slink past her to hide inside, desperate to keep observing her.
Now that I’ve found her again, I won’t make the same mistake of letting her go so easily.
Concealed by darkness and a pile of disorganized clothes, I watch her shut the door with one foot.
Her movements are awkward, taking extreme care not to make any noise.
In the center of the room, she crouches and lets the mass of cardboard slide from her arms onto the floor.
Her face finally relaxes as she crumples to her knees beside it.
The anxious energy surrounding her transforms into wary intrigue, but she doesn’t open it right away.
Instead, she continues to stare like she’s looking through it—always a deer in headlights.
Her arms tremble, reaching for the cardboard flaps separating her from the mystery inside.
What’s got you so shaken up, my little doe?