Chapter 6 #2
I step over to my desk and spin the chair around, offering it to her.
The faintest blush betrays her composure.
I grin as I walk across from her, leaning against the foot of my bed.
I cross my arms and legs as I observe her listening to my favorite album.
Watching her enjoy its beauty has my pulse racing, heat floods my system, one that has me undeniably recognizing that I am attracted to the dead. I’m so fucking screwed.
A few more tracks play as we relax in comfortable silence.
I continue to get lost in her beauty, admiring her elegance as she sits with perfect posture, slightly swaying along to the beat.
She radiates absolute perfection. All the while, I find myself desiring any opportunity to watch her get messy, to let that flawless presentation smudge with my darkness.
The record clicks as we complete side one, and I startle, shocked that so many minutes have passed that I have just stared at her.
I push off the bed and flip the record over, starting the other side. I turn back toward Milly. “How–” I stop myself, trying to figure out how to start small talk with a ghost who's clearly from a different time.
“Don’t worry, you’ve been most kind, allowing me to savor these melodies in silence. Are you curious as to how I came to be this…” she lifts her hands up and down her body, “this apparition?”
I lean back against the bed, my palms flat against the comforter as I chuckle. “I was going to ask how you were doing, but I’m not the best at small talk.” I shrug, finding comfort in her openness.
She crosses her legs at the ankles and places her hands in her lap. She lifts a brow at me. “I’m certain that’s the very question you meant to ask me,” she says as she suddenly disappears from the seat.
I shoot up straight and look around, the familiar panic of her disappearing clutching me in its vicious grasp. I step toward the chair when she suddenly appears in front of me with her finger pushing my chin up to make eye contact with her.
“I’ve been about for a good long while. It’s well, alright. I know, even if you did not ask me outright, surely it was on your mind.”
I swallow as her finger traces along my jawline before dropping to her side. She turns her head and resumes a small pace around my dorm, looking at the different objects. “Well, let’s start with the first question then. How are you doing?” I ask. She halts her steps and doesn’t turn toward me.
“It’s been quite a while since someone took the moment to ask how I am.” She looks over her shoulder at me through the parts of her red curls and smiles. “I’m well now that I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. How do you do?”
I smile back at her and glance at my socks. “I’m doing really well myself.” I look up at her, lost in the moment again as she gazes into my eyes.
“Now, for the underlying question, I presume?”
I step toward her, but stop a few feet away. “We don’t have to talk about that. It’s a bit morbid to talk about death. How about we just… get to know one another.”
She cocks her head to the side, absorbing my words. “You don’t want anything from me? No magic? No disappearances or tricks up the sleeve? You just wish to know me?” I nod as I take a few more steps toward her.
I lift my hand up and watch her visibly tense as my hand comes close to her face. She flinches slightly, and I halt. I look into her eyes, seeing flashes of past traumas when she nods after a moment passes, trusting my hand.
I move my fingers into the softness of her curls, running the strands between my pointer finger and thumb. Her hair is so soft. I am so close to her, I can smell her. She smells of cinnamon, warm and welcoming. I hook a piece behind her ear and look up at her.
“Yeah, I just want to know more about you. Tell me, Milly, what’s your favorite song?”
She leans into my hand as I let my fingers linger in her hair, as she softly answers, “In The Still of the Night by The Five Satins.” I’ve never felt anything feel so right.
I nod, smiling. “A classic, surprising. But still a great choice.”
“And what might yours be?” I nod my head over toward the record still playing.
“On Your Side by The Last Dinner Party.”
Time passes as we volley questions back and forth, settling comfortably onto the bedroom carpet.
I’m lying on my side with my head propped up on my hand as she lies on her stomach with her feet kicking in the air behind her to the beat of the music.
I’ve come to find that she’s terrified of spiders, loves the smell of pavement after a rain shower in the summer and scaring grown men, and she enjoys painting in the abandoned office room on floor 3 of the Baker building.
“I was once quite an enthusiast for baking. I had a fondness for cinnamon rolls in my time.”
I smile, wondering if that’s why she smells like cinnamon to this day.
We hear a sudden door open and close. I jump slightly at the interruption.
I look at my bedroom door and wait to hear my roommate knock, but all I hear is her shuffling toward her room and a door eventually clicking shut.
I exhale and look back at Milly, only to find her gone.
In her place is a note on the ground with the most perfect and familiar cursive penmanship:
I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and I sincerely appreciate your company this evening. I trust you understand that I cannot remain. It is, I believe, for the best.
M
My heart sinks as I reread her words over and over again.
It only takes the slightest break in our connection for her to pull away from me.
I roll onto my back with the note over my heart and close my eyes.
I wonder if Milly is secretly still in the room watching me.
Maybe she just needs time and will appear again in a few days.
I chew on my bottom lip at the thought of going days without seeing her again.
My heart instantly starts to ache. I don’t want her to be scared of getting to know me and constantly pulling away.
But why does she feel as though she has to?
I feel drawn to her. It can’t just be me.
She has to feel this… invisible pull. The record clicks, and I reluctantly get up off the ground to switch it off.
I busy myself with getting ready for bed in mindless motions as I daydream about the freckles on her collarbone.
I slide out of my clothes, climb into my bed, and stare at the tall ceilings.
“Goodnight, Milly,” I whisper in hopes she hears.
I fall asleep dreaming of cinnamon and rosy, freckled cheeks.