Chapter 2: I Cannot Live With You

"I cannot live with You –

It would be life –

And Life is over there –

Behind the shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to –

Putting up

Our life – His Porcelain –

Like a cup –

Discarded of the Housewife –

Quaint – or Broke –

A newer Sevres pleases –

Old Ones crack –"

- Emily Dickinson "I cannot live with you"

I was the only one still here. Everyone else had let go and gone on leaving only me; a mere shadow, a shade, of what, who, I used to be. No one remained to hold them back; no emotional ties remained for my fellow specters, my fellow ghosts. one tie remained for me, one tie partnered with a million adjacent filaments that stretched between us. That tie had two names: one given and one chosen. But to me, he was more than either; he is mine; was mine. Those blue-black eyes, the hooked nose, the tan skin, the tattoos that adorned his back and hand and hid the literal and physical scars both ghosts and living had left. All of that was who he was more so than any name. He is more than a name. A name that is alone.

Floating behind me, I recalled seeing the tips of his tattoo peeking out from under the collars of his black jackets all the times that I'd followed close behind him. My footprints had been half the size of his; still are but they no longer left marks nor touched the ground. He's older now, a mere two years have passed but he looks as though it has been a decade since my fingers caressed his angular jaw line and teased a smile from his lips. New scars have joined those that were paint brushed on his tan skin by an unseen hand, mine; the very same invisible one that currently clutched at my transparent arm. He never said it aloud to any of his fellow survivors but I knew, know, it was, is, my fault. He'd become increasingly more of a risk-taker after my transition between worlds; just like I'd been when my parents left his world for the next.

"Tobias?" I whispered, praying that he'd hear me this time; praying that he would turn around and accuse me. Accuse me of being a coward, for dying for no reason (he was the reason, he and the rest), and (worst of all) leaving him. But he didn't turn around. He never did. The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over expecting different results; death made me crazy in a way that life had not. Sighing, I continued to float behind him as though I was, am, tethered to him physically and had, have, no other place to go. Figuratively speaking, I indeed was, am. His body was tight as a spring with tension and any who made the mistake of attempts at communication were met with a hardened glare and his mouth pressed in a thing line. The same lips I had once kissed passionately were barely able to form a smile anymore and it was all my fault. "Oh Tobias." My whole body sighed and I groaned inwardly as my barely transparent form faded into nothingness.

Invisibility is the curse of the dead, I decided as I gritted my teeth and strived for the meager amount of visibility allotted to those in my state of being. Even the transparency I had achieved before was better than being completely gone. Out of sight, out of mind. "Tris?" A strained, hoarse voice asked as I finally flickered back to light and looked up in surprise. No one had seen or hear me in so long that my voice sounded dusty to my own ears. Tobias looked at me hopefully. AT ME. "I'm here!" I cried as I reached for him with hands that could not touch, "I'm here Tobias!" To my surprise, I grew more visible and glowed brighter. He saw me! He could see me! His eyes widened as he unconsciously reached for me in turn. The wrinkles and stress lines disappeared from his worn face. The recent bruises and large scar faded until he looked like the eighteen year old I had fallen for eons ago; the same eighteen year old I had scarred and abandoned when I died.

Suddenly his eyes darkened and he jerked his hands back before clutching them over his ears and berating himself. "She'd not real. She's dead. She's dead and gone. Don't hope. Don't you dare hope. Hope makes the hurt worse. She left you." I was back in my Initiation, in front of that terrible knife throwing target and he stood there with no initiates as his side and no Eric ordering him to throw his words. His words that were like the individual daggers of the past flung at me. They didn't just nick my ear this time but dug in deep. Into my stomach, my chest, my arms, and legs, pinning me there as he continued with the final blow. "She left you." That dagger thudded into my unbeating hard and proceeded to twist and turn as it left as much damage, pain, and devastation in its path as it could. I felt like I was being broken apart; like I was being shot over and over again; like going through the death serum over and over and not beating it. Death is supposed to be the absence of pain; only I would be bad at being dead.

With those words, Tobias straightened his back painfully under the weight of all his aching fear, anger, and hurt. Turning sharply on his heel, he began marching towards his apartment tugging me along for the ride. Like a wind-up toy soldier, he forced one stiff leg in front of the other powered by the strength of his will power in the face of the emotional ache that tried to hold him back. Wearing his armor of brokenness, the aged face of wrinkles, bruises, stress lines, and that scar returned as the boy I knew hid behind the strength and stubbornness of the man that I had created. "I cannot live with you." I burst out, my voice causing him to pause mid-footfall and I quickly corrected myself, "Couldn't live with you." He began to move again and I floated in front of him in order to stop him as the rest tumbled out in a rush, "It would be life." It wasn't meant to be, but it was a joke, an ironic moment when the ghost spoke of life. "I wanted life." I added unnecessarily as my hands moved forwards of their own accord and rested just above his shoulders.

Tobias scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in a habit connected with disbelief. "I must be going insane." With that he walked right through me and I felt a chill rush through my phantom form. Ghosts weren't supposed to be chilled, the living were. That was privilege meant for them. Turning back around once we reached his appartment door, Tobias gave me a hurt look as he whispered "You still chose death." His accusation hurt but less so this time around as I recovered quickly and shook my head at him as he turned back around and walked through the door. Rather than slam it in my face, he held it open; old habits die hard. "I chose life, not mine but yours." His eyes looked at the ground as I spoke and he closed the door with a sharp click when I finished and he gathered his thoughts.

"But your life is over there, behind the shelf where you live in a box without a voice. A box that I cannot let go of. I let an Abnegation priest keep the key to you and he put you there beside a cup. A broken cup." He paused after pointing out the locked cabinet and looked me in the eyes forcing me to fall into their open depths. I was lost again in those eyes, the eyes of my ex-lover, my still lover. "The broken cup is me. A new one would please you but old ones break and the glue doesn't work anymore."

Neither would tape, plaster, or all the king's horses and all the king's men. But I didn't say that, instead I looked him back in the eyes and spoke the truth. "I too am broken; we're both broken beyond repair. But two broken parts can make a whole." I paused though I didn't, don't, need the breath like he does. Being around him made me feel alive again and gave me the habits of the living. So even though I didn't need to, I paused for the nonexistent breath. In the meantime, Tobias interrupted me. "But you're dead." Cue the second round of daggers here. "The dead cannot fix the living." No matter how much I wanted to fight it, he was right. Completely and utterly right. "You're just a ghost. My past. Trying to fix my future." How does one respond to that? There are no words in this language of his or the unspoken one of the dead that sometimes visits me in my home. He is still my home.

Leaning forward, I placed, place, a hand on his cheek and even as my hand went through his stubbly chin, he leaned into the touch and smile slightly. It had been so long since he'd smiled that I worried that he had forgotten how. That smile was just the beginning of the healing process and though I knew that, it filled me an inexplicable joy. "Maybe you can." Tobias whispered breaking my thought tendrils at the source with the sound of his voice. He had paused as he attempted to steady his voice. His breathing had become irregular and I could hear his heart beat as it ran rampant at the light touch of the ghost of his lover, present tense. Time never felt as real for a ghost like me until that moment when nothing was a mix of conflicting past and present tenses but instead was all in the present. I missed such mortal things, I realized as my pulse which had used to quicken in response and my heart which used to beat in time with his remained silent. Being dead is not as releasing as they claim in to be. Leaning close I floated my lips just beside his check and leaned forward enough so that he might feel them go through him. It was the closest to a kiss I could come but it was enough for me and it clearly was for him as he took a deep shaky breath in response and his smile became an outright grin, "Maybe we can be fixed by our ghosts after all."

Sorry it was so sad but I hope you enjoy it still! Please read, and review! Remember more reviews make updates easier and faster for this busy author :)