NOTE: There is much more! I will try to update every day or two! Please continue reading! Thank you.

Ghost had locked himself inside of his room. He grabbed his backpack and started to stuff it full of anything he thought he might need…or miss. Tears still tiredly fell from his eyes as he grabbed the notebook that held LOST SOULS? lyrics and music and the tapes that held both his voice and Steve's amazing guitar licks…before all of this happened. With a sigh, Ghost looked up to the design he'd placed there on the ceiling. With a heart full of reluctance, Ghost grabbed a photo album and placed it carefully into his over packed backpack. He grabbed another bag and put a pillow and as many blankets as he could because he knew he wouldn't be able to bring the bed.

Outside his room, Steve was loudly begging Ghost to stay. He banged his hand roughly on Ghost's wooden door.

"Ghost don't go. Please don't go." Steve begged from right outside Ghost's room. Ghost tried hard not to give in to Steve's tears. "Ghost, I'm sorry I'll never do it again." He stopped banging on the door. Ghost unlocked the door and sadly faced Steve. Steve's face was horribly sad, tears fell like rain on his cheeks and his lower lip quivered. "I'm sorry Ghost. Don't go, you're all I've got." Ghost tried to smile but he, instead, fell into Steve's arms and wrapped his arms around Steve's back.

"You've still got me Steve." Ghost said as he pulled away and began to walk toward the door. "But I can't stay here." He pulls open the door and starts to walk away.

"You can't leave me!" Steve shouted, suddenly angry. He grabbed Ghost's shoulder and pulled him back inside. "I cannot lose you!" Steve throws Ghost into the living room.

Fearfully, Ghost covers his face with his bag. "Don't hurt me again Steve. Just don't hurt me." His tired blue eyes start to water again. He looked up over his bag and watched as Steve walked away.

"Fine then. Go." Steve growled. Ghost ran out the front door, tears falling off his cheeks and didn't turn back…in fear that he would see Steve running toward him.

The apartment building was a good half mile away and looked dreadfully tall. Ghost ran into the main building and asked for a key. After a lengthy showing of documents, Ghost was handed the key to his new home. After a short walk up the stairs, Ghost had reached the door to his apartment. Before opening the bland colored door, he studied it. There was nothing similar between the door on the house he had lived in before with Steve and this one. Tears began to form in his red and blue eyes.

When he finally built up the strength to push open the door, Ghost put the key into its spot and listed for a click. When the door opened, Ghost took one step inside and sighed. This "house" was not full of tension. This "house" did not smell of beer and smoke. This "house" did not have stains on the walls, carpet and furniture from spilt beer…but this house was frighteningly empty. There would be no one to wake him in the morning, asking where the Tylenol was. There would be no jokes about the president or politics when the news blared on the small 27" TV. There would be no one to run to when one of his terrible dreams arrived. Ghost was horribly, desperately alone.

He finally closed the door behind him and fell to his knees, dropping the bags beside him. There tears were resurrected from wherever they had one lay and spilled over his tired, hurting cheeks.