It haunted her, as much as humanly possible, it haunted her. And everyone thought they had a good idea on why she was such a mess. It seemed obvious, a dead loved one was enough to turn any normal person into a hallow being. But then again, she never was normal so people often wondered how affected she was.

If she was at all.

Tucker knew she was if it wasn't already painfully obvious. She was completely desensitized. Sometimes when he saw her walking by him he could swear he saw the blood on her all over again. Sometimes Tucker swore he'd see that look she'd given him in pure helplessness.

He wanted so desperately to reach her but after the whole ordeal she locked herself away. He'd seen the last of Sam that day, now all he saw was this empty girl with a striking resemblance to Sam. No soft words or tender motions could bring that Sam back to the surface. She was lost.

She was a tortured soul locked away for the rest of her natural life. And everyone watched with peering eyes of concern and curiosity as she walked by. They watched as her best friend tried to coax her voice out, the voice she'd for some reason decided needed to go. A voice everyone was shamefully starting to miss.

But they wouldn't understand why she couldn't speak. She could barely stand her hands, the eternally stained hands. The ones that tried to stop his life from spilling out. The hands that stayed idle and felt her best friend succumb to his injuries. The hands that should've stopped him from wasting his last breaths from spilling out long concealed affections.

She couldn't forgive herself.

She hated everything about herself. She thought of herself in the worse possible ways and never took back her thoughts. She deserved it in her mind and she would always deserve it. No ghost hunter, psychologist, technical enthusiast, or optimistic face could tell her otherwise. She was pathetic and useless.

And that was that.

They weren't sure for how long she was going to keep up her pattern. They didn't know how long she saw the red visions on her mind. They would never know what it was to look into the eyes and see tears. Tears of regret and fear, fear was something that was never expressed there before.

The pain of knowing he felt fear in his last moments made her tear her hair from her head. It made her attempt to scream but remain mute. Just the very thought that occured that maybe he didn't want to die. That maybe he never was ready to go. But he was forced because of her.

Her mind was derailing and everyday got worse and every day pitying eyes looked upon her. All were dead in comparison to the once beautiful blue ones that once regarded her as the most valuable thing ever. She wasn't sure if they knew it yet. She wasn't sure if they were aware that they were lifeless compared to him. It made her laugh to herself at the thought.

Then she found her own eyes one day she happened upon a puddle in the street. The reflection told her things about herself she didn't know. She looked worse of then he had been, a skinny pale sickly creature of torment. The eyes he coveted were not what he would have remembered. Tears streaked down her face in shame.

They didn't see her at the next sunrise as they gathered in a mutual knowledge of responsibility. The eyes that looked upon her with condolence didn't see her. They looked but they didn't see her. A pair of blue eyes ran up to a pair of teal ones. Her tight pink shirt clung to her body in shapely manner.

She held a paper in a hand and looked positively distraught. He evened his yellow shirt out and stared at her bewildered. Surely she had nothing to say to the likes of him.

"Did you see the news?" She cried to the boy. He shook his head. "She drove her car off a cliff last night..."

He dropped his books in pure horror.

Well...uhh... subtlety is a strange style. Oh and the title is french for Those Eyes.