He is extremely angry with me. No. Angry is the wrong word. Pissed, maybe. Enraged. And those feelings of hostility he has towards me- they're only multiplied by 10 towards his 'ex bestfriend.'
I don't hear from him in over three days, and I start to worry that he'll never come back.
Sometimes I like to pretend like this never happened. That our parents never met. Because it's easier and better that way. It's better for Derek to be existing somewhere out in the world without my knowledge of him than it is for him to be dead. It's easier for me to push back feelings that I now know exist inside of me. My nightmares still consist of angry blades willingly being thrust into my veins.
I decide to try it one day when he still hasn't come back, just to see if I can feel anymore. But before the razor makes contact with my skin, he's hovering over me again, a sad… no- disappointed look on his face.
"Please don't." he whispers, and I drop the weapon to the floor. I've never seen him so broken and vulnerable than he is right now.
'Why'd you come back?' I try to ask, but instead "why'd you leave" escapes from my mouth.
"I thought you didn't need me anymore."
I dissolve into sobs as I realize I'll always need him, but without his touch it's hard to except that he's really there.
It's not enough.
Ralph tries to call me three times within the next week, but I never pick up. How can I with a seething ghost Derek leering over my shoulder every time the phone rings? I don't even try to reason with him, realizing that a jealous Derek is not to be reckoned with.
He doesn't leave me alone, not since the masochistic incident he walked in on… and somehow his presence gets less and less comforting, and more and more hindering.
I'm encompassed by his existence, alienated from the rest of the family as they become even more concerned about my condition… whatever it might be. And I can't help but feel haunted. He's not even a memory or a mirage. He's an exact replicate of what Derek would be if he were here. And it makes me sick to think I can't even push him or hug him or-
It comes to the point where I can hardly take it anymore. He glares at me as I dial Ralph's number for a reassuring human voice, but I ignore his glowers as Ralph picks up.
"I'm really sorry, Casey!" he yells, before I can get a word in, and then we're both practically crying over the receiver. I apologize for ignoring him, and he murmurs about how he didn't mean to make a move on me, and somehow we end up talking about Derek and our nostalgic memories, blubbering and laughing at the same time. And then the subject switches to bedazzled drumming gloves and I'm not even crying anymore, just giggling like a madwoman. Which, at this point, I know I am.
After an hour of sharing reassuring words and making another friendly lunch date, I feel a whole hell of a lot better than I did before…
That is until I realize Derek is gone again.
Even though the thought of ghost Derek makes me uneasy, I make myself sick worrying about whether he's going to come back or not. Because I still need him.
I try to recreate the incident where he appeared to me again, a razor dangling threateningly over my wrist, but this time I'm not interrupted by him, but a bang as the door flies open and Lizzie stands there, shock and horror on her face.
"Mom!" she shrieks, and I fling the razor to the side, breaking down, ashamed of being caught. Ashamed of what my poor sister has seen.
Ashamed of what I'd do to bring Derek back.
Mom decides to send me to therapy twice a week. I feel trapped in the passenger seat of the car as we pull up to his home office, a small but quaint looking house in the neighborhood next to mine.
Mom puts a hand on my knee and kisses my cheek. "I love you, Casey." she says. "Please don't be mad at me for bringing you here."
"No, mom. I'm not mad." I choke out, my voice not quite used to talking out loud.
She smiles sadly and leads me out of the car to the front door, pressing the doorbell in haste. It's like she wants to get rid of me. Either that, or she's just too nervous to be around me any longer.
The door opens and my jaw drops to the ground. There stands Paul Greeby, my high school guidance counselor. Immediately my reserve is dropped, and I fling my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his ugly sweater vest and feeling more at home than I have in a long time. He hugs back with such vigor that it surprises me, but then I realize he must have already heard about my situation. He feels sorry for me.
I pull back and give him a weak smile. "Looks like you're in good hands." says my mom, and I turn to her, grateful that she went out of her way just to find Paul and let me meet with him. She gives me a small hug goodbye, and I turn and walk into Paul's house.
He directs me to sit down in one of his leather recliners, and somehow I feel as if I should be laying on a couch staring at the ceiling, but am perfectly fine with this arrangement. He sits across from me. I speak first.
"School guidance counselor by day, psychological therapist by night, huh?"
"More like by school year and by summer." He chuckles, cracking his knuckles. But then all seriousness appears on his face. "I'm really sorry about your loss, Casey."
My eyes meet the ground as I'm reminded why I'm here in the first place. "It's been so hard for me, Paul. Me, more than anyone."
"I know how much he meant to you." Paul says slowly. "You never came to my office for anything other than Derek." I look up, and it dawns on me that Paul is absolutely right. And then… the questions. "What have you been feeling like? Why is it harder for you than anyone else?"
"It's not what I've been feeling like." I sigh. "It's what I've been seeing. Derek. Everywhere. And he's not a memory either. Not even a ghost. He's just… Derek, there, in front of me."
"Even right now?" Paul asks.
"He disappeared." I say, my heart beating wildly in my chest. "He goes away for a while. But this time I'm afraid he's never going to come back."
I open up to Paul. That's what I do. But it still hurts to say everything I've been feeling out loud.
"Why do you want him there, Casey?" Paul inquires gently. "What is it about him that you crave? Is he comforting? Is he helpful?"
"That just it… he's neither of those things. He was, at first, but now I feel like I'm just being haunted. It's just that… I need him. I need him, Paul!" My voice begins to waver and I've never felt so exposed in my entire life. I let my emotions rush out of my mouth and my heart.
"Why do you feel you need him?"
"I…" Oh God. I can't do this. I begin to take in shallow breaths, my lungs gasping for air as I struggle to let the words pass my lips.
"It's okay, Casey. You can say it. You can tell me." Paul's eyes stare eagerly and calmingly into mine, and I take a great shuddering breath before letting myself go.
"I love him!" I yell, and a glowing white figure materializes in the corner once again, his mouth hanging wide open.
AN: You must be either a) very confused as to why there was an update for this story in your inbox when you clearly never put it on alert... wait... oh yes you did. it was just so FREAKING LONG AGO! or b) confused but happy that this author actually DOES update her fanfics, despite being a failure for not doing it sooner. I will not make excuses as to why I haven't updated this in so long. I apologize profusely, and I just ask that out of the kindness of your hearts, you don't completely bash my conductivity on this fic in your reviews. ;) Now that school is out (PERMANATELY) and my muse is working overtime, it's safe to say that another hugenormous break is unlikely to happen. I also apologize for all the angst and darkness I wrote in this chapter… My writing style has changed a lot since last year. :/ I hope you all don't mind. As always, please review if you have the time. I can't thank you enough for just reading! It means so much to me. 3