My heart hammered against my lungs, forcing them to take short, gasped breaths. I needed to see that he was alright. I launched myself towards the window and climbed out, slipping in my haste and falling into the crisp snow below; it looked a shade of cornflower blue in the moonlight and cushioned the knock on my head hitting the floor. Arms wrapped round my torso to help me up but I moved in surprise, flinging chilled tidbits of snow in all directions. It took a second to actually get up and wipe my hair from my eyes but Nick was standing in front of me “you okay Jas? That was quite a fall!” My body melted in relief and I threw my arms round him in a crushing embrace. Nick was taken aback by this unexpected affection “it’s good to see you too… is everything okay?” “I thought you weren’t coming back!” my fingers wove into his hair and pulled him closer “I thought they’d got you!”
Nick pushed me back so he could see my face and brushed the rogue strands of stubborn hair from my eyes so he could look me in the eye “I’m fine, calm down. Everything is cool, you’re okay,” a deep breath sobered me, allowing my arms to release his from the death grip of relief that had been unleashed on him “you sure you’re okay Jasmine? You really banged you head on the floor back there” “I’m cool… I’m dead so it didn’t hurt” Nick took my hand and lead me back to the window “sorry, you shouldn’t have to keep reminding me”
“What happened then?” I asked, something must have happened “We had a chat… well, I talked and they listened” that was it? I felt ridiculous for getting so worked up now. We climbed back through the window and a niggling feeling in the back of my mind warned he wasn’t telling me the full story “what did you talk about?” Nick picked the bottle of wine up and began reading the label, avoiding eye contact “nothing important… the weather, current affairs” he had a suspicious air about him. I walked over and took the bottle from his hands “and you know they listened how?” knowing he wasn’t getting t bottle back until I got some decent answers he began searching the kitchen drawers instead “they nodded and waved as I left. Where is the corkscrew?”
As far as I knew the keepers only purpose, now they had lost themselves, was to maintain the balance and keep us all in line. They wouldn’t pay any attention to us unless we had done something wrong. Nick was still searching for the apparatus necessary to open the wine “where the fuck is the corkscrew!?” and getting a little irate, it was still in the living room from his date with the burglar last week “check the coffee table, I think Kelly knocked it under there” “Kelly? Who’s Kelly?” That story really didn’t need to taint the evening; the guy was already dead, he didn’t need to be embarrassed with almost being robbed by his date “…Chanel… your date last week… slip of the tongue”
After the wine was eventually opened and the bottle was left to breathe (because apparently ‘that’s how it’s done’), we waited, sat at the breakfast bar, with the bottle between us and baited breath. “do you think this will work?” Nick asked, never taking his eyes from the bottle “I see no reason why not!” I replied, turning my mug around in my hands. I wasn’t familiar enough with the wine glasses to use them and had no intention of studying them until I could, while Nick got plastered alone. As pathetic as it was, wine from a mug was enough of a regular occurrence when I was alive for a post death vino tankard to not be an issue. It seems my tardiness with washing up had produced one benefit after all.
“Are you seriously going to drink merlot from a mug?” Nick asked, he really was a closet wine snob “hell yes I am,” I replied with a knavish grin “I’d drink Champaign from a soup bowl if I had to” he let out a chuckle and reached for the bottle, pouring out vessels full of claret nectar “cheers!” he toasted, raising his glass “to death, love and laughter” our first gulps were greedy and well-earned as securing the wine had been far more arduous than expected. Hours of dangerous work demanded quite a victory sip.
In fact we both down our first helpings in one, eager to see if the trip was in vain. Once porcelain and glass were set back on the counter, we eyeballed each other gauging results “anything?” Nick questioned, studying my eyes for any trace of intoxication “after only one glass? I’m not that much of a cheap date!” I replied pushing my mug towards him, the wine was redeployed and second servings were finished with the same vivacity.
Downing the wine didn’t give me the usual burn that ripples down your gullet due to our desensitized bodies; this could be dangerous. It was the alcohol burn that usually slows you down. My vision was lagging slightly with the usual early effects of booze, my mind could be making it up though, teasing me with false hope “one more glass and I’ll know” Nicks eyebrows picked up in approval; if he wanted a drinking buddy, he had made a superb choice. “There isn’t much left,” he picked up the bottle, but it was full and sealed once more “what the hell?” “It’s all in our minds,” I said tapping my head “we aren’t actually drinking it. I would like to not drink some more please, so get it opened again Mr Cox!” Nick was truly amazed “oh this is a disaster! Bottomless wine? This is going to be a mess…”
After my sixth mug of wine, I was fairly certain that alcohol could indeed affect the dead. That or the house was now afloat; the room was definitely swaying to a delightful waltz. “Nicholas… I think its working” a mischievous grin inched across his face “I think you’re right” “I think I am” Intoxication was a deliciously fuzzy feeling against the usual false high definition of death. Once you’re a ghost, your hearing is pin sharp, you eyesight twenty-twenty and any ailments from life stay with your body; they don’t affect your soul. But it detracts from the reality of flawed perception, what makes things feel real; like squinting to read a label, or mishearing things, or your bones aching after a bad night sleep. The feeling of my body struggling to keep up with the drink was a beautiful imperfection in an unreal world, it made me feel alive.
Nick was opening the bottle for the third time, the corkscrew seemed to have become an extension of his hand “more tea vicar?” he said filling my mug with a slurred flourish, leaving drops of rouge liquid spotted on the counter “I would make an outstanding priest” I replied after a healthy glug of wine, my eye lids trying to join in the conversation and blinking of their own accord. Nick filled his own wine glass with a little more dexterity “I would let you marry me any day” this gave me an onslaught of giggles; I tried to contain them by putting my face into the cave created by the table and my folded arms; penning in the noise like stray sheep “what’s so funny?!” Nick asked, completely out of the loop but fraying at the edges with stray chuckles. I got it together enough to answer “it sounded like you meant you’d marry me, not let me marry you! HA!” Nick was now laughing purely at me “that’s not funny! … okay, you could do my funeral any day!”
Now that was an outstanding idea. We could attend out own funerals this way “OOH! Let’s do our funerals! We never got to go and damn it, we deserve to!” Nick laughed into his wine glass “isn’t that a bit morbid?!” “Seeing as we’re already dead it’s more like a christening… or a bar mitzvah really” he mulled the idea over for a few seconds and down the rest of his glass “I’m first!”
We decided to use the sofa as a make-shift coffin (the bath tub might have been overkill) and Nick was laid out with the remote control in his hands, in place of flowers. “Dearly beloved,” I began, clutching a radio times instead of a bible “we are gathered here today to witness the dead-ness of Nicholas Fernando Garfield Xavier Cox” Nick sat up “those aren’t my names?!” I smacked his forehead sending him back to the sofa “don’t interrupt the priest Fernando” I refilled our glasses with holy wine and pressed forward with the service.
“Nick was a good egg,” my words were more garbled than I had hoped “he was a bit of a wine snob but had a lovely singing voice and shiny hair and” “don’t forget hard working” Nick cut in with half an eye open “Nicholas was hardworking” “and not too hard on the eyes” “…and impossibly handsome and very modest. If anyone one knows of any reason why this man can’t be dead, speak now or forever hold your peace” there was a moment of silence from our imaginary congregation “Nicholas, I now pronounce you dead. You may kiss the deceased”
Nick sat up and placed the remote control beside him “I don’t think that’s part of a traditional funeral service…” “No? I’m pretty sure it is? Or maybe that is a bar mitzvah?” Nick swung his legs off the sofa, tried to steady himself and make the room stop spinning “eurgh… your turn vicar, get in your coffin” I grabbed Nicks hand to haul him up, but I was just as shaky on my feet so it was an dreadful idea. He rocked forward to gain some momentum but sank deeper into the sofa’s grasp, giving my hand a sharp tug “not happening!” my balance was lost and I tumbled onto the seat beside him “I think the next service may be cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances” Nick pulled himself out of the tunnel of sofa cushions that was trying to consume him and sat up “No Jasmine! You did mine so wonderfully… the show must go on!” he tried to get up once more but instead rocked forward to grab the wine bottle from the coffee table “I shant be getting up though… so get comfortable and play dead”
If my garbled thoughts weren’t cohesive enough usually, they were in over drive now. Every few seconds ‘tell him you love him’ and ‘go on, kiss him’ were swimming round my head. It was taking every ounce of self-control I had to keep it in check, but occasionally I would start a rogue sentence and rein it in just in time; leaving the few opening words hanging in the air like fairy lights of potential disaster.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get a good look at Jasmine… Jasmine, Jasmine, Jasmine” Nick’s eyes were closed but the words were flowing from him exuberant, inebriated flares “I didn’t know Jasmine for very long, but I know that she is clumsy, bossy, over thinks everything,” wow. Thanks Nick. This sounds more like a grilling than a ulegy. His eyes fanned open and rested on the ceiling, I was quite happily watching him in his own world and appreciating the portrait view of his face. A strong jawline supporting that opulent bottom lip that so often steals my attention, moving into the delicate flick upwards of his nose, further upwards to practically neon blue eyes, framed with long lashes and his face surrounded by unruly waves of toasted, caramel hair.
“Jasmine was also kind and caring and beautiful… very beautiful in fact. I’d rather be dead with her than alive without her” Blood fizzed round my body hearing those words, breath catch, my mind halt and my heart sparkle. The wine seemed to disable my logical, self-doubting department of my brain, sending the workers on strike so I could bask in the moment.
Nick continued whilst clumsily manoeuvring to face me, absorbed in the task as it seemed to take maximum concentration “does anyone know a reason why Jasmine can’t be dead?” we looked around the room expecting there to be a group of mourners, but it was just us so Nick pressed on “No? Good. You may kiss the deceased” he bowed his head to my level and moved in until he was a fraction away from my lips, his eyes looking into mine “I shouldn’t be doing this should I?” he sounded like me now “shut up and kiss me Nick”
The next few seconds went in slow motion. Nick kept his eyes locked on mine and continued the journey, at a scrupulously gradual pace. I couldn’t feel his breath on my face, or the heat of him getting closer but there was something. My lips were tingling, it felt like electricity was licking between us and bridging the gap; the closer he got, the more it built. The moment our lips touched, ferocious, gleaming electricity surged through my entire body and we both to arc back in shock.
It was just like the time he has walked through me, except the sensation was limited to my mouth. A current rippled through my stomach and buzzed in my chest, sending lightning bolts through my veins to my fingers. Nick looked as stunned as I was “I’ve felt this before…” “When you walked through me” he was touching his face and biting his lips, trying to identify the foreign sensation “Is this meant to happen? I mean my face feels numb, but there’s something underneath it. It’s not flat nothing like usual, just feels like it’s gone to sleep… that makes no sense” It made perfect sense, it was like when your foot goes to sleep but you can still feel the floor beneath it and the pain of stepping on the wrong angle. It wasn’t the usual two-dimensional lack of sensation; there was another layer beneath it. When you’ve felt nothing for so long the tiniest difference feels monumental.
The logical part of my brain seemed to come out of hibernation “I’m not sure we should have done that” we looked around for the keeper twins but they were nowhere to be seen; thank god, but they still could know. what if they had sensors for this kind of thing? “I told you,” Nick said fumbling with his hair; it seemed to have gone static from the voltage between us “I spoke to the twins, we’re cool” “you said you just talked about the weather…?” this was just getting worse and worse “I might have mentioned us a little, but I don’t think they are out to get us” “did you get it in writing? Or carved into a stone tablet perhaps?”
The words were difficult to get out as the tingling had spread to my tongue; it felt ridiculous when I was trying to be serious. It felt like this electricity was rekindling my nerve endings and attempting to restore feeling, but it could be more like an intimacy electric fence… or if the keepers could pick up on it, more like an intimacy electric chair.
My brain was telling me I was an idiot for letting things get that far, what was I thinking? What happened to my game plan for staying friends?! And yet my body was craving that electricity, like when you cut yourself and the first thing you do is to poke at it and squeeze to see how much it will bleed. My heart was screaming that it was worth the risk, worth losing everything to get lost in him for one night. But it wouldn’t just be me who lost everything, he would too. This thought brought the flood of desperation I’d felt earlier back for an encore; it sobered me with a miserable kick.
Damage control needed to step in, I would risk everything for Nick, but I had a five year emotional head start on him. He’d only known me a week and yes he had tried to kiss me but he could lose eternity over what he probably thinks is a fling. Plus, I need to look out for myself; when he got bored and dumped you, or moved on, you’d be alone, heartbroken and dead. That is a dangerous combination is you ever want to get out of here; one way ticket to keepers-ville.
This was too much thinking on a belly full of wine and the room started to spin “eurgh… I don’t feel so good” I felt sick and laid my head on the sofa, closing my eyes “c’mon,” Nick said yawning himself “let’s go to bed, we can panic in the morning when we’re sober” I didn’t have enough energy to get up, I was so comfy and if I stayed still the room followed suit “the sofa is good, I’ll sleep here” Nick seemed a lot more sober than I was, I suppose I hadn’t drunk for seven years. He stood up and I felt him scoop me out of the sofas arms and hold me close against him. Jesus, he was carrying me upstairs; usually I would protest I was too heavy and insist on walking up myself, but I was too far gone with rapture to even begin on complaining.
Nick rested me on the bed and pulled my jumper off over my head and my slippers off of my feet “no taking advantage mister” my voice was fully restrained with sleep and booze. He removed his shirt and climbed into bed next to me “I wouldn’t dream of it… well I would, not it that way. I meant I wouldn’t, not dream of you but I wouldn’t take advantage…” “shussshhhhh,” I interrupted him digging his own grave but the words were trailing off into the darkness “Ghosts don’t dream Nick”
The room faded into the grasp of slumber as my hand found the grasp of his.
