My eyes lids fluttered with the notion of waking up, but all I could see in front of me was a wall of chest gently rising and falling with tranquil inhalation. In the course of the night, the covers had migrated to the floor, and we had become what I can only describe as a human tangle. Our legs were twisted together like ivy; charcoal trousers mingling with indigo denim. I was curled into his chest like a coiled bud with his arms protectively enfolded around me, I adored the fact we seemed to subconsciously know the obstruction between us had vanished. There was no more one inch gap of longing; I don’t even think there was even millimetre gap between us. I could feel where his belt buckle would be digging into the milky flesh of my hip, if discomfort was an option. It tempered our closeness with the sting that I couldn’t feel the heat emanating from him, or his breath interlacing with my hair where his head rested on mine; I knew we were wrapped up in each other but couldn’t revel in the exhaustive sensation of it.
It was still dark outside, but I could see a hint of the morning sun seeping into the sky, tinting the clouds a blushing shade of pink. Nick stirred with the impression of waking, but I had no particular desire to get out of his embrace, so I stayed still with sealed eyes. I could have remained there forever quite favourably and forever is a real prospect when you’re in my position. Nick’s arms flexed in the usual waking stretch, pulling my body closer to his and I noted the movement of his head looking around the room; looking for signs of life and time but finding neither. Nick gently uncoiled an arm from me to check his watch, and he leaned back slightly to see if I was awake, at this point I should have parted from his grasp but stayed sheltered in the illusion of sleep. I thought Nick would pull away and get up or retreat back to his side of the bed but instead enclosed his arms further around me; also prolonging the charade of sleep. We stayed like this for a blissfully long period of time, I could tell he was still awake from his breathing; it was no longer uniform with the intense serenity of sleep but following a waking tempo. I floated gently back off to slumber; it didn’t even bother me that I couldn’t dream as the waking prospect seemed more enticing.
A few hours later I woke again, still encompassed in my masculine sanctuary and rubbed my eyes with the sobriety of being well rested “morning,” Nick said loosening his grip on me and arching his back; resetting the muscles tension ready for the day to begin. The pressure of his hips pressing against mine sent a surf or frisson through my bones “We seem to have got tangled over the night… Did you sleep well?” “Straight through, like a log” white lie, “same here” additional white lie. It took every ounce of strength not to kiss that stunning face of his, but I wouldn’t risk ruining everything again. I messed him up when he was alive, with the medication and therapy; it could be a lot worse now that he was dead. Things going right would mean we would both became keepers, like and aging couple ridden with Alzheimer’s clad in the facade of youth, desperately clinging on to each other as they slip away. Things going wrong would mean possibly spending the next hundred years with each other and not being too thrilled with the prospect; retrospect may be a beautiful thing but so is foresight. Even if, it means being single and miserable until I move on; I was pretty good at that in life so it should be a breeze, right?
Nick checked his watch again “it’s almost noon!” his voice still drench in comfortable ease “I guess there’s nothing to get up for when you’re dead…” “There’s coffee?” I replied craning my neck up to his level, he bowed his also till our faces were an only inch apart “I can drink coffee?!” “You most certainly can!” I said with a slothful chuckle. It was good not worrying about morning breath at a point like this, morning hair however, was a tangible problem and my unruly mane spread out across the pillow and covered his arms with chocolate locks. Nick eyes drilled into me, and his voice trailed into a whisper caught in a moment “well thank god for that…” there was so little space between us I couldn’t tell if he was closing the gap or my mind was making it up. Get with the programme Jasmine, you have to be friends “you make the bed, I’ll make the coffee” I said wiggling out of his grasp and making for the stairs. A quick glance back revealed him sitting on the end of the bed and stretching, skin pulling to an enchanting tension over his biceps; it also confirmed I was an idiot for leaving their embrace.
I strolled into the dewy light of the kitchen, set the kettle to work and tumbled pungent, caffeinated grounds into a pair of mugs. I must admit the fantasies of being with Nick I had before he died had free rein of my mind now; I had just woken up in his arms and was now making his coffee. Not hiding and dreaming of being a housewife and ironing his shirts, making his breakfast and thinking of ways to make him smile when he got home from work. Eternity of this wouldn’t be so severe, I could just keep our illusory romance going in my head; he doesn’t have to know the ins and outs of my passive stalking. Getting bowls and bran flakes out of the cupboard and placing a glass pitcher of milk on the breakfast bar I mulled over how it’s a shame you can’t just flick a switch and make someone love you to the intensity that you loved them. In any relationship, there is always one who cares more and the one who cares the least holds all the power. I can’t even control my breathing around him; if he asked me to do anything I wouldn’t even question it and that’s an uneasy feeling but the warmth of devotion gets into your blood. I was so strong willed in life, didn’t even let a man buy me dinner; the living me would hate the dead me.
I set up camp at the breakfast bar after retrieving the newspaper and watched Nick’s descent downstairs. A tantalising inch by inch reveal with every step. I gestured to the coffee and cereal with my spoon “I didn’t think I’d be able to eat too?” he said climbing onto a chrome bar stool “technically you’re not” I replied “you’re not actually eating or drinking anything, your mind’s making it real to help with the transition” he took a small sip of his coffee and flashed his blue eyes in my direction over the rim of the mug “the transition you’re still in seven years later?” I’ll give him that one, I never did adjust to the idea of being dead; I still clung to my routines and rituals. It always felt like I died so young I never accomplished anything, I wanted to prolong my life, or at least continue the illusion of it until something brighter happened. Something that lit up my heart like a flare and made me beam; I had never felt emotion that strong, the type that tries to burst out of you and swallows you whole like when you give birth or get married.
I picked up the newspaper and passed Nick the sport and business sections between mouthfuls of bran flakes “it’s a little scary how well you know me,” He said karate chopping the inked sheets into submission and reaching for the cereal “it’s not a level playing field” our eyes met across the crowded lonely heart ads “welcome to my world”. I knew him like the back of my hand but never had a chance to use the knowledge, he was meeting me afresh; he clearly had the advantage here. I constantly had to concentrate on not being creepy, not declaring adoration, it was tough, and it had only been a day.
After absorbing what the stock market was up to and commenting how it’s typical his shares do well once he’s dead, Nick poured himself a bowl of cereal and pointed to the glass jug full of milk “can you slide that over please?” head still in the paper. I gave the pitcher a push, and it slid down the granite bar towards him, but his attention was firmly on the paper and it glided straight past his open hand and into his lap. Milk saturated his clothes and the glass jug fell to the floor with a heavy clatter, chipping around the edges. There was no burst of cold to surprise Nick, so he continued reading the paper until my laughter alerted him to the situation “oh bugger” he said checking out his torso. He turned to me with a blank expression asking what to do next and I tried to contain my giggles, he remained poker faced, but I could see his lips curling inwards trying to contain laughter. His shoulders began to bob up and down as it bubbled inside of him. I fought against the urge long enough to finish my mouthful and not spray mulched bran flakes across the kitchen but he couldn’t encompass it any longer and laughed so hard he almost knocked the cup of coffee over as well “No used crying over spilt milk!” he wheezed seeing the tears streaming from my eyes.
Nick got up sending a winter shower of dairy over the kitchen tiles “stick your clothes on the radiator to dry them off” I said moving the rest of the breakfast ware away from him and removing the tears of humor from my cheeks. All the hilarity disappeared from Nick face “do I have to?” Really? He’s shy of getting his kit off? “By all means sit in milk if you want” I gave him a flirtatious look up and down while cleaning up the counter “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before” Although the spillage was all in our minds he was still dripping wet and would stay that way till he dried his clothes. “Turn around then,” he said bringing a hand to his top button, ready to commence. Like hell I was missing this, I slowly raised my section of the paper until it covered all of my face except my eyes “If that’s how you want to play it” he said beginning the show.
Nick’s clothes went on the radiator and he was left eating dry bran flakes in his pants and striped jazz socks; a glorious, yet hilarious sight. Acting as if it was the norm he continued reading the paper with his coffee cup in hand and when my chuckles reached a conspicuous volume he would whip a warning glance over the paper and I would simmer down. After a few minutes, I started launching parched fragments of cereal at him like miniature bran spit fires, acting oblivious when another cautionary glance playfully drifted over the papers edge. Eventually after an air strike of flakes had decorated his hair and coffee with grained shrapnel and he calmly got up, carefully folded his paper and walked over to me. Nick took the cereal box out of my hand and emptied the entire container over my head in a crispy hail storm before sitting back in his seat and continuing to read looking smug. Nick Lowered his chronicle defence to make a witty remark, but before it could exit his mouth I sent the contents of my bowl back over to him in retaliation. I always did take things a step too far. The milk slapped him in the face, and he looked stunned “I guess I had that coming didn’t I?”
Another spell off hysterical laughter passed before I sent him upstairs “go and have a shower, I’ll clean this up” “you are bossy, aren’t you?” he replied on his way out with a spirited smile darting up the stairs. I tidied up the remains of breakfast warfare; I was having more fun with him as a ghost than I ever had with a man alive. It’s like we didn’t have to worry about the restraints of usual boy/girl mingling, there was no chance of anything physical, so we didn’t have to impress each other, and we could relax. Not that I didn’t hate it the fact there couldn’t be anything physical, but I couldn’t change it. No matter how hard I wished.
I heard the shower roar into life upstairs and the phone started ringing as I was moving chips of glass to the bin. The answer machine clicked in and a small worried voice emerged from the device “Nick… It’s your mother… The hotel rang me and you haven’t been staying in your room. Is everything okay? Could you just call me when you get this, I’m awfully worried and you know I won’t rest until you’ve called me. Love you son, call me”
Reality came crashing down on me. I had stolen this man from his life.
