NECROMANTIC

eighteen.

Rob and I made like we were going to school the next morning.

Helen seemed so pleased to see him up, and dressed, and kept patting my arm and beaming at me as she made herself, Rob and Ben bacon rolls, and me Greek yoghurt, with a little swirl of honey on top and raspberries to dip in, because Helen knew me well, and she was nothing but a sweetheart — much like her son.

In my head, from the entire time I first thought it, out on that road in the early morning, there'd been a chant of freak, freak, freak. It was unrelenting, and monotonous, but I accepted it. Because it was true. What I could do, could see... no normal human being could do that. It was unnatural and messed up. And yet, until now, I'd never used that term for myself. I guess I'd tried to rationalise it, but now... now I knew there was nothing rational about it at all.

And yet, I had a brief moment where I was glad I was a freak — because if I wasn't, Helen wouldn't have her only son. A great grief and sadness would weigh down her once sunny smile, would break her sweet and bright spirit. Helen deserved all the happiness in the world, and no grief, no sadness.

Helen left first, to her job as a midwife nurse, hair the colour of Rob's in a high preppy ponytail, in pastel pink scrub trousers and a flowery scrub top, giving every one of us a kiss on the cheek. Ben left, soon after, calling out a cheery goodbye and telling us not to be late, and have a nice, productive day.

And then it was just the two of us. A great, and awkward silence hung between us, until Rob cleared his throat, picking up crumbs from his plate with the pad of his thumb, pushing them into a neat little pile in the middle. "So... where should we go?"

I scraped my spoon around the empty yoghurt pot just for something to do, swiping my tongue across my teeth, still tasting the almost bitter sweetness of the raspberries as I did. "Uh..." I said quietly, lifting my shoulders in a little shrug, before looking tentatively over at Rob. He wasn't looking at me, though. He hadn't, since... since we'd been on that road. He'd carefully avoided my gaze. "We aren't gonna stay here?"

He shook his head. "I... I feel weird. About staying here. Talking here. Where it... y'know. Happened."

"Oh." I said softly, nodding. "Ok. Yeah. I get you."

"And, y'know, mom might come back home, for lunch or something." He added, as an afterthought. "I... I wanna go somewhere private. Where there'll be little to no people at all."

I nodded, thinking about it. And only one place seemed to spring to mind. It was ironic, and nearly made me laugh out loud. "I think I know a place."

"Ok." He nodded, and we carefully put our breakfast cutlery away, and set out. And it was weird. Walking side by side with Rob and not holding hands, or our shoulders even brushing a little. I ached to reach out and slide my palm in his. To feel his fingers interlock with mine, the familiar feeling and warmth of his skin. But his hands were firmly jammed into his jacket pockets, and his head was hung, as though he was aware of my desire, and didn't wanna even give me a tiny iota of hope in the matter.

It didn't take us long to get to where I was leading us, and as I pushed open the old, creaky, ominous black metal gothic gates, I glanced back to see his jaw drop open, his eyes widen, his brow knit in confusion. His expression was so adorably puzzled and shocked I almost giggled at it.

"The... the cemetery?" he asked, and his eyes briefly made contact with mine, so that I could see the incredulousness in them. "Really? I mean... really?"

I shrugged. "Graveyards... for all they're filled with bodies, there's... there's not a lot of dead people... Hanging around." I stepped inside and held the gate open for him to pass through — he did so, slowly, cautiously, eyeing me like I was crazy. "Which is kind of twisted and ironic."