Ghost Silk (Ghost Perfume, Book 2) | ✔

10 - Tear me in two - Part 1

I slept in fits and starts and nightmarish interludes where I was bound before imaginary, deeply hostile Alistairs.

When I couldn't go back to sleep, I buried deeper under Michael's blankets and dozed to the sound of the drizzling on the windowpane.

Around six am, I sensed a ghost on their way to me.

I was relieved. A ghost was a reason to forget about myself. I got up.

In my ice-cold room, I dressed in loose jeans and a muted, olive-green sweatshirt. I returned to Michael's room to wait, quietly closing the door after me.

Still strange to know that on the other side, the ghost would be the food of worms. But my thread would keep them safe. Now that I knew how important it was, I would give them a bit extra. I would ask them to pass on the same message I'd asked Vi and Di, too.

The ghost's name was Katrina and she was eager to confide in me. She told me she wanted a do-over. A chance to restart.

"I was a waste," she fretted. "A waste, a waste."

Normally I said a hard no from the beginning: no do-overs. But I'd have to take a softer route with her. I saw a pit of sadness and self-loathing in her. I knew it was the kind of pit it was easy to fall into. You didn't always realize you were falling in the first place. But it was hard to claw your way out. The world was too different when you saw it from so far down - too dark and threatening.

"A waste, a waste ..."

"What are you imagining that wouldn't have been a waste?"

Her eyes darted around. "I don't know."

I nodded, using a bit of honey. "See? No one knows."

When she didn't respond, I added, "There's no answer. It must be a bad question."

She scoffed and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. She sat in a slouching way.

I waited patiently for the words to come out.

"I don't know exactly how to say it, but obviously there's an answer," she said stiffly.

"Try to say it then."

"It wasn't my fault." Her lips wobbled. "Some money ... a bit of luck. Was that too much to ask? I worked my whole life. But I wasn't born into it."

"You wasted your life working, you mean?"

"I was born like this," she said, gesturing at her face.

I blinked. "Like ... what?"

"Ugly." She covered her face. "I've always been ugly."

I thought about saying that beauty wasn't simple like that, and everyone has their pretty moments and their ugly ones. But I guessed there was a lot more, so I waited.

"You're supposed to ... you're supposed to ... be light and joyful and pretty. You're supposed to have a good time. Make something of your life, create a marriage that can last, raise children who love you ... You're supposed to spend money, have beautiful experiences. But not me, I was just ... a waste. See? A loser. He left me when ... I wasn't good enough. I've never been anything besides ugly and fat. And, and then old, too." She looked up at me from the depths of the pit. "I'm ugly, old, and fat!"

I inched closer. "You were. Don't forget."

She stared with wide, wounded eyes. "What?"

"You're dead, Katrina. You were ... you no longer are. And more importantly," I moved closer still, switching to the honey, "with whose eyes have you been looking at yourself, that you saw yourself like that?"