ghost

>> bizarre

Cause I'm looking like class and he's looking like trash
Can't get with no dead-beat ass
- No Angels by Bastille feat. Ella Eyre

The girl sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, her palms holding her cheeks. She was staring at a spot on the dirty carpet. The black eye didn't look so savage now and her mouth was clear of any blood. My sweater didn't show her arms riddled with bruises and cuts but her legs were exposed and there were many abrasions there.

In this moment of awkward silence I took a time to look at her and for the first time I could not understand who she was with just a glance. I could not decipher who she was, why she was not repulsed by my tattoos. She had beautiful slender limbs and her face was full of cheekbones and pearly skin. Her long black hair was damp on her slim shoulders. She finally met my glance and her eyes were just as dark as her hair.

"What's your name?" I asked her quietly, guessing that this was probably the most appropriate first question to ask. The girl averted her eyes again, sitting up straighter I could tell she was thinking it over whether or not if she would give me her identity.
"Bagheera" was her answer. Stopping the surprised look on my face I leant back on the chair,
"I'm Ghost" I told her. Bagheera looked at me and I could tell she thought I was messing with her.

"Were you born with that name?" she asked me with a sly look in her eye.
"Were you?" I fired back, coolly.
"No" we both said in unison. Mirroring each other's smirks her next question followed slowly,
"Are those tattoos?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Yes"
"They're impressive" she smiled brightly and almost like a giddy child. Veering my gaze down to the carpet I thought about her choice of words. Impressive.

"That's not usually what people call them" I told her honestly. She frowned,
"What do they call them?"
"Well no one has really given me specific adjectives but I'll put it this way. People attempt to beat me up in parks, they don't let me into cafés even when there are no customers and no one notices when I lift their wallets" Bagheera let out a small laugh. It was the best sound in the world tonight, in the state she was in that second of happiness was something precious to hold onto.

"What about you? Where did you get your name from?" I ask her. Her smile falters and I can see she's reliving some element of her past that she wishes could have been buried forever.
"I don't want to tell you" she says nonchalantly. I don't push her, I won't ever. Leaning forward to rest on my knees I change the pace,
"If you were asked what those men looked like, could you give a report to the police?"

Bagheera shook her head,
"No" her voice was small. Narrowing my eyes I could tell that she wasn't being truthful with me.
"You're lying, Bagheera" the word tasted like a foreign spice on my tongue and I liked it but now wasn't the time for romanticising this ugly situation.
"Excuse me?" she snapped, "I think I would know what they—" her voice caught in her throat and her hand came up to cover her mouth in an attempt to stop the sobbing.

Scrambling off the chair I came to kneel before her. I didn't touch her but my look was enough to tell her that she needed to be frank with me.
"Why won't you go to the police?" I murmured to her delicately. A new onset of tears ran down her already stained cheeks. She shook her head like the words couldn't be said.
"Bagheera, people have hurt you. Why will you not tell anyone about it?"

Her hands shot out before I could even notice, she was pushing me away and she strode across the room to the closed window. Her shoulders shook slightly as she cried, however her fists were clenched and she looked in between a sad place and an angry whirlwind.
"I cannot and will not tell anyone what happened." Bagheera said, "If you really want to know why I don't care that three men raped me it's because I don't exist."

I felt myself have an intake of breath. I had never been surprised in my whole life and now this girl was talking to me as if she understood what life was like not even being real.
"If I went to the police they would later realise that they got handed a rape case from someone who doesn't even exist" she turned to me,
"They would have seen a ghost" Bagheera's jaw tightened as though she was holding back tears.

I stood there staring at her with astonishment and surprise. What does she mean she doesn't exist? How could someone so beautiful and precious not exist?
"What are you saying?" my voice was unsteady and I hated myself for it.
"You know exactly what I'm saying. Don't tell me that you have a house where a loving family serves you dinner every night and you have a social security number and go to school. It's not just your tattoos, I can tell just by looking at the way that you talk and act around people. It's like—"

"—they can't see you even if you're standing right there. Like they'll just pass right through you, they see but don't remember" I finished for her. With a look of knowing in her sly gaze she nodded to me. Might I have found someone who knows what it is like to live in a complete state of nonexistence? Might I have found someone who knows what it is like to be a ghost just like me?

//AN//
Dedication to CrownJewell for guessing the girl's name :)