The Ghost Of You (boyxboy)

[5] Reinventing The Wheel To Run Myself Over

It was an exhilarating sensation to have Mikey's eyes focus on me, even for an instance. It was the only thing that could remind me that I was real; that I had once been alive, even if I wasn't anymore. I craved those little instances where I became tangible and could prove my existence. I could feel my sense of reality slipping away every moment I spent in this limbo-like state. How long had I been dead?

Mikey would be able to tell me, but Mikey could rarely focus on me. Mikey was incapable of focusing on much at the moment. His eyes darted around the car, searching for something that he couldn't pinpoint. After a sluggish series of incoherent thoughts, I realized he was looking for me.

I was right next to him, but he had no idea.

I swung my leg and kicked the back of Gerard's seat, but he had no idea.

I scrunched up my face to make the most disgusting expression I could fathom, but it was all a waste, because no one could see me. I was extremely and irrevocably dead.

Mikey sneezed suddenly and loudly, and I instinctively said, "Bless you," although he definitely couldn't hear me. But now that I really looked at him I saw exactly how worn down he looked. The dark bags under his eyes, the cracked skin on his chapped lips, the way his hair glistened in the sunlight from grease. He was a wreck, and it was my fault.

Gerard was making a mistake, taking Mikey out to the movies. It was painfully obvious that the only thing Mikey needed was a shower and a nap. But Gerard was selfish, and who could blame him; he had a date with his cute boyfriend and he was hardly going to cancel it because his brother had just lost his boyfriend in a devastating car crash.

Actually, now that I phrased it like that, maybe Gerard should have canceled his date.

Mikey shivered and pulled his arms further into the sleeves of his sweatshirt so that the excess fabric hung limply over his hands. "Gerard?" he asked tentatively, looking up to the front seat where Gerard was sitting, one hand on the steering wheel and the other interlaced with Frank's. "Can you turn up the heat? It's really cold back here."

Gerard glanced at Mikey in the rearview mirror and frowned. "It's not cold, Mikes." He must have noticed the way Mikey was huddled in his hoodie and his gaze softened. "My jacket is in the trunk, you can borrow it if you like."

Mikey nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt to turn around and rummage through the trunk. I was more than a bit irritated. How could he be so reckless in the car when it had led to my demise and possibly his? Did he really value his life so little? He should have been happy to be alive. He had a wonderful brother, a great group of friends, loving parents, good looks. I had none of that.

I knew I had parents who were probably devastated, but when I tried to picture them, I came to the horrifying realization that I couldn't. I couldn't remember my family. I couldn't remember the house I grew up in, or my dog. Had I even had a dog?

The only thing I could remember was Mikey. I suppose that made sense; he was the person I was haunting, essentially. I was tied to him somehow and without him I would probably cease to exist. Or maybe I would just move on. Maybe that's the only way I could move on, if Mikey moved on as well.

But he was clearly nowhere close to moving on, as he donned the black leather jacket that was too big for his twig body and sniffled. I placed my hand on top of his in the futile hope that he could sense me, but he barely moved. He began to mumble to himself though.

Mikey would regularly talk to himself when he was under stress. It was one of the many things I had always found adorable about him. Now I leaned closer to try and make out what he was saying.