Phantom [h.s]

Nineteen

His lips are like ice, and my skin is on fire. Somehow I am infused with the frigidness of his touch and the natural warmth of my live body, the combination seeming to defy nature. I don't know why this is happening between us-how is this happening between us? He is dead and I am alive. This can't possibly occur.

Our lips move in sync, fire versus ice.

His hand rests on my cheek, and mine rests on his chest. He pulls away lightly, our lips still brushing ever so slightly.

His gaze is cast down and I don't know how to react. The blood in my veins has been replaced with coldness like liquid nitrogen and my breaths are short.

He meets my eyes and I try to read them, but I can't. What is he thinking?

Did he feel any of that?

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and drops his hand to his lap.

I shift away from him, the question on the tip of my tongue. The air begins to warm my skin again, and I'm not so sure I want that. I have become accustomed to his cold aura.

"Bet you've never kissed a dead boy before."

I look at Harry, who's smirking at me. I shake my head, a small smile on my lips.

"Not a dead boy," I say.

"Plenty of live boys, though." He frowns.

I shrug. "Not that many."

He's partially right-before I moved, I was quite the party animal. I am not a stranger to physical relationships. I am a stranger to this type of relationship, however-if you could call it that. What are we even doing?

"Did you..." I look up at him almost shyly. "Did you feel it?"

A pause.

I find myself wishing with every fiber in my being that he did. Maybe this kind of contact he can feel? Maybe his physical touch has not completely vanished? Maybe-

He looks at me, shaking his head. "Numb as ever." His eyes are sad.

Of course. What was I thinking? That I could change the pattern of death and the in between? That a kiss could suddenly revive him from the dead? What is this, a fairytale? No. It's not. This is the real world. A kiss cannot fix everything in the real world. It may feel like it can, but it can't.

Anger and disappointment bubble up within me, but I push them away. I look down at the grass.

"I should go home," I say, blush rising to my cheeks as I rise to a standing position. "I need to get up early in the morning for school."

Harry watches me intently, his expression unreadable.

I turn and walk across the clearing, stopping at the beginning of the path when I hear Harry speak my name.

He pushes himself up, taking a long step toward me, and then stepping back a little. He fumbles with his hands before finally resting them at his sides.

"It's not your fault," he says.

I swallow. Did he want to feel it as much as I did? Of course, my mind says. He kissed you. He said he wanted to try something. Of course he wanted to feel it.

I wonder if he thought it might change things, too. Maybe we're both dreamers being shot down by reality.

We stare at each other for a few moments longer.

I give him a small nod, looking down.

I turn and walk back down the path.
-
"Why are we here, again?"

I shush Jenna as some people sitting at tables glare at us.

"We're at the library, Jenna, try not to raise your voice like you're talking over the sound of a whale giving birth," I hiss at her.

She stifles a laugh into her hand as we put our stuff down on a table in the corner.

We were assigned to an English project together, and we're utilizing our lunch period to do some research. This school's curriculum is different from my old school's, so I have found myself reading Romeo and Juliet for the second time in my high school career. Why we're reading it in our senior year, I don't know. School districts are dumb.

However, it is one of my favorite of Shakespeare's works, and Jenna has absolutely no understanding of it. So here we are, comparing book notes in the library.

"I don't get it, why did the servants fight?" She asks, a little too loudly.

"Shhh," I shush her, ignoring the look the librarian is giving me.

She sighs. "I'm never going to understand this," she whispers dejectedly.

"It's alright, it's hard to get at first," I reply, clicking my pen. I push myself out of my seat. "Let me try to go find a book for our project."

We were assigned a project on Petrarchan love-in other words, the sappy, gooey love that Romeo exhibits for Juliet in the play. I hope this library has the same book I used a few years ago to research the same subject. If there's anything I hate, it's repeating the same material over. But I'll deal with it, because I won't have to do any real work. Laziness at its finest.

I ask the librarian if they have the book, and to my satisfaction, they do. I thank her and walk down a row of books, perusing the racks.

I look for the last name of the author, chewing on my lip. I near the end of the aisle, which is by the back corner of the library. Just as I'm about to round the corner to the next aisle, I hear voices. I stop walking and strain to hear the hushed whispers.

"...Dangerous," someone is saying. I instantly recognize the voice as Max's.

"It's fine," another voice says. It's unfamiliar, and I don't know who it is.

"No, it's not," Max hisses. "Get it checked out. You know you need it."

"I said it's fine." The voice is a harsher whisper than the first time.

"What if someone finds out? What then? Do you know what kind of trouble that brings?"

The other person doesn't answer.

"Fix this," Max snarls. "Fix this, or I will. You know what my father does, don't you?"

"Your father," the other person almost laughs. "Your father. Sure."

Suddenly, there's a thump, and I peek through two books on the shelf to see Max pushing the other person against the wall roughly, his hand at their collar. I can't see the other person's face, to my dismay.

"You know he's easily the most powerful person in this town now that the Styles are gone," Max snaps. "So watch yourself."

I realize that Jenna will come to find me if I don't get back soon, and my cover can't be blown. I silently exit the isle and find my way back to our table.

"Didn't find it?" Jenna asks, looking up from her book.

"Find what?"

"The book."

"Oh." I shake my head, the conversation fresh in my mind. "No. Sorry."

She nods and looks back down at the book, squinting at the words.

My thoughts are distant for the rest of the time we're in the library. I know one thing for sure, though.

I need to find out what Max's father does.
-
Harry is sitting on my bed when I get home.

We haven't spoken since two nights ago when we shared the kiss in the clearing. I've gotten more accustomed to him showing up in the house now, but I'm still slightly surprised to see him now.

"Oh, hi," I say, dropping my bag at the door of my room.

"Hi." He smiles crookedly.

"What's up?"

He shrugs. "Wanted to see you."

"Oh." I fiddle with my hands and stick them in the pockets of my jeans.

He stands, walking over so that he's standing a few feet away from me. He stares down at me, his gaze relaxed.

"Jane," he says.

"Harry."

"You're guarded."

I shrug.

"Was it bad?"

"What?"

"The kiss."

I stifle a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." His lips quirk into a smile at his little joke.

"Did you just-"

"Come on, at least I can joke about it. Some of the dead folk at the cemetery are such buzz kills." He rolls his eyes.

"You can joke, but you make shitty jokes."

"Shitty?" He puts a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"Yeah," I say, a smile growing across my face. "And you're a shitty kisser, too."

His eyes flash and he laughs along with me, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah?"

He reaches out and pushes me against the door lightly, stepping forward so that our chests almost touch. He smirks widely.

Just as I'm about to respond, I hear my mother begin to climb the stairs, announcing that she's home from work.

"Jane! You'll never guess what this little boy tried to eat in class today!"

I push Harry away from me, both of us stifling giggles as he rushes toward the window. He opens it and steps out, turning to wink at me, his dimples making him look younger than he is. He's too young to have died.

I push the morbid thoughts away as I watch him shut the window behind him and jump to the ground. I move to look out the window to watch him walk away. I wave at him and he waves back before crossing the backyard toward the trees.

I can't help but think that the barrier that is death that separates us normally seemed to evaporate in these past few minutes.

I wish it was always like that.