The Watcher

A/N: warning- this story may have some triggering elements
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Thursday, August 12, 2004. This is the day of my death, the day I ceased to physically exist.

At first there was nothing but darkness and silence. No matter what I did I was always surrounded by those two things which now haunt me. I just felt trapped and alone, so now I find comfort in the sunlight and the everyday sounds of the world.

Thankfully, I wasn't doomed to be stuck in an empty space for the rest of eternity and instead was put back in the place that held the most significance to me in my livelihood. The apartment I shared with my roommate and best friend, Pete.

It was nice being home at first. I thought it was like only a replica of my home so I would feel comfortable in the afterlife. But it wasn't a replica, this was the actual apartment I lived in since my eighteenth birthday. And the reason I knew this was because as soon as I was put here, I saw Pete walk right past me and into his bedroom. It was like I wasn't even there. I mean I am here, but he obviously couldn't see me. I had to remember that I no longer exist.

I couldn't eat or sleep, so most of the time during the night I'd just sit on the couch and stare at the blank TV screen. I surprisingly could see my own reflection in it, and it made me wonder if Pete could see it too. I just wanted him to see me.

At all hours of the night this is what I would do, just sit and wait for my roommate to emerge from his room. There were some days when he wouldn't even come out and would stay there until the following night. He never used to do that, he was always the first one awake and the last one to go to bed. I found it a little odd but I didn't think too much of it at first, so I left it alone.

That's what I've been doing for the past two weeks. Just sitting and waiting to catch a glimpse of my friend, which was all I'd ever see these days. In the days he did leave his room he'd just simply go to the kitchen for food or coffee before returning to his room once again. It was strange to me but I never looked into it because I figured Pete needed his privacy, he's an adult and can do whatever he feels like doing. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was ignoring what his actions were crying out about.

One night I decided to check on him, see what's going on and hoping he was okay. I went down the hall and stood in front of his door, pressing my ear against it and listening for anything out of the ordinary.

It was silent.

Silence was never a good thing when it involved Pete. He was only ever silent when something was wrong or he was over thinking something he shouldn't be concerned with. On any other day, no one could get him to stop talking but for the past couple of weeks he's been nothing but quiet. It wasn't like he had nobody to talk to, Joe and Andy only lived a couple blocks away and were almost always at our place. But.. I haven't seen them since I got here. Hell, I've barely even seen Pete.

I entered his room without the use of the door, finding that it was just as unkempt as it usually was. He had a dresser but never put any clothes in it, he'd rather have them in piles around his room just like everything else.

Pete was laying on his bed, facing the ceiling and only wearing his favorite pair of pajamas bottoms; the red ones with the little bats on them. He was holding his phone above him so he could see it comfortably, scrolling and staring at the screen emotionlessly. He seemed to be fine from afar, this was something he used to do on a daily basis. But I had to be sure.