Undying love

2.

Charlie often wondered why he couldn't remember who he was before.

Who was he before he was dead? What was the reality he lived by day and what did he dream of at night?

A part of him did want to know. A part of him yearned for the chance to know the people he once knew, to know the life he had once lead. But the other part of him was scared. He was afraid of what he would find, or if he'd find anything at all.

The latter side of him usually won, preventing him from venturing away from Evangeline's life which he had grown to be a part of - even if she didn't know it.

All he knew now was Evangeline. She was all that kept him from the torment of uncertainty. He stayed beside her to distract him from thoughts that prayed for him to find out who he had been.

So as he followed Evangeline up the grand stairs of her house, Charlie pushed all thoughts of a previous life out of his mind and focused on her rapunzel-like hair.

She greeted the plump house maid, Harriet, with a broad smile then continued up to her room. It was a room of immaculate beauty fit for royal use. Expensive furniture from one end to the other, pieces made from only the finest materials found on the map.

But Evangeline went straight to the wardrobe the size of a cabin and locked the sliding doors behind her. She dimmed the lights and fell to her knees, her leather backpack drooping off her shoulder. Charlie exhaled in vain and sat on the velvet ornament in the centre of the room. All of her clothes were arranged down to every size and colour. Shoes were lined up along shelves and various hats hung neatly from a hatstand. It was every girl's dream.

But Evangeline ignored all this and went to the bottom draw of a set and dug to the back of all the winter gloves. Her hand drew out a small silver blade.

Charlie cringed. He couldn't bare it. he couldn't bare to see Evangeline hurt herself the way she did. He had been trying to piece together why she did it for such a long time that he eventually gave up and admitted defeat. It was not like he could stop her anyway. He could merely watch with a pleading expression that she would put the blade in the bin never to be seen again.

She rolled up her skirt and dipped the sharp edge into her upper thigh, gliding it into the flesh. Charlie cringed. He always cringed.

She repeated the notion several times. Then, when she ran out of untouched skin, she would switch sides and begin on the other leg, being careful to not go below her hemline. She did well to hide the marks. The pain. Charlie didn't know why she wouldn't just tell someone. Anyone. Charlie reached out as a tear slithered down his cheek, placing a delicate hand on Evangeline's shoulder.

She sniffed, and for a moment Charlie thought she felt his gesture. But she simply wiped her nose, blinked the water from her beautiful eyes, and cut again.

Charlie often wondered why the living were so determined to hide. They want to keep everything to themselves and not reach out for help when it is required.

Charlie found this frustrating because all he ever wished for was to be seen. He was cursed with the spell of hiding and prayed that one day, Evangeline would feel his comfort and smile. Smile because she had known he was there for her all along.

And maybe then she would stop hating herself so.

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