THE GHOSTWRITER

PART 8

Maine wakes up with a pounding headache.

She searches for her glasses blindly, wondering all the while how in the world she is able to remove her contact lenses last night when she can't even remember how she got home.

She finds her glasses on her bedside table and puts it on. She blinks a few times before her vision finally clears. As she takes in the state of her room, her memories of last night or rather a few hours ago come back like a harshly thrown boomerang.

"Fuck," she mutters as she searches for her slippers. She'll pick up her clothes later. Right now, she needs a strong cup of coffee.

Maine stands up and carefully makes her way out of her room. She flinches at the sight of a used condom just beside her shoe, and almost gags at the one beside the door.

Just how messy is her sexcapade last night? And just how many rounds did they have? There's no sign of the grocery guy whose name she can't even remember now, and that somehow makes Maine's relieved. She hates waking up with someone she doesn't care about.

She sighs as she closes the door to her room, her footsteps still a bit wobbly. She proceeds straight to the kitchen to finally get her cup of coffee, and is met by silence.

Her ghosts aren't there and there's no sign they have even been there.

Maine worries for a moment until she realizes she can still feel them around the house. She feels comforted as she drags herself towards the counter to make a cup of coffee. While the coffee brews, she sits down at a stool and lays her throbbing head on the counter.

She'll deal with her ghosts later. She'll definitely find them in the living room. She'll go straight there after she fixes herself some breakfast.

Why does Sammy have to have his ghostly period when Maine is in such a state?

She huffs and just pours herself cereal for breakfast.

---

True enough, Maine finds the trio in the living room a couple of hours later.

After breakfast, she decided to take a bath first and clean her room a bit before searching for them. She doesn't feel doing anything unless she feels clean. It's a habit she has developed well over the years.

That, and she doesn't really want to be reminded of her mistake last night.

Maine already senses something's wrong the moment she sets foot inside.

First, when she greets them, Sammy merely huffs and Pi merely nods. Bad mood or not, the grumpy ghost always calls a greeting back and Pi never fails with his cheerfully odd greetings.

And Richard---he ignores her, which Maine understands a bit. Her favorite ghost stays afloat beside the window, his gaze outside. She ignores the little twists inside her chest at the non-attention Richard's giving her and winces at the same time when she remembers the ghost's face when she bolts out of the room yesterday.

Maine forces herself to avert her gaze from Richard. She clears her throat and sits down on her cushioned chair just beside the long couch where Sammy and Pi are currently seated. She allows a minute of uncomfortable silence before she finally starts a conversation.

"So... you weren't in the kitchen," she says carefully, weighing the atmosphere.

"I wasn't feeling well," Sammy answers tonelessly, his gaze on the antique center table. Maine notices he looks paler than usual, but she doesn't comment on it.

"Oh," instead she answers. She then turns to look at Pi, who's actually looking at her already. "Are you okay, Pi?"

The usually cheerful ghost nods slowly, his gaze a bit scrutinizing. "Yes, I'm fine, Maine. Thanks."