Forever Yours

Chapter One: Peter

Hey guys, if you haven't read the Prologue, you need to before reading this one otherwise it's confusing.   

It was a week ago when Peter appeared, in my room whilst I was doing homework. I turned around to look for more pens when suddenly . . . there he was. Sitting casually on floor with his arms folded viewing all my other work that I left to dry on the floor, till he sensed me and looked up. We stopped there, transfixed to each other for a rather long time, he was just as surprised as I was shocked. And then he said: “You can see me?” that did it. And so I sat there, ninety degrees rotated, and began to froze up from the impact of abnormality. My arm aching like hell, thinking . . . what the hell.

                Barely a quarter of a second later did I realise the boy had been and still is waving in my face, crying for attention.

                You can see me right? Right?” he kept repeating. Closely up, he didn’t look any older than I did. Sixteen? Seventeen? But it was not really a time to be figuring that out. There a freaking guy in my room. And what’s more, he was a Ghost.

                “Yeah, you could say that, but I would prefer Spirit. Ghost is a bit more . . . haunting.” He confirmed when I asked him. all of a sudden his eyes fixed seriously on me. “Do you remember me?”

“You don’t  . . . do you?” he says when I gave no answer. What was he on about? There’s no way I would remember someone I‘ve never met, right? But, almost instantly, thousands of pictures and videos flicked one after the other. It’s as if my brain’s been forced to replay every memory of my entire life without me intending to. Then it come to me, it was impossible.

                “Peter. . .Mcroft . . .?”

                He smiles.

“You’re. . . dead.” I choked out that last word.

                With his hands jabbed casually in his jean pockets and half of his body weight shifted to one side, he responded: “Mmm.” A matter-of-factly.   

                “When? How? Why?”

                “Dunno,” he said, scratching his head as if he was racking his brain for an answer, then he went and sat on my bed. “Can’t remember.”

                I’m shocked, but also angry. “Why are you here?” 

                He looked up at me puzzled. “I’m always here.” It took time before the sentence sank in.

                “Always . . . here?” I pointed to the floor meaning this room.

                He copied this. And repeated my question, only as answer. He repetition echoed in and out. But wait. wouldn’t that mean he had been here every second of every minute in twenty four hours a day for, God knows how long! When I’m eating, drinking and . . . changing. Just how long had he been here for?!

               “Oh, I’ve been downstairs before.” he suddenly remembers. Worse . . . bathing. Equals . . .

               I blushed angrily as my arms instinctively jump up to hid my chest. Peter reacted defensively at once as he realised the reasons for my actions and immediately jumps from the bed.

                “Nothing happened, I know what you’re thinking. Nothing happened, OK?”

                I was reluctant to believe him, who knows if he was lying. But the look on his caramel eyes told me he wasn’t. as vexed as I was, he was telling the truth. But that didn’t mean I can lower my guard. Then I remembered, he was dead . . . died . . . deceased. Sympathy surged through and all my anger dispersed.