There's a bounce in her step that's only present when she's happy. I see her jump around her room like this only during select occasions, and most often, it's when she's receiving a text message from him. When she catches a sight of him in the hallway, she pauses and gazes at him with intense emotion. She cries, laughs, even gets angry when she's talking about him. She releases emotion after emotion, and I feel them too: I am sad, envious, angry. The fury is the strongest of them all; it can blur my vision and give me unimaginable strength. At my worst, I even hate her. But then I remember my love for her, and I calm down. I love her. I love only her.
I wish she could see me behind her, protecting her, watching her, always watching her. I am the one who loves her the most, not the one she's going to. Nobody loves her more than I do. I reach out and place a hand on her shoulder, but it deflects and disperses into a grayish haze before reappearing. Again, I try to grab her hand, but it ricochets back. She can't see nor feel my desperate hands, and I growl in frustration, throwing out my translucent hands.
Appear! I cry, but nothing happens. Nothing changes, and I am still the same. My body is still made of a thick mist, unable to feel and touch.
Suddenly, she stops. In the distance, a figure stood waiting, an oversized bouquet of flowers resting in his hands, and I recognize him.
He is the man she's meeting. He's the man she loves, and the man I hate.
YOU ARE READING
The Shadow
HorrorThe first time I saw her, I knew that I was going love her. Her, with strands of reddish-brown hair escaping her ponytail as she sprinted across the field. Her, with sun-kissed skin and almond eyes, radiating light when she laughed. From then on, I...
