Lost at the Start

6.

I hesitated passing through the door; Overthinking what my little check-up might mean in the grand scheme of things. What would I do if it turned out he didn't know? He was in there enjoying himself. Who was I to intrude on his private entertainment? All in the name of satisfying my vanity over whether or not he would grieve for me.

So what did my choice to ultimately step into his room say about me, then?

That question suddenly became the last possible thing on my mind when I stepped inside to find Sam staring at the TV, red faced and with tears streaming down both cheeks, his expression contorted like he was in insurmountable pain.

Okay, maybe he did know.

He'd just hidden it too well for me to notice before.

I felt so awful.

And yet I still couldn't find it in me to regret my decision to kill myself. At this point, I shouldn't've been surprised. Mine was an unshakeable confidence in a choice that I knew had hurt so many, if only because I knew from the life that led me down that path that I needn't worry; theirs was a pain that would heal with enough time.

I sure did want to retcon however he'd found out, though. I had a feeling it wasn't under ideal circumstances to get the news that your ex-girlfriend just killed herself. But as it was all water under the bridge now, I decided to leave it alone. I had enough on my metaphysical plate as it was.

A little while passed and I just watched him. Once every few minutes he'd make a sobbing noise or reach up to wipe his face, but otherwise he didn't look up from the game. It was like he was in a trance.

I stood there, frowning at him because I didn't know what to do.

As sure as I was dead, I was not appearing to him. That was just completely out of the question. No, I didn't like seeing him grieve, but what good would me showing up even do? Truthfully, it would probably cause more trouble than anything else.

Jackson may have handled it relatively well, considering, but he and Sam were completely different people, and I could practically smell the kind of mental breakdown that lands you behind locked doors that visitors have to be buzzed through in his future if I made the mistake of letting Sam see me.

For now, until I could come up with a better idea, all I could do was watch his supposed-to-be-private agony.

The longer I stood there, though, the less I cared about trying to do anything for him.

I'd done my best to wash my hands of Sam, despite his reluctance to let that happen, a long time ago, and even in death, I was incredibly not-eager to get mixed up in anything to do with him again.

Some might say my lack of a want to help this time was out of malice, or maybe even that I was just being a heartless jerk. Maybe I was still bitter over what happened. Maybe I was holding some kind of stupid grudge.

Let them say what they want.

Then, there, at that moment, it felt oddly right to just be there and observe, rather than try and do anything of any real significance. I didn't have to come check on him, it had just felt like the right thing to do. If I didn't feel or couldn't think of anything that felt like the right thing to do now that I was here, was I wrong to do nothing?

And isn't that all some ghosts do anyway? Just pay people a visit and not do much else?

Man, I have got to quit drumming up so many questions. Much more like this, I won't be able to speak in anything but the darn things.

And so, I lowered myself on to the floor, crossing my legs beneath me, and, while not blatantly staring—because that would've been rude whether he could see me or not—I did watch him out of respect. In a way, I felt like I was making up for all the time I'd spent ignoring him to avoid another failed attempt to make him happy.