ghost » styles au

4

"I wish I could, honey," Her mom sighed, "but I'm recently starting this job and staying home with the excuse of my 17 year old daughter being slightly sick will do a really bad impression with my boss. You can take care of yourself, that's for sure."

"But what if I puke all over the house?" Adéla cringed at the thought; she didn't have a strong stomach.

"Then you call me." Her mom said. "Now go to sleep, I'll get ready."

"Okay, love you mom." Adéla said sadly, giving in. She set the cup of coffee on her night side table and sat on her bed.

She didn't know how tired she was until her eyelids became droopy, and as soon as she pulled the covers over her body, she fell into a deep slumber.

She was standing in the middle of her room. Her hair incredibly messy, her feet bare, and her body covered by a white dress she's never seen before. She looked around; everything looked normal, everything looked the same, but something in the air seemed kind of... eerie.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed her own, turning her around. She faced a boy. A boy with green eyes and brown hair. The green eyes and the brown hair she always dreamt of. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, to run. But she couldn't. She felt weak. She felt like she was pinned to the ground, like he was pinning her to the ground.

"Adéla," the boy whispered; his voice low. "You came to see me?"

"Who are you?" She found herself asking the question she always asks. Over and over and over and over again, that question always has a place on her mind, as well as the green-eyed-brown-haired-white-sweater-boy who was standing right in front of her.

"You don't know yet." He mumbled sadly. "I wish you knew."

"Why don't you just tell me?" Her voice was laced with fear. Who was this man? Why is he in all her dreams? "Why are you in all my dreams?"

"This is the only way I can talk to you." He confessed. "This is the only way I can express what I feel personally, face to face. Adéla, you don't see it, well- you don't see me, but I am here. And I wish things would change and I'd do anything for you to be with me and I-"

"Stop." She said, her voice came out like a squeak. "I don't get it, please stop. You're torturing me..."

"You'll know soon."

"How soon is soon?" She asked. She was tired of games, she was tired of everything. "Who are you?"

"I'm a writer. Well, I used to be a writer. I used to be everything I liked; I used to have everything I wanted; I used to work for things and have faith and hope and love." He sighed. "I used to be human."

"You're telling me you're not human?" She said. "So what are you- a ghost, a vampire?" She found herself amused by this- Too much Twilight, she thought.

"I died. I don't have a beating heart anymore." He explained. Adéla's amusement faded away along with her smile and her hope that this was just a stupid dream and it was all the result of reading too many fantasy books and fanfics. This was real, this was scary, and this wasn't just a normal dream. And she knew it because his touch was too cold too strong too soft too real to be just a dream; his voice was too sad his smile too fake his words too broken to be just a dream. This was like a reality in the sleep, a reality that fades in the awake; a reality that only comes around when her eyelids close and she falls asleep; a reality too scary and morbid to see the daylight and too face the human.

"How did you die?" She hesitantly asked, swallowing a lump on her throat.

"I took my own life." He truthfully answered. "I didn't have any hopes left."

It took her some time, but she put the pieces together. All 1,000 pieces of a puzzle coming down together to show a morbid picture; it came crashing down on her like a thousand slaps, like a thousand buckets filled with icy water falling over her.

"You're..." She tried to said. You're the owner of the house, is what she tried to say. You're Harry Styles, is what she's afraid to reveal.

"I'm the owner of this house. You're standing in what was once her room." Her room? "I'm the writer who killed himself for a girl, I'm also known as Harry Styles."

She woke up with a scream, cold beads of sweat prickling down her forehead and she suddenly felt hot, too hot, too cold, too confused. She unwrapped herself from the fluffy covers of her bed, suddenly feeling disgusted by them.

This cannot be happening

This cannot be happening

This cannot be happening

This is happening. A sudden voice said.

She ran towards her window, where the voice came from, and frantically looked around to see whose voice was this. It was a feminine voice.

Right across her street, a lady with red hair watched her with narrowed eyes and a dangerous smirk, and a sudden feel of horror invaded Adéla. Her eyes watered and she fell to the floor, whimpering and sobbing uncontrollably. Right beside her, on the wall, a note was pasted carefully.

Nice to finally meet you, Adéla, I've been waiting for so long. I hope you were waiting, too. –Harry.

Adéla closed her eyes after ripping the note into a million pieces. She sobbed and cried, sobbed and cried and did nothing else but that. She wished it was just a nightmare, a bad dream; she wished it would just go away.

But deeply inside, she knew it wouldn't.

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