Revenant Embrace

Numb

We think that pain is the worst feeling... It isn't.

The house itself was pleasing to the eye. It was salubrious. A surprise considering no one had dared to inhabit it for several years. It resembled a cottage with it's thatched roofing and ostrich-egg paintwork. It was situated amidst a pleasant little street known as Pebble Close. For what is was worth, the house wasn't too shabby. It would be ideal for a couple or a family of three. Though, Tamara seemed interested enough.

The young woman was ambling down the hallway, fingertips just barely grazing the painted wall. She appeared to be admiring everything her gaze settled upon. The ivory walls. The laminate flooring. Even the encroaching dust that enveloped her petite frame. She was one of many that admired the house's beauty. But he knew better than to get his hopes up.

Stood in the corner of the room with his arms folded over his torso and a sullen expression like that of a child with a spanked behind, was him. He was observing the woman very carefully. His gaze fixated to her dainty figure, eyeing every step she took, every breath she breathed, every bat of her elongated eyelashes. Everything. He watched. And waited. He already knew what was to come so he didn't bother to try and move. He refused to act like the eager young man he once was - hoping that someone would purchase the house - His house.

The young woman continued to trail her digits along the walls of the house, crooning as she did so. Perhaps she was lost in her thoughts, for she failed to hear the listing agent behind her. "Miss?" the man spoke again, reaching out a feeble hand to tap her on the shoulder. Tamara spun on her heels, her honey-blonde locks briefly sweeping over her delicate features, "Yes?" "What do you make of the house?" The young woman simpered, clasping her palms together for emphasis, "I love it. It's truly perfect."

The listing agent seemed to grin at her positive response. Though, his euphoria was quickly swept away as a recurring thought nagged in the back of his mind. "Before you make any decisions I am obligated to tell you something," he confessed. Tamara quirked a brow, nodding as the simper remained glued upon her features. "Four years ago someone was murdered in this house. In the living room, to be precise," the man had averted his gaze, now staring to the wall with a liverish expression. He was the one the man was speaking of. He was still stood in the corner, waiting for Tamara to grow uneasy and leave like everyone before her.

But she didn't. Instead of fleeing, she merely murmured, "Oh..." She was surprised, that much was obvious. But she didn't seem terribly bothered. Not even when she gazed to the centre of the living room, eyeing the laminate flooring with squinted slits. It was as if she was searching for something. Remnants of the murder, perhaps? She wouldn't find anything. Even he failed to find anything when he "re-awoke".

The man in the corner seemed to snicker. Upon doing so he quickly covered his mouth with his palm, wincing. Neither Tamara or the listing agent seemed to notice. The man then released an inaudible sigh, mentally cursing himself out. Biting his lower lip, he pressed forth, taking a few steps forward as Tamara clapped her hands together abruptly, "Well! Leave it with me and i'll contact you in a few days with my decision."

The listing agent perked his crania back upright, straightening his spine as he spoke, "Ah, yes. Alright, my dear. I look forward to hearing from you." Lies. Him and the listing agent both already knew the outcome of this situation. Tamara would say that she didn't want to buy the house and continue with her search for another. It was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a ceaseless and bitter cycle that rid him of all hope. Truth be told, he had no means of interacting with the new house owner, he just wanted company. And a couch. A TV would also be nice.

Tamara cocked a hand upright to her forehead, saluting the man with a chipper giggle. She was an odd one. But it was clear to see that she was sweet and meant well. The man nodded to the young maiden in response, seeming a tad confused by her actions. He merely shrugged it off with a meek grin, shaking her hand.

The two then proceeded to the front door. Tamara spun on her heels, taking one last look at the house, her fingertips caressing the door handle. She gave a wavering sigh and pushed the handle down, waltzing outside with the man following closely behind her. The door then closed with a loud click and the jingling of keys could be heard as the door was locked. Visibly gulping, he walked over to the window and stared out to the road, watching Tamara clamber into a little Fiat 500 rather ungracefully.

He pressed his palm to the window, blinking slowly as he tried to remember every detail about her. Her dirtied golden locks, her basil-infused irises, her delicately arched eyebrows, her pixie nose and her taunting grin. She was beautiful, yes. But he didn't seem to fully notice. His mind soon drifted to what she was doing. She was fumbling with her seat-belt, pulling it across her torso with ease. His hand briefly drifted to his chest as he blinked. If he tried hard enough, he could vaguely remember the seat-belts roughened texture. How if it wasn't positioned right, it'd start to cut into his shoulder and neck, causing a great amount of discomfort.

"I'd give everything and anything... just to feel pain again." His hand moved back to the window, pressing his pellucid digits to the glass as he watched Tamara's car slowly start to pull away. "Please come back," he mumbled under his breath, watching the mocha-coloured car speed off down the road. Once it was out of sight he took a step rearwards, spotting the familiar Audi that belonged to the listing agent zoom down the road. His shoulders seemed to drop, as if he had sighed once again, despite not needing to breathe.

He was alone again. He once enjoyed solitude. Now? He loathed it. He took another step back, looking down at his hands as he held them before him, watching as colour began to return to them. He clenched his fists and allowed his arms to drop to his sides. He stood there. In the middle of the living room. Seeming like a pretty normal person. Though... he looked tired. He adorned faint bags beneath his eyes. His skin was paler than it used to be. His umber locks were disheveled and his features were just generally quite gaunt. Not terribly so, however. He still looked twenty-two.

He reached a hand up to comb through his messy tresses as he cast his gaze to the laminate flooring. He then turned, setting his lengthy appendages into motion, sauntering down the hall. He reached his hand out to graze his fingertips against the wall - just as Tamara had done. He felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a feeble simper. He couldn't feel anything. He only felt numbness. But he could imagine what it felt like. It was cool, completely smooth with the exception of teeny tiny air bubbles beneath the paint.

He heaved his shoulders with a heavy sigh, recoiling his hand to his chest, holding it with his other. No. Was that what it felt like? He wasn't sure anymore. Dwelling on it only made him more confused and upset. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to come back as a ghost. He would have preferred to burn in hell for eternity. At least then he would feel something. Anything was better than nothing.

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A/N

Thank you for clicking onto my story! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm aware that it's starting off a little slow. But the best stories often do. I'm also going to point out that i'm keeping each chapter at a minimum of 1000 words, simply because then they're still short, but not terribly short. It's just to ensure that I don't get writers block, really. I'm aiming to get a chapter posted every 1-2 days. It depends on work, though. My hours are all over the place at the minute.

Either way, I hope you like the story so far! Leave your thoughts and suggestions in the comments!