Phantom [h.s]

Nineteen

His lips are like ice, and my skin is on fire. Somehow I am infused with the frigidness of his touch and the natural warmth of my live body, the combination seeming to defy nature. I don't know why this is happening between us-how is this happening between us? He is dead and I am alive. This can't possibly occur.

Our lips move in sync, fire versus ice.

His hand rests on my cheek, and mine rests on his chest. He pulls away lightly, our lips still brushing ever so slightly.

His gaze is cast down and I don't know how to react. The blood in my veins has been replaced with coldness like liquid nitrogen and my breaths are short.

He meets my eyes and I try to read them, but I can't. What is he thinking?

Did he feel any of that?

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and drops his hand to his lap.

I shift away from him, the question on the tip of my tongue. The air begins to warm my skin again, and I'm not so sure I want that. I have become accustomed to his cold aura.

"Bet you've never kissed a dead boy before."

I look at Harry, who's smirking at me. I shake my head, a small smile on my lips.

"Not a dead boy," I say.

"Plenty of live boys, though." He frowns.

I shrug. "Not that many."

He's partially right-before I moved, I was quite the party animal. I am not a stranger to physical relationships. I am a stranger to this type of relationship, however-if you could call it that. What are we even doing?

"Did you..." I look up at him almost shyly. "Did you feel it?"

A pause.

I find myself wishing with every fiber in my being that he did. Maybe this kind of contact he can feel? Maybe his physical touch has not completely vanished? Maybe-

He looks at me, shaking his head. "Numb as ever." His eyes are sad.

Of course. What was I thinking? That I could change the pattern of death and the in between? That a kiss could suddenly revive him from the dead? What is this, a fairytale? No. It's not. This is the real world. A kiss cannot fix everything in the real world. It may feel like it can, but it can't.

Anger and disappointment bubble up within me, but I push them away. I look down at the grass.

"I should go home," I say, blush rising to my cheeks as I rise to a standing position. "I need to get up early in the morning for school."