"ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS, SHOOT!"
"Oh, come on," Clare exclaims out of frustration, "Not fair."
Chase just enlarged the smile on his face. He then reached out his hands towards the table to grab a bottle of water.
"Why do you always use scissors?" he asks shortly.
"It looks cute," she took the container from him as a smile proceeded to expand from her lips, "It makes my hand look like a bunny."
"I got to agree on that one," his finger points at the pill on her table, "but you lost so you need to drink your pill."
Her smile rashly faded. An unpleasant look on her expression managed to unravel itself, "You suck."
"And you lost," the soul's lips curved up as he stared in her direction.
The girl hurriedly lunges on the bed to grab the pill, "Someday," she puts it on her tongue as she proceeded to drink water, "I'll beat you."
"Clare, it's just rock, paper, scissors."
"And it's just a useless pill."
"That can help you get better."
"I'd rather be depressed, Chase."
"Well, I'll rather be dead too."
She puts the empty bottle on the nightstand beside her and silence ate everything else.
"Chase?" the fifteen-year-old asks, "Why are you being so quiet?"
"I don't know," the boy sighs while lightly floating on mid-air. He's like swimming but there's no water.
With an uneasy look on her face, she grabs her journal that was beside the empty water bottle. She also reached for her glasses as she wore it momentarily.
"Did you remember anything?" she asked while scribbling a small 'Chase Harper' at the corner of the notebook.
He sighs again, "Clare, I've realized something but I don't know if I should stick with what I'm thinking," his voice slowly became serious, "Do you have a death wish?"