Carter

There she is. Sitting in her overstuffed chair with her arms resting on her knees. Oblivious to me watching her, she lets out a heavy sigh and leans back into the cushions. She doesn’t let anyone see this side of her. The forlorn, what- is- missing side. But I get to see it, whether I want to or not.

In the quiet moments after her day have wound down and she is sitting where she is now or lying in bed, she lets this side free. After a night out with friends, or a quiet meal at home, or after a long day at work, she finally allows herself to remove the mask she puts on daily.

She doesn’t know why she feels this way sometimes. I’ve seen her throw things, and yell, scream, cry. All because she doesn’t understand why she isn’t fully happy. She has a career, friends, and over all a good life. Everything is going well for her. So, why does she feel like something is missing? She whispers that question to herself a lot.

Sometimes I wish she wouldn’t hide. That she would tell her friends, or her parents just how she has been feeling the past three years. Then maybe they could help her somehow. Or she would be convinced to see a therapist. She deserves happiness. She deserves not only the moon, but the stars too.

Looking at her, I want to brush back that rogue strand of hair that likes to fall away from her bun. But my touch seems to make things worse. So, I don’t allow myself to. There are times I know she feels me. Though I have been around all her life, over these past couple years, something inside her has awoken to my presence. A knowing, a sense that I am near.

She sits forward again and places her face in her hands. Shaking her head lightly she lets out a heavy sigh and stands before going to her dresser and looking in the mirror.

I know she doesn’t see herself the same way I do. I’ve heard her complaints about how her long blond hair seems too dull to her, and how she wishes her eyes were blue instead of the dark green they are. She hates the dark circles under her eyes from her lack of sleep, and the way that right eyebrow doesn’t arch the same as her left. But if she could see herself through my eyes, she would see the beautiful halo of gold that shines around her when the sunlight reflects off her hair. She could see the way her green eyes sparkle with tiny stars in the morning light. She would see just how breath taking she is.

She grabs the bridge of her nose and squeezes it, while closing her eyes. She must be getting another headache. I back away from her and move to the other side of her room. She releases her nose and with one final glance she looks away from her reflection and walks out. I stay where I am as I hear her rummage through the cabinets of the kitchen. A small smile touches my lips as I hear her cuss because she is out of cookies again. She will make a mental note to grab more, then forget about them twice before going to the store in the middle of the night because she just has to have them.

She comes back into her room and walks to the curtains to pull them closed. It’s already past midnight and she has work in the morning. She needs to sleep so she isn’t struggling to stay awake tomorrow. She struggles more often than not.

I watch as she flings back the blue comforter and crawls into bed. I can tell that she is tired by the way she hums in happiness as she settles in. Her lamp goes off and she lets out another sigh before snuggling her way deep into the mattress. I sit down on her chair and wait for her to find sleep. After an hour, she does. Walking up, I stand beside the bed for a moment. Her face softens as the muscles between her eyebrows release their grip. Her mouth opens slightly and her breaths become steady. I brush back that strand of hair from her face that I have wanted to move for the past two hours and grin at the small smile she gives at my touch. She is so peaceful- looking at this moment. So young and care free.

“Good night ,” I say to her. And I hope it is. I hope her dreams aren’t haunted by me tonight. That she wakes up refreshed and doesn’t wake up with the loss she always feels when she dreams of me. She doesn’t know why she dreams of me or who I am. All she knows is the happiness and longing she feels when she does, and the sadness that comes when she wakes.

I keep telling myself that I need to leave her. That someone else will take my place if I do. She will still be protected and guarded daily. And maybe, just maybe she won’t dream of me anymore. There is a possibility that she will get better, happier even, if I just leave her.

I made a promise to her all those years ago. I would watch over her, protect her, and love her. She was chosen for a second life, and I wasn’t. I remain almost the same as the moment I took my last breath. But she has changed in this life. She is stronger, more beautiful than I remember, and hard headed. I thought she was hard headed then, but now, sometimes she gives me a headache. And I shouldn’t be able to get headaches.

With one more look, I walk out of her room and give her space. If I am somewhere else within the house, there is a better chance that she won’t dream of me. That she won’t dream at all. So, I make my way down the hall, past the kitchen, and into the living room.

The moment she transitioned from one life to the next almost broke me. I had wanted just one moment with her after all that time. One embrace, one kiss. But as she took her last breath, a first breath was given. I didn’t leave her before, and I didn’t leave her then. But now I wonder at what cost did my choice come?

There are times I swear she is staring at me, and moments she stops moving when I walk by her. She has even stopped and looked around after I have whispered to her or spoken out loud. The more she becomes in tune with me, the more I find myself wanting to be seen by her. Our past is what ties us. Our love is what is wreaking havoc on her soul.

A yell rings out and I am back in her bedroom instantly. She thrashes in her sleep and I know that my leaving the room was useless. She groans and flips onto her stomach. Her fingers curl around the pillow as she squeezes it. I must be leaving her again. In her dreams I always leave her. Part of me wishes I could change the course of her dream to show her how much I wanted to stay. I never wanted to leave her. I still don’t want to.

I go to her. Sitting on the side of the bed, I try to rub her back as she begins to sob in her sleep. A sadness fills me as I realize that there is only one way to save her. I don’t know how to exist without her. I am not even sure if I can exist without her. Looking at her now though, I realize as long as she exists, that she lives, it won’t matter if I do. I must leave her soon. I don’t know what will become of me without her, without my purpose. But this is not fair to her. She misses me, though she doesn’t know it, and she loves me, though she doesn’t feel it. Her subconscious does. With every dream, every moment of peace it gets, it tries in vain to remind her of who I am.

So, I will leave her. I will walk away and let her live. Let her find love in this life. Let her live the way she is meant to. Soon I will walk away from her. Maybe one day when the time comes, many years from now, I will get the embrace I have been longing for. I will get the love of my life back. But for now, I do the one thing I know that may help her.

“I’m right here,” I whisper to her, and her thrashing slows. Then, her muscles relax and she calms.