Work Text:
I love you.
Chidera’s voice is much more than a memory. It’s not a regular hallucination, either; I am certain of that. It’s a haunting so visceral, so tangible, so real I could never dismiss it as fiction. A ghost whose whispers brush over my skin again and again until I can’t help but shiver from the cool breeze heavy with boundless implications, or even crumble under the weight of those wistful words. An ominous dream pulling me deeper into the spirals of my own consciousness — and everything beyond. A cruel creature that comes in the night to make sure I am still locked into the same old patterns that will always keep me from moving on.
Chidera’s voice is all I have left of her in the world. It’s holy. It’s hell, and it’s heaven at the same time.
It is so strange for me to write such a thing, but it is true nonetheless. I do love you, Amilía. In a way I cannot begin to explain.
In the dim light of the rising moon, these words are magic. They are nothing but faded strokes of ink on wrinkled parchment, but beneath my grieving gaze, they turn into something more. They bring her voice back, at least, and that is so much more than I dared to wish for after my love was ripped away from me.
I let myself sink into my mattress, turn onto my side and close my eyes, handwritten letters still clutched in my hands as if they could disappear, too, just like Chidera did, if I let go of them for even a second. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine she were still alive. Right here in the comfort of my bed, where being near her used to raise my pulse to an unprecedented tempo. Even with no one there to touch, my hand moves just like it used to, and I remember.
Her milk-white skin was so soft against mine, her hair so silky spread across the pillow, black as a crow’s feather. My touch followed the slight curve of her thigh, coming to rest on her hip. I was so unsure in the beginning — so baffled as to why the hell I kept wanting to touch her, and why I was allowed, why she even leaned into it. I had been attracted to people before, of course. Women, too. But it had been such a long time, and something about Chidera made her feel so different than anyone before. I felt almost lightheaded when she took me by the hand and pulled me closer so she could wrap her entire arm around me, bury her face between my shoulders, and breathe in my familiar scent until we both fell asleep. I wanted to plant countless kisses along her back, make an invisible path all the way down her spine — but never did it because I didn’t want to push my best friend away and couldn’t bring myself to ask, for I was too afraid to face the chance that she might reject me, after all.
You can touch me, she once said after looking at me pensively for what felt like an eternity. We were lying right here, facing each other, so close we could feel each other’s breaths, each one pleasantly warm in the night-cool room. It’s alright. We’re friends, aren’t we? I enjoy being close to my friends, touching and all.
The excitement that permission brought mixed with a sharp pang of jealousy that left my heart feeling heavy. Friends? Did she have other friends she shared such moments with? Did they get to touch her the way I wanted to touch her? The thought made me want to find out and potentially cut their goddamn hands off, whoever they were. But I didn’t. I was too busy getting lost within those merciless grey stone walls Chidera’s labyrinth eyes led me into time and time again.
I like being close to you, I replied instead, tentatively reaching out for her. I wanted to stroke her cheek but didn’t dare, so I just brushed a strand of hair out of her face and then awkwardly let my hand settle on her upper arm. More than I’ve liked being close to anyone in a long time.
I’m glad, she said then, because I feel the same way. What we have is special, Ami. It really is.
Chidera’s smile is so vivid in my imagination that it almost makes me forget how much that memory hurts; how strongly I wish I had said what I truly meant and done what I truly wanted to do much earlier. Now that she’s gone, all she ever said or did seems incredibly obvious, and my desire is clearer than ever before, but—
Gone.
She was everything, but now she’s just gone, and I am all alone again.
When my lids lift to make space for the oncoming tears stinging in my eyes, I see her before me clear as day. Not just her face — her entire figure, kneeling next to the bed just like she used to whenever she had to leave in the morning and was taking a minute to say goodbye to a version of me just as grumpy as sleepy.
Maybe it should concern me that she appears to me like this, but right now, it comes as a relief.
“Chi,” I whisper into the dark, almost afraid the sound of her name might chase her away.
But it doesn’t.
Amilía. Her voice, so quiet and soft, hits me right in the chest. It sounds more real than ever, even more so than it does in my head when my eyes frantically skim the pages she once wrote for me. She tilts her head slightly, peering up at me with curious eyes. I hate seeing you so sad. What is it, my love?
“You’re gone,” I choke out despite the fear that any wrong word might just shatter the illusion and take my love away from me again. “You’re gone, and I don’t know how to go on without you.”
I’m not gone. She shakes her head.
That … couldn’t be true. Or could it? Do ghosts still get to lie?
I promised you I’d never leave, didn’t I? There’s a hint of affection gleaming in her eyes, a crooked smirk playing on her lips. It’s an expression reserved for me and only me. It always has been. I would never break any promise I made to you. You know that.
Slowly, she comes closer, so close I could touch her, but I don’t dare. At this point, if she’s not really here, I would prefer not to know. I would rather let myself fall for a delusion than give up the last semblance of hope keeping me alive.
I can’t help but close my eyes in eager expectation as soon as Chidera is close enough for a kiss, though, and while somewhere deep down, I know she couldn’t possibly be touching me, when our lips meet, it barely feels any different than it did before.
Even when her touch recedes, I let the sensation linger. I keep my eyes closed as to let myself dream for a little while longer, and for the first time in weeks, it almost feels like everything might just turn out alright. Lost in thought, I raise my hand to my lips, chasing that prickling feeling the memory of her kiss always leaves, and once again, my world spirals into a blur of memories and longing until, finally, it all fades to black.
Black like Chidera’s hair. Black like the abyss her death opened up inside of me. Black like a murder of crows clouding my field of view, flapping their wings so fervently it’s dizzying.
The sight of her was just what I needed to keep me on track — to stop drowning in self-pity and start doing what needs to be done.
If I still came in contact with any people, surely everyone would tell me to move on; to accept the facts and start building a life for myself beyond all the grief — a life in the future without Chidera that now seems written in stone. But I can’t afford to imagine — let alone accept — a reality in which my love doesn’t exist.
I will get her back. No matter the cost.
It’s a promise to her, and it’s a promise to myself. I don’t know how, not yet, but I have to trust that I will succeed. Otherwise, what is there left for me in this world?
When I open my eyes again, Chidera has disappeared, but her letters are still in my hands, and when I turn around, I catch a glimpse of an exceptionally auspicious moon looming far above, casting soft waves of silver light across the darkened sky.
I didn’t feel like it earlier, but maybe it’s a lovely night to go out, after all. There’s a beautiful stretch of moorlands just outside the city I haven’t visited in a while, and if I recall correctly, they might just harbor the perfect place for one more desperate attempt to cling to hope.