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You knew it the moment you woke up to a phone that didn’t charge and an alarm that didn’t go off. You knew it long before you got to work to meet an angry boss with an even angrier paper in her hand. You knew it, felt it in your bones when your knees hit the doormat and you already longed to go to bed at 10 AM.
But you had to do something, right?
It’s your birthday after all. You need a cake.
So, even though you knew, you knew deep inside your ribs, in how they rattled when you breathed… you took the probably-expired cake mix from your cabinet and threw it together. Maybe some tears got into the batter. You didn’t care. Because you knew.
You didn’t eye the knives in the kitchen this time. You didn’t sit on the roof’s edge and smoke, wishing for a gust of wind. You didn’t even go to the garage. You sat, staring at the Yankee candle you lit in lieu of those fancy number candles you used to get every year. Your breath shook as you blew out the flame, silently longing for the smoke to trigger the detectors.
You ate the whole cake alone.
If you could turn regret into soap, you’d have been able to clean the pan twelve times over. You shoved it into the cabinet, still dripping. It’ll dry.
You got everything done that night. Unpaid bills you couldn’t afford, unwashed clothes, unfinished letters… you finally got everything squared away. It felt nice. But you knew. Your body knew.
Somehow you finally made it to the shower, taking your time to clean and feel every curve of your limbs. You had always tried to ignore your body. Maybe you could live with it for one night. Hair up in a towel, pajamas hanging loosely around your tired frame, you slowly, regretfully, reached for your phone.
Nothing.
No calls.
No messages.
Just a calendar reminder titled “24th B-Day” and the dark reflection of your weary eyes. It’s okay, you told yourself. You’ve known for a long time.
You took your meds, checked on the drying laundry, and folded what was left. You paced for a moment, then found yourself in your room again.
You took your meds, finished putting away the dishes, and locked the doors. You could have swore you felt something watching you, but you ignored the sinking feeling in your gut.
You took your meds, then straightened up your plushies. You whispered a silent apology to them.
You took your meds. They were old. Supposed to help with those pesky headaches and the way your hips ached when you sat. Really they just made your throat itch.
You took your meds and let out a breath when you set the bottle down and it didn’t rattle. It wasn’t relief. Not yet.
Your legs felt heavy as you flopped into bed, halfheartedly pulling your favorite blanket over your shoulders and hugging your childhood plushie to your chest. Maybe it could hear your heartbeat.
For once, your mind stilled. All you could think about was each breath. You counted them. 1, 2, 3… you were just reaching the 30s when you opened your eyes. You would have jumped if you could feel your limbs.
Two steel blue eyes stared at you from behind a muzzle. You knew those eyes, that look.
He had been there, the day your school burned down. You had sat alone in the classroom you grew up in, crying as the ceiling fell to block your exit. Flames licked at the door, and your little arms just couldn’t lift the window. Who expects an eight-year-old to be able to operate those outdated locks anyway?
But he was there. And as he dragged your teacher’s dead body across the yard in front of your window, he noticed you. And then he saw you. God only knows what compelled him to pull open the window with an arm designed to kill. God only knows what he was trying to say with those cold eyes as you looked up at him. Maybe he was tired too, even then. Even then you both knew.
“Hello again,” you managed as your past stared into you. He just nodded slightly, eyes trailing to your abdomen. Maybe he could see through your skin, into your organs. Maybe he was trying to.
“Slow,” he stated quietly. It took you a moment to realize he was talking about your heartbeat. He could hear it.
“I know,” you breathed. His eyes softened a fraction.
“I remember,” he mumbled after a beat. “You’re still here.”
“Yeah. I’m here,” you replied, closing your eyes. You felt your throat getting tighter.
“Don’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I remember ghosts. You’re here. Stay.” It took you a moment to decipher his words. They were few, but they were heavy.
“I don’t want to die,” you admitted shakily. Tears burned as they gathered in your tired eyes. “But I am… so tired…” Your hands trembled, clutching your plushie like it could somehow make the sensation of dying feel better. There is no cure for the desperate human urge to stay alive.
“Too slow…” he muttered softly.
“It’ll stop soon. It’s okay,” you assured him. “I’ll make for a good ghost, no?”
“No,” he breathed, standing up. You wondered what he was doing when you heard him rummaging through your bathroom cabinets, but when he emerged with an Epi-Pen you started to sob.
“Please-“ you started to beg, but he already had the tube against your thigh.
“No more ghosts,” he strained, his eyes aflame with what you could only describe as a desperate, childlike terror. “Stay.” You had to pause. You meant something to him, somehow. Somewhere in that confused brain is you, the knowledge of you alive. A memory he can still come back to, even if you were tear-stained and hopeless.
“Why?” you sobbed. “I might as well be a stain on the carpet, I... I’m nobody.”
“So am I,” he responded without a beat. He threw the Epi-Pen to the side, moving closer to hear your weak heartbeat evening out. You scoffed through tears.
“So, what,” you muttered bitterly. “We’re just… somebody to each other then? I don’t even know you.”
“Still someone,” he asserted. His gaze held a certain intensity that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was trying to convince himself to stay too. After a long moment, you took in a deep breath, realizing you almost never did again.
“Okay,” you relented. “No more ghosts.”
“Good,” he breathed. His shoulders relaxed a bit, but he stayed firmly planted next to your bed like a dog watching over its master. Your stomach twisted with the realization that that might not be far from the truth.
“Do you have a name?” you asked gently. His lips twitched.
“No,” he muttered. You nodded softly, ignoring the way your heart sank.
“I don’t either, then.”
“Okay.” His presence was oddly comforting as you drifted off to sleep, your body at ease and your mind quiet. Your eyes fluttered open for just a moment to catch the time on your clock, to hear a soft voice whisper.
11:59.
“Happy Birthday.”