She unlocks the door so that she can come back in without needing to pound on the door. I kind of like this idea, since what I really want to do right now is sleep and not have to get out of bed just to open the door for her because chances are--if I ever had to--there’s the very strong hypothetical chance that I would just stay sleeping and not let her back in. She’s rarely here, anyway; that must mean she has other places she can sleep, right? Why put my own mental health at further jeopardy by letting her sleep here? Sleeping--or not sleeping or sleeping way later than I do--in the bed above me while God-awful “music” pours from her pathetically-damaged laptop at an inconsiderately loud volume?

But whether or not I’d actually do that is hypothetical. And yet…here a moment has presented itself through which I may test this hypothesis.

“I’m gonna lock that fucking door.”

The Ghost of Art Students Present sighs, leaning back into his chair. “Well…you could. But what kind of person would you be then?”

“Someone who got enough sleep without having to wait for her to finish reading her goddamn book.”

“Cris, that’s just not you. It’s not your nature.”

“Contemplating murder isn’t my usual nature, either,” I answer flatly.

“Cris--”

“I’m serious! I’ve considered murdering her as a viable option more times this semester than I have ever considered murdering anyone in my entire life, and the only--the only--reason I stop short of devising a plan is because it’s more work than I care to invest. So I’ll settle with locking her out and turning her computer off for the sake of sleep.”

I’m sure it’s obvious by now, how stressed I am; normal people don’t usually discuss committing a felony punishable by lethal injection in the state of Texas. But my days have been very… I’ve been keeping odd hours--not so much in terms of bedtime, but I’ve… Balancing theatre work with regular schoolwork has given me reasons to be tired that I didn’t have before. And the longer I live with her, with this girl who makes my life a quiet hell, the more I feel as if I’ve moved into a residence closer to the side of true insanity than usual. But no matter. Soon she will move out and soon I will have someone new--someone I can tolerate--living with me. But speaking of new people, and of people living with me…

“So, forgetting my oh-so-wonderful roommate for a second…let me get this straight again. You’re not really a figment of my imagination.”

“Nope.”

“You’re an actual dead guy.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, if I looked up the obituaries in…in… Well, I don’t know where I’d start, but…but if I looked for you, I’d find one?”

He shrugs a bit. “Maybe. I don’t know if my parents put one out or not. But then, I don’t really remember too much about my life.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I…I had some serious problems with my last charge…” Present shifts uncomfortably. “I kind of…tried to block out what happened and was a little too good at it, I guess. Hell, I’ve only begun to really remember Past again, and it’s some weird kind of miracle that you managed to meet his charge by chance! We don’t normally work so close together, y’know…”

“Is that part of the reason you didn’t say anything?”

“Yeah. And…and also--”

“You were scared.”

He looks up. “Well, not…not scared, really. I just wanted to be sure I knew what I would be getting into.”

“And now? Now you--you help people. You’re here to help me.”

“That’s right.” He smiles a little. “For some reason or another, you need me, and so I’m here to help you. I guess I work like a muse or something; that’s how it’s been with the others.”

“A muse…”

The sound of the door opening makes me jump. In strolls the roommate again, quiet. And she doesn’t lock the fucking door. I wonder if she’s planning to go out again and this time…this time…

“I don’t fucking believe it. She’s crawling into bed. And she didn’t lock the fucking door.”

She gives me an odd look as she passes by; I don’t see it, but I can feel her dull brown eyes against the back of my head, because this is one of the few times she has ever shown that she believes in my existence. I’m talking as low as I can, trying to keep my temper under enough control so as to keep her from thinking that she is better off continuing to pretend that I don’t exist, but if she is seriously planning to sit at her own computer without locking the door…

Present sighs, no doubt sensing my distress. “Is it really about the door?”

“Of course not! It isn’t about the door at all! It’s about the fact that she’s still here when I’ve heard from just about everyone who had a hand in pulling strings for me that she was going to move out. And yet, she’s still here! She hasn’t gotten rid of most of her shit…and she’s still here. She’s still fucking here! Keeping this room a fucking pigsty! Pretending I don’t exist!”

He sighs again. “Cris--”

“I want…her…gone, Present. I want her gone, I want my friend to move in, and I want my GODDAMN FUCKING DOOR LOCKED!”

Crickets. No crickets--no real ones, thank God--but that should express the stunned silence in the room. Actually…it’s not so much stunned silence as…silence. Ordinary, boring-as-fuck silence. My roommate doesn’t even turn her head.

“Did you say something?”

I grin. Mind you, it’s a twisted grin--like…like The Grinch before he repents--but it’s a grin nonetheless.

“Why yes. Yes, I did.” I switch to Spanish so that she takes full notice. “¡Me haces el buen favor, te sales de esa cama y le pones seguro a esa jodia  puerta, carajo! Porque no me voy a quedar durmiendo sin saber que hay seguro en esa puerta--”

“Y porque--”

“TÚ fuiste la ultima persona que salio del cuarto. TÚ fuiste la que quito el seguro, y TÚ fuiste la que lo dejo así. Así que, otra ves, me haces un buen favor…”

Deep breath.

“And you lock. The fucking. Door.”

Now there’s some stunned silence. I think the only reason she doesn’t star yelling at me is because I’m grinning that half-cracked grin again--the kind of grins that puts an uneasy look on even Present’s face. But it has the desired effect; she gets off the bed, she goes to the door…

Click.

One.

Click.

Two.

“Thank you!”

The Ghost smiles an odd little smile at me. “You so need sleep, kid…”

“I know.”

I wonder what would happen if tomorrow I called for a mental health day and just stayed in my room all day like I did…week before last. If all I did was stay in, do my psych project (on abnormal psychology, no less--go fucking figure!) and write until rehearsals. I can’t miss rehearsals, but here I am at…12:47AM, contemplating whether or not to go to my classes tomorrow when I have quizzes in both of them. Joyous, isn’t it?

“Cris, you need to sleep.”

“I need to grow a backbone. I need to find my voice and use it for more than chattering about nothing. Her very presence is driving me insane. Things from the world outside make me want to retreat to the safety of my room, but she makes me want to retreat back into the world. Do you see what I mean? It’s a delicate situation.”

“I see that.” He frowns, and he looks so very sympathetic that I almost want to cry. Instead I press forehead to desk and shut my eyes. “It happens…”

“But not to me! I never get this bad. Everything is making me crazy. I feel like I should be coming apart at the seams or screaming at my roommate. Or I should least ask her when she plans to move out so that she understands that I seriously want her gone instead of just…complaining about her to everybody else. That’s passive-aggressive behavior, you know.”

“Cris…”

“It is! I should know, because I’m a fucking psych major!”

My voice sounds muffled. But then, considering my face is currently pressed against the cold wood of the desk…

“It’s passive-aggressive behavior. I’m talking about her--about how she makes me feel and how I want her gone--instead of talking to her. I don’t know how to confront people unless it’s something stupid or trivial and even then I tend to back down when I should be pushing forward. It’s my fucking self-defense mechanism.”

A cough makes my shoulders jump. Present makes some sound that’s like a sigh ending with the short click of his tongue before lightly placing his hand against my back, just between the shoulder blades. Splaying his fingers, he presses into the skin just enough that I can feel his fingertips through the muscle.

“You’re too tense,” he says softly. “In your shoulders… Middle of your back…”

“It’s stress. It’s sitting all day and not moving around enough. It’s life.”

Pressing a little harder, he draws his hand down lower, to the small of my back. I stiffen out of reflex. I can’t help it. Normally, someone touching my back is a bit…awkward. When you’ve got a scar that runs from the base of the neck to the base of the spine, you get a little…sensitive. The scar’s nine years old, but it’s still there, not likely to fade any time soon. Even over clothes, I’m sure he feels it.

“Watch how far you--!”

“Relax. I just wanted to see… And it’s tense. It’s all tense.” Present takes his hand away and I’m left feeling no better than I felt before. “You need to see someone about it.”

“Well, I would, but the last masseuse I went to--the one who comes to campus--thinks I need Jesus or that I’m demon-possessed or…or whatever. And the closest secular one isn’t close enough to take a bus to. And no one… I dunno. I’d feel weird asking someone to…you know. It’s just…”

I sigh. The frown on his face makes me want to cry again. I think it’s because of the look of sympa--no, no…empathy. It’s this look of deep empathy in his eyes makes me want to curl up in his lap and sob until I fall asleep. He seems the sort of fellow who would let me do that. Maybe if I ask really nicely…

“Present--”

“You need sleep,” he says. “Go. To. Sleep. At least come to bed.”

“I--”

“Let me take care of you.” And he says it so softly that I almost miss it. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. Even if the relief is just temporary…let me give you that much.”

How do you say “no” to that? I shut off the computer and--to my luck--my roommate leaves again, taking her own computer with her and not even bothering to leave the door unlocked for herself. Present smiles a little.

“Think she took her keys?”

“Think I really give a fuck?”

He laughs, a wonderful wonder to ears forced a few minutes ago to hear cacophonic bullshit for lack opportunity (or funds) to buy a pair of good-quality noise-cancelling earphones.

“Go on,” he says. “Get into bed. I’ll get the lights and bolt the door…”

Burrowing beneath my blankets is easier done than imagined; burrowing into his arms is even easier. It feels wonderful to finally stretch, to have someone to huddle close to. And yet…I can’t help wondering how we’re able to fit on a twin-sized bed--or how we’ve managed it for the longest time…

“When did the clock jump?”

“Hm?” His hands run over my back, trying to kill the stress. “What you mean?”

“The clock says 1:45…” Trying to squint in the dark is the silliest thing you can do. I probably look ridiculous. “One…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Present murmurs, kissing my forehead. “Don’t worry about anything. Just--”

“Don’t…” I huddle closer, eyes closed, clutching his shirt. “You’re so warm, Present. So soft… And you smell of cigarettes.”

“Proof you need sleep.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not making any sense, Cris.”

“I’m making…I’m making perfect sense…”

His hands are slowing their trek; on the way down, he presses his thumbs a little deeper into the certain troublesome areas, sparking a feeling that isn’t entirely uncomfortable. Tension just seems to unravel the way…something else unravels. Rope. Tension unravels the way rope does. I think.

“You’re still awake?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Bullshit. You’re borderline.”

“Schizo? Maybe.”

He chuckles. “You’re not schizophrenic, Cris. I’m probably the schizo. You’re just under a lot of pressure. That’s all.”

“Hm. Is that all it is?”

“Yeah…” Another kiss to the forehead. “That’s all. Are you still upset?”

“A little… A lot. Yes.”

“Don’t be. You shouldn’t be. At least not right now.”

“Why not? Why can’t I be?”

“I didn’t say you can’t. Obviously, if you are, then you can be scared--”

“Present…now is no time for word games.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize.” The sigh that escapes sounds louder and more frustrated than I want. “It was a bit clever.”

“Anyway--”

“Yes, anyway…”

“I said that you shouldn’t…because I promised you that I’d protect you no matter what. Whatever’s in your head--anxieties, frustrations, things like that--I’ll do what I can to help with them. I won’t let it hurt you. That’s what I’m here for, on top of everything else--to take care of you, i-if you’ll let me.”

His hands stop moving in favor of hugging me closer. I bury my head under his chin, and just like that, it’s the safest and surest I’ve felt all week. How the hell does he do it? How does he just…know what to do? He doesn’t; he just acts on impulse--on pure instinct. That’s what makes him special, why he is who he is. That’s why he’s here as a Ghost and not elsewhere.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Present.”

“No you’re not. You’re delirious. Get some sleep.” He sounds impatient, but there’s a faded smile in his voice. “I mean it. In the morning you’ll realize I’m not your type.”

“It is morning.”

“Stop trying to make sense and sleep already.”

“But I am…”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not making sense. But let’s give sense another try, shall we?

“Present?”

His voice is barely a whisper. “Hm?”

“How long will you be here? How…how long do I have you to help me?”

Silence. I get the feeling he’s just hoping until I fall asleep.

“Present?”

“For as long as you need me, kid.” He tilts my face up to his, eyes locking with mine even in the dark. “If it takes three weeks, then I’m here for three weeks. If it takes three years…well…I’ve got lots of time.”

“What if I never figure myself out?”

The Ghost chuckles a little. “You will.”

“But what if I don’t? What if it…? What if I just don’t, Present?”

More silence. I roll over, facing away from him, feeling foolish for asking such stupid questions. His embrace around me stays tight, firm. And his voice… His lips are brushing faintly against my ear, and he’s whispering so softly that I can barely be sure of what he’s saying. And then he speaks again--

“Did you hear me?”

“Hm?”

Present chuckles again. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“No… Tell me now. Please?”

“I just…” I can hear him drawing in a small breath. “I just said that…if it takes forever, or if you never figure yourself out, then…then you’ll never get rid of me. No matter what you do…I’ll always be here. For as long as you need me.”

“Hm.”

“Does that work for you?”

I’m smiling for the first time in this entire week.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good.” His own smile is evident in his voice. “Now. Get to sleep.”