(no subject)
JANUARY
It's been one month since I've seen any of them. Headless, Eyeless, and Dmitry have all been silent and hidden, which means I had a rather dull thirty days. That made me incredibly happy, if truth were to be told. I no longer opened the shower curtain slowly, I didn't have to glance into my backseat before starting the car, and I wasn't always on edge when at work. It was absolutely fabulous.
Christmas and New Year's have gone and past, leaving me in the middle of January with a half ton of snow sitting on my car. Even that couldn't kill my mood, and I gladly swept off the ice and white flakes. I liked this mundane existence, and I was grateful for its return. If I never heard the word "ghost" again, it would be too soon.
Naturally, however, as soon as I started to think about it - I was reintroduced to the torture of the presence of Headless. I had swept the snow from the window of my passenger, and happened upon his corpse sitting in the seat. Exasperation seemed to fill me faster than fear and I ripped open the door with a heavy swing. "What the hell?" I snarled, leaning to face Headless face-to-neck. "I thought you guys were gone!" I seemed to have startled the ghost, more so than he has ever done to me, and I swallowed a queasy stomach when he bent forward, lifting a head into view. It was probably his, but still… That was a bit disgusting.
You can see me.
The mouth on the severed head moved, but my mind still - absently - wondered how it could speak without being attached to the neck. "Well, I do believe that's pretty blatant." I wasn't about to let fear, or these things, rule my life.
How…
"Good question. I still don't know why, myself… But I seriously need you to get the hell out of my car - and stop bothering me!" The face stared at me with a gape - and while the corpse may have been attractive while alive… In death, the look he was giving me was grotesque and caused me to wince. "Put away that thing," I demanded. "It's disturbing."
I can't speak withou-
"Don't care!" There was a rather long, pained sigh, and the man in my car sat the severed head down on the floor, covered by his legs.
Better?
I sensed sarcasm and didn't appreciate it, but nevertheless, I nodded. Realizing that the eyes on the floor wouldn't be able to see my movement, I changed my answer to a vocal response. "Yeah. Much…" I threw my glance about, looking for someone who would be watching the crazy chick talking (arguing?) with the headless corpse in her car. If such a person existed, they were nowhere to be seen and I exhaled, heavily, in resignation. "So why are you haunting me? Why can't you and Eyeless go away and never return?" It may have been phrased like a question, but I'm sure even Headless could recognize the "subtle" emphasis for him to do as such.
Don't know. His shoulders shifted, as if he was turning to look at me. How nonsensical. No one else can see me, I suppose. I feel drawn to you, now that I know you can-
"Don't even… mention that." I was about to iterate the word 'say,' but technically - he wasn't saying anything.
The was a pause, but Headless continued shortly after I interrupted him. Help me.
"Excuse me?!" I snapped, scandalized. I stared at the apparition before hissing back at him. "What do you mean help? You're dead. It's not like I can make you cross over or anything. Stupid…" The insult was barely a whisper, but I could almost hear Headless' eyes rolling in his head.
No, no. I mean… I was murdered.
I blanched. "You want me to catch your murderer…? Are you INSANE?!" I pointed to myself, "Do you see who you are talking to? I'm still a teen! I'm in college! I'm a girl." The feminist in me protested, but I shushed it. I was trying to make a point. "I would like to live, thankyouverymuch. Now, get out of my car." I thrusted my finger in an arbitrary direction, hoping the ghost would get the hint and leave.
Another moment of silence passed between us. Actually… I can't see who I'm talking to. You made me put my head down.
I let out a loud groan of exasperation, before slamming the door shut, firmly. "Of course," I muttered to myself, stomping from my car. "Of course I get haunted by the one ghost with a personality." A very warped personality, at that.
With a sound of acknowledgement, I set the alarm on my car, and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. Despite the chill, I was determined to walk to the store, especially now that my vehicle was currently occupied by Headless.
In-between semesters my days were filled with mundane chores and tasks, occasionally interrupted by my work schedule. It was a peaceful intermission, and certainly a deal more agreeable to me then the hectic life of full-time college. However, if Headless thought he would hinder my next two weeks of vacation, he had another thing coming! "Help him," I scoffed, pulling my coat closer to me. "You can't help the dead…"
My whisper was answered by a male voice behind me. "Not necessarily true." The familiar tone had me scowling and angry before I turned around. Dmitry's mock-expression of humour did nothing to spoil his good looks, and it seemed that, since seeing him last month, he trimmed his hair and shaved the scruff that had lined his jaw.
I admonished myself for noticing the man's appearance, forcing my fists on my hips to distract myself. "What is going on here?" I demanded. "You guys slink off into the darkness, and now that I'm finished with finals, you come skulking out of the woodwork?" I waved a gloved hand at him, "Is this some sort of sick game or a fetish or what?"
Dmitry looked thoughtful, without much changing on his face, and pressed a knuckle to the underside of his chin. I felt my eyes narrow as he gave a non-committal grunt to my words, and began to turn the questions back at me. "You're telling me you haven't seen the one without eyes for a month now?"
"Basically, if you want to sum everything up - but that doesn't answer my question. Why are you all bothering me now?"
"I cannot speak for the others, but I just had nothing I needed from you over the past month."
I stared at the man, appalled. "Needed nothing from me?" I nearly screeched. "What the hell could I do for you, anyways?" I had to restrain myself from stomping my foot, like a child in a tantrum. I glared up at Dmitry who only seemed to smirk at my words. "You better start being more forthcoming with your answers, Mr. Volsky."
He stepped closer, placing a hand at the middle of my back and pressing me towards a coffee shop across the street. "Shall we talk over there…?" he offered.
I tensed with his touch and stilled my feet to keep from following his direction. "Don't touch me." My voice was hardly a hiss and I elbowed his forearm with as much force as I could. "As if I would willingly go anywhere with you. You're lucky I'm not shouting for help or screaming. I have every right, you know." I reminded him that fact with a malicious grin, and his steady look told me that I wasn't anything for him to worry about. A little deflated, I slouched my shoulders and sighed. "What do you want from me?" I pleaded, trying to understand.
"I'll treat you to a coffee." It seemed he instinctually knew my weakness. "I'll explain what I can, then."
"Fine," I agreed, defeated. "You try anything," I sassed, with the remainder of my fire, "and I'll kick your ass. I know jujitsu." Well, no, I didn't - but he didn't know that.
"No, you don't."
I stood corrected. "Can't you at least humour me, before you completely wreck my perception of reality?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes, and it was a facsimile of the real thing. "How do you know I'm going to, as you put it, 'wreck your perception of reality?'"
"You seem like the type."
"Do I now…?"
I nodded and walked into the robust smell of grinds, leaves, and confections. The door was held by, surprisingly, Dmitry, who waved at the establishment like a practiced doorman. "Creeper," I muttered as I passed him. I heard a scoff, as he followed me into the shop, and I smirked at his reaction. Bypassing the round tables and skirting around chairs in various states around them, I led the two of us to the counter.
There was some small talk going on between the two baristas who continued to wipe at imaginary dust and dirt or clean the machines. I glanced back at the man who, for all intents and purposes, blackmailed me into coming here, and frowned. "Is there a limit?" He cocked a brow at my question, obviously not comprehending the simple and basic question. "How much cash do you have on you?" I reiterated, slowly.
"Enough. Order what you want."
I eyed him, suspicious. "And if I wanted the entire store?"
"It would explain your weight." Horrified and offended, I gaped at the dark-haired Russian. "Close your mouth and order your drink," he prompted, pushing me towards the counter.
"I'm not fat!" I finally managed to snap, clearly too loud. As heads turned towards us, I felt my cheeks and neck flush hot with mortification. I felt the tears prick at the sides of my eyes, but years of forcing myself to keep from crying in public kept them at bay. "Asshole…" I snarled, wrapping my coat around my frame, tighter than normal. I took a heavy step towards the door - I refused to be humiliated like this - but was snatched back by a hand at my collar. If not for my scarf, I would have choked at the sudden jerk of my coat. As it was, I turned my sight to Dmitry who looked a bit put out by my display.
His voice whispered in my ear, "Childish," before he looked at the now-interested employees. "She'll have a caramel latte, largest you have."
I glowered, then. "I will not! I'm not having anything! I demand you let me go!" I couldn't stop myself from stomping my foot, this time.
"I'm sorry for her behaviour. She's young…" his tone made it sound like I was still in grade-school, and I tensed, absolutely livid.
"How dare you-"
There was a titter at the counter as one of the baristas, a honey-coloured blonde with flashy green eyes, waved a hand at Dmitry. "No worries. I have a sister who acts just like her." It was obvious that she was trying to butter up to the Russian and I felt that familiar heat of embarrassment. I was being treated like a child and she had the nerve to flirt.
"Class act, Samantha," I sneered, eyeing her nametag. "Next time, just undo another button on your shirt. It'll get the same attention with half the effort."
…and there went my chances of ever going to this particular coffee shop, again.
Samantha looked at me startled, her own face paling and blushing at the same time. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed. "What did you just say to me?"
I wisely kept my mouth shut, still unable to escape while Dmitry held my coat in his tight grip. Speaking of the devilish Russian, he seemed to finally be able to express a true emotion as he smirked with genuine amusement. Obviously this man was egotistical enough to enjoy a fight between two women - especially when one of them was openly flirting with him.
"Let me go," I insisted. "Now."
Dmitry did nothing of the sort, and instead, pointed to the second of the baristas. "My order, please. Since the other one is too busy sinking to the level of my companion."
Once pitted against one another, Samantha and I ganged up to yell an insulted "Hey!" at the Russian. Simply staring forward, he waited as the brunette hopped to do his bidding. In any other case I would have acknowledged the cool way that he handled the fiasco, but seeing as he had started it with his off-hand remark about my weight… Well, there was no respect coming from me.
When the drink settled on the counter, it was barely a second before it was being pressed into my hands - a ten dollar bill sitting on the glossy surface in its stead. "Keep the change," Dmitry ordered, before leading me out of the store.
I wanted to pour the drink on him. I really, really did. However, I couldn't bring myself to remove the lid and dump the hot beverage on him. I was close though - I had my trembling fingers at the rim, pulling at the plastic. However, a cool hand settled on top of mine and I forced myself to look up, bleary-eyed, at the Russian who had so completely shamed me.
"I hate you." The importance of that word was not lost on Dmitry, it would seem. I rarely, hardly ever, muttered 'hate,' as I found that it was too harsh to completely describe my feelings. I disliked things, loathed them. I detested and despised… There are too many synonyms, but the point still remains - I never used the word 'hate' unless I truly meant it.
As I started to walk faster, away from the most vile man on the planet, I could hear him try to stop me.
"Anna."
I paused at my name and turned to flash the man a look of pure contempt. "Don't come near me… Don't try to seek me out… Don't even think about me. I'm dead to you, do you hear me? Dead."
It's been one month since I've seen any of them. Headless, Eyeless, and Dmitry have all been silent and hidden, which means I had a rather dull thirty days. That made me incredibly happy, if truth were to be told. I no longer opened the shower curtain slowly, I didn't have to glance into my backseat before starting the car, and I wasn't always on edge when at work. It was absolutely fabulous.
Christmas and New Year's have gone and past, leaving me in the middle of January with a half ton of snow sitting on my car. Even that couldn't kill my mood, and I gladly swept off the ice and white flakes. I liked this mundane existence, and I was grateful for its return. If I never heard the word "ghost" again, it would be too soon.
Naturally, however, as soon as I started to think about it - I was reintroduced to the torture of the presence of Headless. I had swept the snow from the window of my passenger, and happened upon his corpse sitting in the seat. Exasperation seemed to fill me faster than fear and I ripped open the door with a heavy swing. "What the hell?" I snarled, leaning to face Headless face-to-neck. "I thought you guys were gone!" I seemed to have startled the ghost, more so than he has ever done to me, and I swallowed a queasy stomach when he bent forward, lifting a head into view. It was probably his, but still… That was a bit disgusting.
You can see me.
The mouth on the severed head moved, but my mind still - absently - wondered how it could speak without being attached to the neck. "Well, I do believe that's pretty blatant." I wasn't about to let fear, or these things, rule my life.
How…
"Good question. I still don't know why, myself… But I seriously need you to get the hell out of my car - and stop bothering me!" The face stared at me with a gape - and while the corpse may have been attractive while alive… In death, the look he was giving me was grotesque and caused me to wince. "Put away that thing," I demanded. "It's disturbing."
I can't speak withou-
"Don't care!" There was a rather long, pained sigh, and the man in my car sat the severed head down on the floor, covered by his legs.
Better?
I sensed sarcasm and didn't appreciate it, but nevertheless, I nodded. Realizing that the eyes on the floor wouldn't be able to see my movement, I changed my answer to a vocal response. "Yeah. Much…" I threw my glance about, looking for someone who would be watching the crazy chick talking (arguing?) with the headless corpse in her car. If such a person existed, they were nowhere to be seen and I exhaled, heavily, in resignation. "So why are you haunting me? Why can't you and Eyeless go away and never return?" It may have been phrased like a question, but I'm sure even Headless could recognize the "subtle" emphasis for him to do as such.
Don't know. His shoulders shifted, as if he was turning to look at me. How nonsensical. No one else can see me, I suppose. I feel drawn to you, now that I know you can-
"Don't even… mention that." I was about to iterate the word 'say,' but technically - he wasn't saying anything.
The was a pause, but Headless continued shortly after I interrupted him. Help me.
"Excuse me?!" I snapped, scandalized. I stared at the apparition before hissing back at him. "What do you mean help? You're dead. It's not like I can make you cross over or anything. Stupid…" The insult was barely a whisper, but I could almost hear Headless' eyes rolling in his head.
No, no. I mean… I was murdered.
I blanched. "You want me to catch your murderer…? Are you INSANE?!" I pointed to myself, "Do you see who you are talking to? I'm still a teen! I'm in college! I'm a girl." The feminist in me protested, but I shushed it. I was trying to make a point. "I would like to live, thankyouverymuch. Now, get out of my car." I thrusted my finger in an arbitrary direction, hoping the ghost would get the hint and leave.
Another moment of silence passed between us. Actually… I can't see who I'm talking to. You made me put my head down.
I let out a loud groan of exasperation, before slamming the door shut, firmly. "Of course," I muttered to myself, stomping from my car. "Of course I get haunted by the one ghost with a personality." A very warped personality, at that.
With a sound of acknowledgement, I set the alarm on my car, and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. Despite the chill, I was determined to walk to the store, especially now that my vehicle was currently occupied by Headless.
In-between semesters my days were filled with mundane chores and tasks, occasionally interrupted by my work schedule. It was a peaceful intermission, and certainly a deal more agreeable to me then the hectic life of full-time college. However, if Headless thought he would hinder my next two weeks of vacation, he had another thing coming! "Help him," I scoffed, pulling my coat closer to me. "You can't help the dead…"
My whisper was answered by a male voice behind me. "Not necessarily true." The familiar tone had me scowling and angry before I turned around. Dmitry's mock-expression of humour did nothing to spoil his good looks, and it seemed that, since seeing him last month, he trimmed his hair and shaved the scruff that had lined his jaw.
I admonished myself for noticing the man's appearance, forcing my fists on my hips to distract myself. "What is going on here?" I demanded. "You guys slink off into the darkness, and now that I'm finished with finals, you come skulking out of the woodwork?" I waved a gloved hand at him, "Is this some sort of sick game or a fetish or what?"
Dmitry looked thoughtful, without much changing on his face, and pressed a knuckle to the underside of his chin. I felt my eyes narrow as he gave a non-committal grunt to my words, and began to turn the questions back at me. "You're telling me you haven't seen the one without eyes for a month now?"
"Basically, if you want to sum everything up - but that doesn't answer my question. Why are you all bothering me now?"
"I cannot speak for the others, but I just had nothing I needed from you over the past month."
I stared at the man, appalled. "Needed nothing from me?" I nearly screeched. "What the hell could I do for you, anyways?" I had to restrain myself from stomping my foot, like a child in a tantrum. I glared up at Dmitry who only seemed to smirk at my words. "You better start being more forthcoming with your answers, Mr. Volsky."
He stepped closer, placing a hand at the middle of my back and pressing me towards a coffee shop across the street. "Shall we talk over there…?" he offered.
I tensed with his touch and stilled my feet to keep from following his direction. "Don't touch me." My voice was hardly a hiss and I elbowed his forearm with as much force as I could. "As if I would willingly go anywhere with you. You're lucky I'm not shouting for help or screaming. I have every right, you know." I reminded him that fact with a malicious grin, and his steady look told me that I wasn't anything for him to worry about. A little deflated, I slouched my shoulders and sighed. "What do you want from me?" I pleaded, trying to understand.
"I'll treat you to a coffee." It seemed he instinctually knew my weakness. "I'll explain what I can, then."
"Fine," I agreed, defeated. "You try anything," I sassed, with the remainder of my fire, "and I'll kick your ass. I know jujitsu." Well, no, I didn't - but he didn't know that.
"No, you don't."
I stood corrected. "Can't you at least humour me, before you completely wreck my perception of reality?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes, and it was a facsimile of the real thing. "How do you know I'm going to, as you put it, 'wreck your perception of reality?'"
"You seem like the type."
"Do I now…?"
I nodded and walked into the robust smell of grinds, leaves, and confections. The door was held by, surprisingly, Dmitry, who waved at the establishment like a practiced doorman. "Creeper," I muttered as I passed him. I heard a scoff, as he followed me into the shop, and I smirked at his reaction. Bypassing the round tables and skirting around chairs in various states around them, I led the two of us to the counter.
There was some small talk going on between the two baristas who continued to wipe at imaginary dust and dirt or clean the machines. I glanced back at the man who, for all intents and purposes, blackmailed me into coming here, and frowned. "Is there a limit?" He cocked a brow at my question, obviously not comprehending the simple and basic question. "How much cash do you have on you?" I reiterated, slowly.
"Enough. Order what you want."
I eyed him, suspicious. "And if I wanted the entire store?"
"It would explain your weight." Horrified and offended, I gaped at the dark-haired Russian. "Close your mouth and order your drink," he prompted, pushing me towards the counter.
"I'm not fat!" I finally managed to snap, clearly too loud. As heads turned towards us, I felt my cheeks and neck flush hot with mortification. I felt the tears prick at the sides of my eyes, but years of forcing myself to keep from crying in public kept them at bay. "Asshole…" I snarled, wrapping my coat around my frame, tighter than normal. I took a heavy step towards the door - I refused to be humiliated like this - but was snatched back by a hand at my collar. If not for my scarf, I would have choked at the sudden jerk of my coat. As it was, I turned my sight to Dmitry who looked a bit put out by my display.
His voice whispered in my ear, "Childish," before he looked at the now-interested employees. "She'll have a caramel latte, largest you have."
I glowered, then. "I will not! I'm not having anything! I demand you let me go!" I couldn't stop myself from stomping my foot, this time.
"I'm sorry for her behaviour. She's young…" his tone made it sound like I was still in grade-school, and I tensed, absolutely livid.
"How dare you-"
There was a titter at the counter as one of the baristas, a honey-coloured blonde with flashy green eyes, waved a hand at Dmitry. "No worries. I have a sister who acts just like her." It was obvious that she was trying to butter up to the Russian and I felt that familiar heat of embarrassment. I was being treated like a child and she had the nerve to flirt.
"Class act, Samantha," I sneered, eyeing her nametag. "Next time, just undo another button on your shirt. It'll get the same attention with half the effort."
…and there went my chances of ever going to this particular coffee shop, again.
Samantha looked at me startled, her own face paling and blushing at the same time. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed. "What did you just say to me?"
I wisely kept my mouth shut, still unable to escape while Dmitry held my coat in his tight grip. Speaking of the devilish Russian, he seemed to finally be able to express a true emotion as he smirked with genuine amusement. Obviously this man was egotistical enough to enjoy a fight between two women - especially when one of them was openly flirting with him.
"Let me go," I insisted. "Now."
Dmitry did nothing of the sort, and instead, pointed to the second of the baristas. "My order, please. Since the other one is too busy sinking to the level of my companion."
Once pitted against one another, Samantha and I ganged up to yell an insulted "Hey!" at the Russian. Simply staring forward, he waited as the brunette hopped to do his bidding. In any other case I would have acknowledged the cool way that he handled the fiasco, but seeing as he had started it with his off-hand remark about my weight… Well, there was no respect coming from me.
When the drink settled on the counter, it was barely a second before it was being pressed into my hands - a ten dollar bill sitting on the glossy surface in its stead. "Keep the change," Dmitry ordered, before leading me out of the store.
I wanted to pour the drink on him. I really, really did. However, I couldn't bring myself to remove the lid and dump the hot beverage on him. I was close though - I had my trembling fingers at the rim, pulling at the plastic. However, a cool hand settled on top of mine and I forced myself to look up, bleary-eyed, at the Russian who had so completely shamed me.
"I hate you." The importance of that word was not lost on Dmitry, it would seem. I rarely, hardly ever, muttered 'hate,' as I found that it was too harsh to completely describe my feelings. I disliked things, loathed them. I detested and despised… There are too many synonyms, but the point still remains - I never used the word 'hate' unless I truly meant it.
As I started to walk faster, away from the most vile man on the planet, I could hear him try to stop me.
"Anna."
I paused at my name and turned to flash the man a look of pure contempt. "Don't come near me… Don't try to seek me out… Don't even think about me. I'm dead to you, do you hear me? Dead."