Chapter 4 – Pretend

The last thing I see is Vivi picking up a razor and holding it to her arm. Again, a flash of light sends me to another unfamiliar bedroom. There’s a clock on the wall, the time reads 3:42 am, any sane person would be asleep, or at least in bed. I’m guessing. I was never exactly a sane person, as you can probably tell from the fact that I am now a ghost, or whatever form I am.

Here, the walls are pink, and the bedspread is too. Different Hello Kitty items scatter the room in what appears to be chaos. It probably makes sense to the person who put it there. The room appears to be deserted so I step into the bathroom.

A girl sits hugging her knees to her chest. Tears pour down her face as she tries hopelessly to catch her breath. I recognise this girl, she is in the big group, but I mainly recognise her from sewing club at school. Her name came up in the school newsletter for becoming president of the club. Cordelia I believe her name was, but I can’t be sure.

I notice the way her hands claw the collar of her pyjama shirt, trying to get air. I recognise the signs; ones I have displayed many times. She’s having a panic attack. I want to take her hands and help her take a deep breath. Something I never would have done when I was alive. I want to hold her hands and ground her. I want to help her to breathe. I want to tell her it will be alright. But, of course, she can’t see or hear a ghost.

It's strange isn’t it? All the things we wish we could tell people but don’t. Maybe someone noticed me but was too anxious or polite to say anything to me. Maybe not. I wish I had anyone to say I’ll miss you to in my letter. Maybe if there was I wouldn’t need a letter.

I turn back to Cordelia. Cordelia is such a pretty name. As is the person. She really does look majestic, even with tears falling down her face, hyperventilating, and rocking back and forth. Watching her now, I realise that she too wears a mask. Maybe we all do. I notice Cordelia’s breaths come further apart, not the desperate gasping for air they were. She seems to be calming down.

I sigh because I know what will happen now. She’ll wipe her tears, maybe have a shower. Get dressed, look in the mirror and try out different facial expressions until she finds one that fits and makes her look human. She’ll sit on her bed staring at nothing until her alarm goes off. She’ll wait a while until coming downstairs and then she’ll leave for school pretending she’s fine. But she’s not.

It hits me again. She’s another me. Is everyone in this group me? Maybe they all are. I hope they aren’t, because I never liked myself, what chance do they have?