Chapter Four - Part FiveMature

I hover outside the front door, uncertain of what to really do.

It was more of a spur-of-the-moment type thing but now that I'm actually here I find myself asking why and what do I say? Another thing I have to think about is if it would be dangerous for me. The ridiculously stupid image of me being suckered up in a hoover has suddenly taken up residence in my mind. 

Who ever thought that hoovers would actually suck ghosts up?

The door opens, breaking me from my reverie.

A short, sharp gasp a little too high pitched for a seventeen year old lad.

So it's Finch then.

'Alena?' he hissed. 'What are you doing here?'

I don't actually know. What am I doing here?

'I'm on my way out, can this wait?'

I suppose. If I knew what it was that I wanted. 

He looks confused. 'Are you okay?'

I'm feeling fine. Apart from the whole death thing. I just had a little bit of a blow out at Melinda's so I left her to cool off.

'Who's Melinda?'

Oh that's right, she's Natalie to you lot isn't she? 

'Why do you call her Melinda?' he laughs.

None of your business. I'll leave you to whatever it is that you're doing then if you want. I'm sure I'll fine someone else to entertain me. 

'Oh entertaining? Well I guess you can walk with me if you want? To pass the time?'

Sure. To pass the time. Admit it, my company is amazing isn't it?

'Oh yes I absolutely love having the presence of a dead girl hovering nearby.'

* * *

Talking to Finch comes surprisingly natural to me. He's a very easy person to get along with. On first meeting him I thought he'd be your typical loner computer geek obsessed with video games and fantasizing about the provocatively dressed slags in his school.

Apparently, appearances are deceiving.

He goes out with his friends, he has a girlfriend and he likes football. So much so that he wants to be a professional football player (where have I heard that before?). He had heard about my death in the newspapers and he remembered how surprised he was at the emotion he felt about it.

'You were just sixteen years old. Way too young to die. I remember how upset it made me. It was weird; I didn't even know you.'

I have that effect on people.

I winked at him, mostly to try and ease the tension but also to distract myself from the knot in the pit of my stomach. I never liked talking about my death. Who did, really? It made me realize all the things that I missed: my mother, my father, my little sister and my friends. I missed the feel of the summer sun on my skin, the fresh smell of a wintry night and the sound of music (music itself, not the actual musical...). I missed hot chocolate on a cold Monday morning. I missed trips to the seaside. Ice cream. Chips. Smells of new perfume and the feeling of fresh clothes. Hugs. Kisses. Laughs. Chats.

All of it. I missed it all, so much.

The End

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