Yay, 23 chapters (and a prologue) - Discordia! Haha I am such a nerd.

But I've finally finished this thing! Please tell me what you think of this and the story as a whole if you have the time - just look at the pretty little review button! Ooh pretty...

And thank you so much to everyone who's read this story! It means so much to me that you've given up your time to do it, and I hope that you've enjoyed it, even just a little bit.

And if you enjoyed this, Away With Jenny Wren is another romangst I'm writing. It's better and it's still at the very beginning (as of 7/7/08)! I'd really appreciate any feedback, and you're welcome to tear me to pieces.

Thanks again, Beth.

Ghosts

Written by Jack Dante, Performed by Egburt 2

Lying here among the things you've touched
I wait and think of things I've crushed.
Apathy's filling up my head
And I smile because I feel I'm dead.
You crash on me with light,
You crunch me with delight,
And I am empty, empty, now.

You smiling makes me smile the most,
But I have far too much to do
To fall asleep and dream of you,
So we'll just be ghosts.

You thought you were charming when you were violent
Thought you were prettier when you weren't smiling,
And I laughed and wondered what was for tea
As you giggled and hit me.
Your flirting was cute
But it hurt more than your fists could.

Your crying made me smile the most
But I had far too much to do
To fall asleep and dream of you,
So we were always ghosts.

I think that Tillie likes me because I make her feel normal. We're walking down Tom's front path and she's stretching up a long, pale arm, slowly wrapping her fingers around a pear and yanking it down. As she eats it, the juice drips down her hand and onto the floor. The unmistakable strangeness about her makes me feel as though foreign music is playing with long notes and beautiful, clashing chords. I'm odd too, but in a bad way. A more normal, boring way that's as annoying as the Crazy frigging Frog. But still, what can I do to stop it? My personality is a massive train, heading straight towards me while I stick up my middle finger to scare it away.

I've learnt about the Freudian idea of trains and tunnels, but I don't think that I'm thinking about sex right now. I hope not, anyway; I'm such a nice girl.

It's getting dark already, and the sky ahead of us is pink and yellow, like someone has smeared chewed up Fruit Salad sweets across the horizon. I guess it's a bit like being in a movie, with Tillie and Tom beside me, a painted sky and an imaginary soundtrack echoing in my mind, and I smile, feeling oddly at peace.

"Do you really think I'm weird?"

Tom nods.

"You're weird."

He doesn't say anything, but I don't think that he's offended. If anything, I just gave him a huge compliment.

"Why did you want to help me?" I ask him. "It's not like I'm going to blossom into some beautiful flower."

I'm not fishing for compliments; I'm being honest.

"No, I'm not going to suddenly change kingdom and become an angiosperm," I add with a snigger, because I am so bloody hilarious.

Tom doesn't get me when I talk science and Tillie doesn't even hear me, so I make a note to repeat it later when more nerds are listening.

"Yeah," I go on. "Animalia is where it's at."

And this isn't even physics, so I have no excuse, except that wikipedia is free.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tom says with a nervous laugh.

I smile widely and walk towards Tillie's car with a slight skip in my step. Because I totally just made him laugh. Genuinely.

"I wanted to help you because you reminded me of me," Tom says suddenly. "Well, kind of, anyway. Always sitting in a corner, looking into your palms and wishing that you could be more interesting. It took me a while to realise it."

And I could have told him that in three seconds.

"I think...I think seeing someone almost die after talking about this exact same thing and then seeing you with their mp3 player acted as kind of...kind of a catalyst. We should stick together."

Wow, he just totally used a science word. Maybe he's not such a lost cause after all, even if he is talking like a girl. And a bull-shitter. I look at him for a few moments and get into Tillie's car. I don't talk to him for the entire journey.

By the time Tillie has driven us to Rhys's house, the sky is grey and dark, and everything looks about as miserable as Rhys himself, who is standing in the doorway of his house, squinting at us. Tillie waves brightly, and skips over to him. She hugs him tightly, and I see a ghost of a smile on his face. Then he looks at me and Tom, and I'm not sure what to do.

"The last time I saw him, he hit me," I mutter to Tom. "What would you do in this kind of situation?"

Tom shrugs. "Write a song about it?" he suggests.

Helpful.

"He hit you?"

"Yeah," I say, "but his brother's brain-damaged, so I guess I'm meant to forgive him."

"Yes, Rosie, I know. And I'd still hit him back."

"I did," I say, clenching a fist and showing it to him. "But look. Pathetic."

And then, as if it's in slow motion, I see Tillie drawing back a fist and plunging it into Rhys's belly.

"I love you, Rhys," she says. "You know that, but you've got to sort yourself out!"

"I should probably have done that," Tom says in a low voice.

"Don't be silly. You don't even know him."

"Yeah, but I know you."

I guess this is kind of a sweet thing for him to say, but it just sounds cheesy and oddly possessive. I say thank you anyway, just to be polite. We walk over towards Rhys and Tillie, and follow them into the house. Rhys doesn't get very far, and collapses down onto the stairs, panting.

"Rhysy" Tillie looks worried. "I'm sorry, I just - I just - Well nothing can forgive hitting Rosie. How could you do that? I know that you're messed up and that you've got a lot to deal with, but..."

She wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly as if to stop him from falling apart. It seems odd now that when I first met Tillie I thought that she was the weak, broken one. Now that I know the truth about what happened, I can appreciate how strong she really is. Seeing two people you care for being destroyed in one simple step has to be hard. And there I was, pretending to kill myself and making her feel even worse. I am horrible.

She puts her head on his shoulder and I feel like I'm intruding as they just sit there together, holding each other up. She looks at the big black book, which is lying on the stair next to her and tells me to open it.

So I do. The book is heavy and the pages are thick, and I look through them, frowning. Beautiful dark images twist into each other and tangle together. Sketches and words and scraps of paper are piled on top of one another in a lovely example of organised chaos.

"Is this his?" I ask Tillie.

Rhys replies for her. "Yeah, it's his."

I watch him for a few seconds and wait for him to be mean, but he's looking away from me as if he never said anything at all.

I turn over and my eyes widen. "Is that...?"

Tillie's face is round and hopeful and excited. Her manic smile tells me all I need to know.

"It's you," Tillie says quickly with a smile. "It is, isn't it?"

She's asking me as if I should know, as if I should be able to tell whether the sad brown eyes that Jack has drawn belong to me. Is that my face? My too-big eyebrows, my too-small lips, my silly chin? Do those features belong to me, or do I just want them to? The girl in the picture looks depressed, and she's staring at her hands as if she's killed someone.

Staring into my palms? I look at Tom with a frown.

"You saw this at the pub, didn't you? When you were talking to him before the crash?"

He nods.

"Then why didn't you just tell me, you silly twat?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. It wasn't really any of my business, was it?" he said, looking at Tillie and Rhys.

"Well, if that was why you wanted to help me, then yeah, it kind of was."

But perhaps he's right and I'm just being irritating again. It's hard to tell.

"So, do you think it's me?"

He smiles. "I think it's both of us."

"But do you think it's me?"

Because it's not completely ridiculous, I suppose. Jack could have seen me on a bus, or in the background of some photograph, or standing in some shop, looking at things I didn't need. That could be me in his drawing; I really could be party girl.

But, I realise, it just doesn't matter, because Jack has never really been real to me anyway, and now he never will be.

"He's changed now," I say quietly.

"Yes, I heard he pissed in some girl's drink yesterday just because she irritated him," Tillie says brightly.

Nice.

"He's changed." I smile as I close the book. "But it really is none of my business, is it?"

"It's your business," Tillie says quickly. "Of course it is. We're your friends, right?"

I look at Rhys very doubtfully, but he is too busy staring at the floor to notice. Some people really aren't meant to get along, I guess. In truth, I don't think that I'll ever be able to properly like Rhys because of what he's done to me. I know that I should be more forgiving and understanding, but I just can't be. Never say never, though, I guess. Maybe in time. A lot of time.

I lick my lips and look nervously at the floor. "I can't believe I've just escaped from hospital."

"You were in hospital?" Rhys pretends to be interested. Maybe this is a form of apology, because he hasn't said sorry yet. I frown; maybe this is why I still completely resent him.

I know that this is my chance to tell him why and make him feel guilty, but I'm tired of lying. Anyway, Tom and Tillie both know the truth, and one of them is bound to spit it out and ruin everything. Tom is looking at me questioningly because I'm taking ages to reply to Rhys and maybe he wants to speak for me. I sigh, and tell Rhys that my sister attacked me and that it was nothing.

Rhys looks surprised.

"I know," I say slowly. "Attacked twice in the same day. Some girls have all the luck."

I smile crookedly and look away from him because the way that he looks confuses me. I know perfectly well that he hates me, and that I hate him back, but Rhys' expression reminds me that he's not always been so mardy, and that once he was a sweet kid, and this makes me think of an essay I once wrote on whether evil was innate or acquired. I know that Rhys is not evil, I'm not that naive, but I tend to think of essays instinctively. I probably shouldn't admit to that.

Rhys and Tillie are looking at each other sadly, and they hug again. I think that I should probably leave, because this is their thing and not mine. And I know that Tillie loves Jack in that way, and not Rhys, so I know that this can probably get ugly. Unrequited love is never a good thing - if Rhys does love Tillie like he implied just before he hit me.

"I think that I need to go home. I need to find my sister."

"Wait a second," says Tillie. "I'll drive you back."

"Don't worry. I'll walk, I know the way."

"You don't have to go," Tillie insists. "We like having you here."

I smile. "I should still go."

"If you're sure...I'll see you soon?"

I nod. "Okay." And then I walk out of the front door and into the evening outside and feel like I've held something beautiful between my fingers for five seconds, and that that is enough.

A tap on my shoulder makes me jump, and I turn around to see Tom, standing really close to me. I take a step away in surprise, although I don't know why - if I was him, I wouldn't have stayed with Tillie and Rhys either. But then, I remind myself that Tillie and Rhys are two members of a band that Tom likes, and I wonder what I'd do if I was left alone in a room with two members of McFly. It is more a case of what I wouldn't do.

"Hey. You jumped. I'm sorry I frightened you. I tend to do that a lot. Accidentally."

Yes, Tom was still annoying.

I want to think of a witty, sarcastic comeback, but I can't. Instead, I ask him whether he's leaving now too. As if walking out of a house isn't a blatant sign. He nods.

"So what are we going to do now?"

I think I know what he means, but I act as if I don't.

"You know," he goes on. "Are we friends or...or what?"

I am annoyed because he has made it my choice, and he probably knows perfectly well that I have no real opinions, and that this will be really difficult for me. I'm still not certain exactly how I feel about him. Even after he kissed me. Even after he tried to help me. All I know for sure is that I don't mind him anymore, but that's a real start.

"We can be friends if you want," I say slowly. "If you want," I repeat.

He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. "I want more."

And so he said it. Clearly. I know that he's trying to be charming, but it doesn't suit him and I automatically read between the lines; that 'more' involves getting into my pants. He doesn't seem the type, though, I know, but I can't help being paranoid. And I like him.

So I shut my eyes and kiss him nervously. And it's nice and peaceful and he holds me in his arms and is so warm. I open my eyes and smile, and all the while, as he's walking me home, I'm wondering whether anyone can ever really like a ghost like me.

We say goodbye and I wonder whether we're a couple now and whether he'll change his facebook status, which is what really matters, of course. Then I go inside, alone, feeling pensive. I feel as if I'm ready to take on anything, but I'm trembling at the same time.

Cleo is sitting on the stairs, reading a magazine with a bottle of what I guess is apple juice next to her. She looks at me with huge, wide eyes as I walk in and smile at her.

"Hello, Cleo."

"You're back," she mutters. "I - we weren't expecting you back so soon."

"Yeah, well I escaped," I reply.

She smiles slightly, obviously thinking that I'm joking.

"Do you know about..." she begins to ask tentatively.

I nod. "Yeah. You're not getting punished."

She pretends to feel guilty by sighing and looking sorry for herself. "I had to spend two nights in a cell for wasting police time," she says. "I - I'm doing community service. Visiting people in hospital."

"Not me, though," I say blankly, clenching one of my fists.

Cleo shakes her head. "You wouldn't have wanted to see me," she says quietly, because she knows me so well. "But...seeing sick people and talking to them...it's helped me put everything into perspective, you know? Them lonely ill people, it really brightens their day to see a pretty girl like me walking about." She winks and takes a sip out of her bottle, wrinkling her nose. "God, and this is meant to be good for you?"

"What is it?" I asked blankly.

"Wheat grass," Cleo replies. "Some coma guy at the hospital gave it to me yesterday, said it would do wonders for my skin. He was very nice, and kinda hot, apparently a singer!" She looks at me and smiles. "I'm detoxing my life, dude, getting rid of all the crap so that I can become good again. I need to detox my soul, too, Rosie." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm really sorry."

I know that she's probably telling the truth, but she sounds ridiculous. And there's a delicious, tiny possibility that I know which singer she's talking about, and what she's actually drinking. Surely not, though; that's just too weird.

"Jack?" I mutter, smiling despite myself.

Cleo nods. "Oh yeah, that's him. You know him? He's famous?"

"Yeah, I know of him..." I eye her drink, my heart beating fast. "Wheat grass," I say slowly. "Yeah, I've heard that's really gross. Amazingly good for you, though. You should drink it all up. And...maybe ask the guy for some more. These wheat grass-drinking types tend to be really evangelical; you could probably get a whole lot of free stuff if you ask for it."

Cleo looks suspicious, but this could just be because she doesn't know what evangelical actually means. I just smile back at her innocently.

"Thanks," she says. "Maybe I will..." She pauses for a few moments. "Maybe he likes me..."

"Maybe," I say lightly. "Once you get your skin sorted out, anyway."

And then I grin because I love Jack Dante, and I wonder how long it will take her to realise that she's drinking his piss.

The End