Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Y our ghost haunts me day and night .

The words to one of my hit songs run through my head as awareness tingles down my spine. Grabbing the class transfer form from the receptionist, I turn around. That's when I spot her. Except it's not her. It never is.

I pause and wait, willing this girl to lift her head, to look at me so I can see for sure. When she doesn't move, I shake off the feeling and walk out of the office, telling myself it's impossible for it to be her.

Your touch torched my skin. Oh, the scars you left behind.

Humming the tune, I lean against the wall opposite the door. I know it's not her, but something has me needing to be sure.

My heart is racing. There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about her. Seen her face in a million strangers. Like the song says, she's literally haunting me. I hate her for it too. For making me this obsessed with her.

I looked for her. Found her too. I even flew out to Chicago to chase her down. When I saw her, though, something stopped me from approaching her. Probably pride. She didn't want me, so why the fuck should I want her?

So I left. I moved on. I poured my heart out in songs and told myself that I made her up in my head. Whatever I thought we were becoming was one-sided. And she wasn't worth my time or effort.

I continue to watch the door, waiting for the girl to step out. What if it is her? What would I do? Do I want it to be her?

When the door finally opens, my heart stops. The damn thing skips two whole beats. Her eyes widen, looking right at me, and her face goes pale. I smirk.

Good. I hope she's fucking uncomfortable.

Neither one of us moves. No words are passed between us. And then the shrill sound of the bell seems to break her out of her trance, and she spins on her feet and hightails it down the hall, getting lost in the crowd.

Aleeka Bateman. My ghost.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and text Dante.

Me:

Meet me at the bleachers.

Dante:

I have class.

Me:

Skip it.

Then I make my way outside. I need fresh air. I need to think. What the fuck am I going to do with her now? She's supposed to stay a fucking ghost. She wasn't meant to come back. And I sure as fuck am not meant to feel the way I do when I look at her. I wanted to reach out. Touch her porcelain skin. I didn't. I have some sense of self-preservation.

"What's going on?" Dante asks, rounding the corner and walking up the few steps to where I'm sitting.

"She's back," I say.

"Who?"

"Aleeka."

"Oh, shit. Okay." He gives me a cautious look. Dante is the only one I've told about my little ghost. He also knows the song's about her. He knows everything. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." I sigh.

"Okay," he agrees while nodding his head. "You sure?"

"What should I do?"

"Talk to her? Find out why she ghosted you?" he suggests.

"What difference does it make? She's a ghost, and that's how she's going to stay," I grunt. "I'm heading out."

"I'll come with." Dante stands to follow me.

"No, stay," I tell him.

He gives me a skeptical look. "I'm good. I'm just gonna hit the studio." Truth is, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

"You're letting her run you out of this place and she's been back for a whole hot minute, Orlando. Fuck that. Get your ass to class. If she's a ghost, then let her be one. Ghosts can't touch you," he says in a firm tone that probably has others doing his bidding. I'm not others.

His words sink in, though. He's right. This is my fucking school and I'll be damned if I let a ghost run me out. "You're right. Do me a favor? Find out her schedule. I want to know all her classes," I tell him.

I walk into my first class fifteen minutes late. The teacher looks up at me and then carries on with whatever he was saying. No one will question me. I pause in my tracks. She's here. I shouldn't be surprised. This is AP English and she was always bright.

Some punk-ass jock is sitting in the chair next to hers. I walk up to him and stand in front of the desk. "Mind if I take this seat?" I ask him—although we both know I'm not giving him an option.

Josie, who is sitting two rows back, raises her eyebrows at me. I know she's going to have a million questions about this when class is over. But for now, my aim is to make Little Miss Aleeka as uncomfortable as possible. And she is. I can tell by the way she refuses to look at me, the way her chest rises and falls quicker, and her hands shake just a little bit.

The jock gets up and moves without a word, and I fill his vacated seat. I don't say anything. Don't acknowledge her. I do, however, hum the tune to "Ghost" throughout class. I can see her shift in her seat through my peripheral vision. It doesn't fill me with as much joy as I thought it would.

I wanted to see her hurt the way she hurt me. But noticing how… sad and uncomfortable she looks just makes me want to make it better for her. Which pisses me off, because the last thing I should want to do is help her after the way she ghosted me.

As soon as class is over, I get up and storm out of the room without a backwards glance. I shouldn't have sat next to her. I could smell her, that same fruity scent I used to drown in when she'd spend hours lying in bed with me.

Fuck, I need to get her out of my head. And maybe now that she's back, I can. This could be a good thing. I've obviously built her up in my mind because she left without a word. The memory can't be as good as the reality, right?

I need one more night with her to kick the pedestal I have her on out from under her feet. Then I can move on and fucking forget about her.