I felt my heart pound in my chest. Who had called the cops!? Was it Angelica? No, it couldn't have been. Maybe Alex? He lives in the dorm above me. But I didn't have time to think. I needed to get away.

I grabbed a pair of scissors and grabbed Angelica again, pressing them against her chest. She went rigid, barely daring to breathe. I heard the cops come in, one knocking on the door. I walked over and opened it, still holding the scissors.

"Sir, put the scissors down," one cop said slowly. I dropped them and fell to the ground. I confessed to the murder. I just babbled about everything. And of course, I was arrested.

Without Angelica, part of me was broken. And I couldn't be fixed.

The trial seemed to go on forever. But I plead not guilty by reason of insanity.

I was sent to a mental institution, where I could receive 'help'. But the only thing I needed was Angelica. And I felt like I could do anything to get what I wanted. But that time, I did nothing. She hated me. What was the point?

I was allowed to have pictures in my room there. Most were sketches of Angelica I drew. Though they couldn't capture her beauty, they were comforting. They made me feel like she was there with me. Like we were insane together.

What a story to tell our future kids. 'Your mom and I,' I would say, chuckling, 'were in an asylum together. People said we were crazy.' The kids wouldn't believe it. But Angie and I would know it was true.

These were the things I thought about at night while I tried to sleep. Every night, no matter what. I also always slept holding a sketch of Angie. It made me happy.

But this changed one day. I was in my room, sketching my love, when a nurse said I had a visitor. I found this odd since no one had visited me before, but I gladly welcomed the company.

To my surprise, it was Angie. She walked in and sat on my bed gently, delicately. "Thomas," she began, her voice beautiful, melodious, marvellous, as always, "I'm sorry."

I was taken aback by her words. She was sorry? For what? So I asked just that.

"For treating you like I did. If I hadn't done that, James would still be alive!" she practically yelled. I sighed. "Angie, it's okay. I forgive you. We're both alive, we're both forgiven."

She blinked, then embraced me tightly. I felt her face in my shoulder, tears wetting the fabric of my shirt. I wrapped my arms around her, stroking her hair. We sat in comfortable silence like that until she pulled away and looked up at me. She gave me a swift kiss on the lips then left, saying something about having somewhere to go.

I smiled and lay back on my bed, happier than ever. Then I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my stomach. And everything went black.

When I woke up, I couldn't feel anything. Like, at all.

I looked down, and saw my body. Underneath me. Angie was to the side, crying. I reached out to her, but my fingers went right through her, making her shudder.

"Another patient got ahold of scissors and stabbed him," a doctor told Angie gently, causing her to sob harder. I froze. I was dead? No...

How? Why did that person stab me? But how could I be dead if I was there?

Then it hit me. I was a ghost.

But what would Angie do? Suffer alone? How would I communicate with her? Tell her I'm okay? Then I made a decision. I would follow her around and make sure she was okay, even if she didn't know I was okay. So that's what I did.

She lived a happy life. She married that John Church she had dated, making me jealous. But one day, everything went black...

~~~·~~~

Angelica smiled at John, holding their newborn baby boy in her arms. "What shall we name him?" the man asked. Angelica knew what she wanted to name him. "Thomas," she said softly. "Thomas Jefferson Schuyler Church."