Jamie is curled up in a ball underneath his covers. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, but he doesn't know; he can't feel or see or hear me. His body shakes with a sob and I hear him whisper my name. Lily.

He's here, sad, because of me. Because I'm dead.

***

11 years ago.

I was six years old, and it was my first day of school.

"Good luck, Lily," said Mom.

"Have fun, dear," said Dad.

"You can't do that," said the teacher. I hated that woman; I could do whatever I pleased. So I grabbed the paint, sunk my hands into it, and dragged them across the walls. All the other students cowered and listened to the teacher when she told them to stay put. Except one.

The boy came up to me and motioned for me to pass him the paint, so I did. We shared a smile.

"I'm Jamie," said the boy.

***

10 years ago.

I had to stand on my tiptoes to be able to see my reflection in the mirror. Mom and Dad stood behind me, and motioned to the gash that had opened up on my cheek. Most of my female friends had them too.

"Listen now, Lily," said Dad.

"There's something you need to know," said Mom. "Bodies need a lot of things to function. Food, water, sleep, and other things. But what it needs most of all, is love. If you do not love someone, it will start to deteriorate. Do you understand?"

"Not really," I said.

"Here's what you need to remember, kiddo," said Dad. "In the next few years, you need to find a partner."

***

8 years ago.

"Race ya!" I shouted to Jamie, and used all the strength I had to sprint to the front doors of the school. He was only a step behind me.

"That's no fair, you cheated," said Jamie, but there was a smile on his face.

"You just don't want to admit that I'm faster than you," I told him and stuck out my tongue.

It was six in the morning, and no one had arrived at the school yet, except for us. We had a plan. We went to Jamie's locker, and I grabbed the plastic bag with the supplies, and then we walked to our classroom. The teacher's chair was at the front of the room, and there was a grin on my face that wouldn't go away. We took turns painting the cushion with glue.

When the teacher sat down in his chair, I felt a rush of adrenaline flood through me, and when he tried to rise but failed, I was the first one to let a laugh escape my throat.

Later on, in the principals office, Mom and Dad glared at me, but I only had eyes for the boy who's arm brushed against mine. Jamie.

***

7 years ago.

There were now littles cut all across my body. I was afraid to go swimming, because everyone would see them.

All the girls in my class had them, too, except the ones who sat with boys at lunch.

The boys' skin was perfectly clear.

***

6 years ago.

I had headaches almost every day, and I couldn't race Jamie to the doors anymore.

***

5 years ago.

"Lily," said Mom, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "You're dying!"

"No I'm not," I replied.

"Yes you are."

***

4 years ago.

I couldn't go to school anymore, and only saw Jamie when he visited. He was the only person I ever looked forward to seeing.

There was a knock on my door, and Dad shouted, "Jamie's here!"

We talked for a bit, but then the conversation ceased, and after a few moments of silence, Jamie spoke. "I love you, Lily. I don't know when it happened, but once I realized it, I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. I want to be with you."

I looked at him, and I mean really looked at him, and I saw that what he said was genuine, real.

"I love you too," I said, and immediately my head felt better, and my throat cleared up. I rose from bed for the first time in months.

***

3 years ago.

Jamie and I were on top of the world. We went everywhere together, and my parents adored him.

One day when I was in my room, almost asleep, I heard my parents open the door. I was supposed to go to bed a couple hours before, so I kept my eyes closed, and listened to what they said.

"She's so happy," said Mom.

"And beautiful," said Dad.

"Remember when she was sick?" asked Mom.

"Yes, but she's better now. We've always told her she needed a boy to keep her healthy and content, and we were right," said Dad.

"You know, before I fell in love with you, I was just like her," said Mom. "Helpless and sick. I'm glad she listened to us. She can't survive without a man."

***

2 years ago.

Jamie started to change. He told all his friends, "She's mine. Can you believe it?"

I began to feel like an object.

***

1 year ago.

My parents noticed a change in our relationship, and approached me. "Lily," they said. "You need Jamie, don't ruin this."

***

6 months ago.

I pulled Jamie aside to have our first real conversation in months.

"We need to break up," I said.

He did a double take, his eyes wide. "No," he breathed, "No, Lily, no!"

"Yes," I replied.

***

1 week ago.

I was on my deathbed and my body was shutting down. Mom and Dad sat by my side, having already given up.

Jamie was the last one to see me. He grasped my hand, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "Please, Lily, let me save you," he begged.

"I don't need to be saved," I said.

***

I've been watching Jamie ever since I died. I'm a ghost, but I've never been more free.