RILEY

I want to see her.

But it's too risky.

But I've made a friend.

But she'll find out. And then she'll run away.

And what if she doesn't? What if she stays? What if she doesn't care if I'm dead?

That's impossible.

I'm in the afterlife among ghosts and spirits, and I'm in a world where I can't be by the side of the two people I love most. Nothing's impossible anymore.

Valerie. Maybe there's a reason I met her. Maybe it's a sign that there is really some hope left for me.

Come on, Riley, don't get ahead of yourself. You only met her a day ago.

I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to repress the conflicted thoughts. I told myself I'd just see how things turned out. But now overthinking has gotten in the way. I stand up from the park bench, and jump over the railings. I don't know what I'm doing, but something tells me I'm going to do the stupid act of actually going to look for her. Sitting here alone any longer is going to drive me up the wall.

I have no idea where she lives, but I do know she passes Marjorie's Grocer's store every day. I start in that direction, passing the graffitied walls and post office, feeling my spirits lifting slightly. I slow down as I approach the store, since I spot Marjorie sweeping the front porch.

She's got an earphone plugged into one ear, and is humming a tune, as she cleans. My legs slow to a halt, when I'm right in front of her. She's looked exactly the same since I've known her, and every teen in this neighbourhood has pretty much known Marjorie since nursery years. She never seems to age. She was always that neighbourhood lady that would be the girls' aspirations, and the younger straight boys' first older crush.

She had always been so nice to me. I would do anything to go back just for one day to thank her for all the favours, all the free treats, all the school advice she gave me and my friends. It makes me sad every time I pass her store, but it's very rare that I allow the pain to resurface in my mind.

Marjorie was the last person I spoke to before I died.

She probably doesn't remember. But I remember crystal clear. The day before that morning I got in the accident, I'd gone to pick up a bunch of stuff from her store, since me and my friends were going to do an all night Netflix and chill for the weekend.

"That's a lot of sugar you got in there, Riley." Marjorie chuckled as she scanned the snacks."You know, I've never seen you buy anything healthy from this shop." Marjorie continued.

I shrug, as I rummage for the card in my wallet. I couldn't find it. "Um..." I looked up at her, as she waited for me expectantly. "Could you be an amazing person today?"

Marjorie raised her eyebrows and laughed. "For three bags worth of junk food? If it was a packet of gum, then probably, but not this one, my dear. You know I adore you and your friends, but I got rent to pay around here. Take one thing for free, and you can go."

I sighed. I promised them I'd get everything ready for tomorrow.

"You know what, I'll just go get the card and come back. Literally ten minutes. Could you keep it for me?"

"Alright, dear."

"Thanks, Marj!" I gave her a grateful smile, before speed-walking out of the store and back down the street.

The rest of that memory isn't quite so innocent.

When I got back to the house, Dad was sitting on the ground with his back to me, as he faced the curtains. I shut the door slowly behind me, being careful to not make a noise. He was looking down at something, but then raised his head when he heard the door click.

I steadied my breathing. It was the afternoon. It was too early for him to do anything. But then he turned around, and his eyes were red and swollen, and I knew that it only meant one thing. He had a small photograph in one hand, and I didn't need to look close to see what it was.

"You," He whispered, "This was your fault from the beginning."

I said nothing, but backed up slowly against the wall. He stood up, the photograph slipping from his hand, and he walked briskly towards me. I didn't want to speak-anything I would say would just provoke him. But then again, whether I spoke or not, it never made a difference.

His face was red, as he stormed toward me, arm raised, before crashing his hand into my neck. I was slammed against the wall, his fingers wrapped firmly against my throat. His nose was inches from mine, and I could smell his stench-I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't showered this week. He gripped tighter, and I gasped and choked, but his cold red eyes remained unmoved. "It was you...it was you." He kept saying it. Over and over again. But all I could do was grip his arm in pain, and struggle for breath.

He finally let go, of course. His breathing was heavy, and I knew all he was going to do now was drink himself to sleep. That's what usually happened after an outburst. I rubbed my neck, still coughing and gasping for air, as he walked away.

I didn't have the will to go out again that day.

And the next day, I woke up to find that his tantrum hadn't finished after I went to bed, since the glass painting I had been doing for Mum had been broken and thrown away, along with my heart.

I hate that my last memory with Marjorie has to be tarnished like that. I hate even thinking about it...but I haven't been this close to her since that day.

She stops sweeping and looks up, and for a moment there is a flicker of joy inside of me. But she is looking through me. Swallowing the feeling of stupidity, I turn to see that she's looking over at Valerie who is on the other side of the road. I feel my shoulders relax, and manage a smile. Just the one I need to see.

Valerie is looking at the ground, her large eyes distant, as she strides past, not acknowledging either me or Marjorie. She seems somehow troubled- but then again, whenever I do see her, she always seems to be upset about something.

"That child," I hear Marjorie say from behind me, "What's stopping her from talking to me these days?"

I glance at Marjorie sympathetically, before crossing the road over to where Valerie is still walking briskly toward the park. I jog after her to catch up. "Hey! Valerie, wait for me." She slows when she hears my voice, but doesn't stop walking. I finally manage to catch up to her.

"Hi!" I say to her, as cheerily as I can.

"Hello." She doesn't respond in the same tone. And she still doesn't look at me. I'm reminded of my frustration with that scarf she wears to cover the lower part of her face.

"Are you alright?" I ask, as we approach the park. She doesn't give a response to that, and stays quiet until we get to the bench. "Valerie?" I ask, as she sits down, and I begin to wonder if I've done something wrong. If I offended her in someway. Maybe I made her angry by being to forward, and I'm the last person she needs to see right now. What if...

"Yes. I'm alright."

I fidget a little. "You don't sound it."

"What do you know?"

"I don't need to know you enough to notice that you're unhappy." I point out, but stand up. "I can give you some space. I hope I haven't done anything wrong."

She looks up at me, her expression softening, as I notice the hint of a smile, beneath that thick red cloth. I almost want to reach for it and pull it down. To see all of her face. I tell myself it's because it just bugs me, but I know that's not the real reason.

"It's not you. And why are you even out here? It's freezing today." She asks me, as I sit down next to her. It's only then that I notice she's wearing a fairly thin sweater, and has her arms wrapped around her, shivering slightly.

I wish I could give her my coat. Or at least wrap my arm around her, like Macey used to do for me. But even then, that would be weird since we aren't exactly close.

"Hypocritical much?" I say to her, trying to lighten the mood. "You're not even wearing a coat."

"Yeah. Pretty dumb on my part, huh..." She trails off laughing to herself. I'm not quite sure what she finds so funny, but I laugh with her.

"Did you forget?"

"Yeah. Was kinda in a hurry to get out of the house."

"I can relate."

She snorts. "Sure."

"What's the sarcasm for?"

"It's nothing." She rubs her arms. "I'm...quite glad to see you here actually."

"Me too."

"Why?"

"Don't know. You?"

She doesn't answer straight away. It seems like she is calculating the right response.

"Because you're pretty much the only good thing that's happened to me this week," She scoffs at herself, "Wow, that sounds way worse out loud. Trust me, I don't usually say cringey things like that."

"That's not cringey." I reply. I want to tell her the same thing. I want to tell her she's the only good thing that's happened to me all year. But I don't. Instead, I lean back on the bench and let out a sigh, trying to think up something more positive to talk about.