Nothing Can Separate Us

Chapter 1 (Part 2): Dead

It was the New Year's Eve party two days ago at Charlie Hawthorne's expensively large home. In my tipsy state, I stumbled my way upstairs and through hazy eyes, fell into one of the many spare bedrooms. Then, I saw him. Sprawled across the

floor, he was as stiff as cardboard while the red, hot blood pooled around his body. His face had softened of its sharp edges and he looked young, almost sickeningly innocent while his dark hair dampened from the scarlet that poured from him. The liquid surrounded his body elegantly and acted

as a bed of roses for the golden boy and I couldn't move.

He died that night from knife inflicted wounds as he bled out onto the Hawthorne's costly carpets. So

clearly, I was pretty sure of myself that he should have been dead. Yet, this was the second day he'd sat unmoving and silent on my desk chair -seemingly very much alive.

I was hesitant to start a conversation. We had unknowingly cocooned ourselves in a soft silence where every move and squeak of the chair disturbed the well-needed peace. l'd stayed up for two days just marvelling at this quietness. It was unlike one I'd ever experienced before. It was

calm but stormy, relaxing but painful, tranquil yet, excruciatingly loud. The only thing that kept my hazel eyes open was the challenge l'd given myself.

I was trying to catch the dead boy's eyes, the thought alone gave me the hit of adrenaline that needed.

Finally, he met my gaze and it was as though I was the lighter fluid and he was the match that jolted the blaze alive. Keeping those horney-brown eyes

on mine, he tugged at his fingertips one by one. The crackle of his fingers clicking into place was the first sound that he'd made since appearing and gradually, like ink spreading through water, he

began to regain his colour. It spread slowly at first, making him look almost alive.

Rosier cheeks, darker skin and a blazing inferno sat in his eyes, waiting for that perfect moment to burn me. I furrowed my brows harshly, creating a deep furrow between the two that ran like a river between two mountains.

＂Am I in hell?" His voice croaked out.

Zacheus didn't look like his name should

have been Zacheus Devonshire. It sounded like an old man, it wasn't the boy in front of me who overflowed in youth.

＂I thought I was d-dead. I was pretty sure I died," he laughed slowly before scratching the back of his neck.

"God, how did I get here?" His eyes dragged themselves around the room and the way they travelled was painfully slow, like nails to a chalkboard. He inspected the plain walls around us, the perfectly made bed that I sat on and the neatly organised desk beside him. Then,his eyes raked across my body before flickering to his own.

＂Did we..." He trailed off.

＂No," I answered quietly and scrunched my nose up.

＂I recognise you," he pointed. His voice had begun to catch it's colour back too. It was deep and soft.

＂You're that crazy girl who gets invited to all the parties,right?"

I gave him a blank stare. There were plenty of ' crazy girls who get invited all the parties'.He pressed a finger to his pursed lips in silent thought. What was going through his head?