Jealousy - F Wraith

In truth, she doesn’t know what name to give the bubbling feeling of upset and spite that stirs in her incorporeal gut. She has no beating heart, yet her chest aches. She doesn’t breathe, but she feels breathless. She’s but a ghost, a wraith, yet she feels more alive at this moment than she can ever remember.

And while it is true she can’t remember all that much of anything, the point still stands.

The living mortal, a sorcerer, walks beside you as you leave class. You don’t enjoy her presence, Wraith knows. Even if she didn’t live inside your head, your body language was screaming your discomfort to anyone with half a brain. Then again, the sorcerer didn’t even seem to have that much, so perhaps she’s holding the mortal to standards too high.

You don’t want the sorcerer near you. Is that why he’s upset at the sight of her walking next to you? So close-

So close that her arm brushes yours, skin touching skin.

She realizes then that jealousy is what she feels, white-hot and ugly. Because even if you don’t want the idiot near you, even if you don’t want her time or her touch, she’s still capable of it. If you wanted those things of Wraith? She couldn’t. She wanted to, she wanted to so desperately, but she still couldn’t.

You finally manage to escape into the lecture hall of your next class, clearly uncomfortable and jarred. Wraith watches the woman go and wants to rip her beating heart out not only for disturbing you but for having the capability to even do so.

Inquisitive thoughts brush against her mind and she winces at the sudden intrusion. You’re looking right at her, the only living being capable of seeing her ghostly form, and she allows her lips to twitch up into a smile for your sake.

You’re angry, your thoughts whisper as the professor enters the room and you’re forced to look away.

“I am,” She agrees out loud.

It’s not like anyone else can hear her.

Why? You pose the question gently, prying at the bitter envy she’s keeping tucked close to her heart.

“That man. The sorcerer.” Wraith sneers, “I dislike her.”

You cough to hide a laugh as you stare down at your textbook. She takes momentary satisfaction that her words, as truthfully resentful as they are, can ease the tense line of your shoulders. You tap your pencil against the desk, clearly fighting the itch to turn to her fully. She wants you to, wants you to see her…wants proof that she’s really here.

God, why is she here?

Your brows twitch, furrowing, and your eyes dart in her direction before returning to the front of the lecture hall. She’d been thinking that a bit too loudly, then.

You’re here, you think softly, the words a caress. You’re here and I want you to stay here.

That last thought hits her hard in a very soft spot. she remains quiet for the rest of your class, and your worry is tangible. As she drifts out of the room next to you, you make a point of leaning in close. You brush through her instead of actually knocking your shoulders together, but she can almost imagine your touch in her head. She can picture what it would feel like, what you would feel like, and she cannot eat but she now knows how to describe hunger.

Your thoughts are messy and hard for Wraith to detangle, but she thinks she understands the core of the emotions that lie within them. Concern, yearning, worry…

She cuts herself off from analyzing any further. There’s no point in trying to begin something; forget crossing the finish line, she doesn’t think she could manage the start of it.

So she pulls back despite your concern, returning to the recesses of your mind despite how you call out for her. She wants to call back, but she won't. She can't.