He hated her.

He hated her voice. He hated her smile. He hated her lips. He hated her skin. He hated her warm, tan skin. He hated... he hated...

"Cecilianne!"

"You're getting good at this, Caldy." Sometimes he couldn't tell her limbs from his, but those moments only lasted for a second, because then he'd open his eyes. He'd see her California tan and his albino features, and then for another moment he'd be almost as unreal as she was.

Choosing not to answer, he looked at the wall, and away from the girl who was resting her head in her arms, and her arms on his stomach. The time immediately following when they, well, did it was always awkward for him, and it didn't help that they were naked, that he could see just how different they were.

In fact, being around her at all was almost enough to make him more insane than he already was. More often than not, all he could think about was her death. The other day, in fact, he had seen it. Her orange shirt had suddenly turned red, and blood had started to trickle down her side.

She hadn't seemed to notice, and had gone on dancing by herself to the Spanish radio-station she had found in his computer. And then she'd turned around. When she faced him again the blood was gone.

"Calder?" Anymore dwelling he had been going to do was cut short when fingers with shining green nails tilted his chin to look up at equally green eyes. "Calder, what's distracting you?"

How did she get ahold of mascara? Or lipstick, for that matter? Frowning, he reached up and tried to smudge the color on her lips with his thumb. How could there be any left, anyway? He would have thought that it would have all rubbed off onto the various places Cecilianne's lips had gone lately.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

He prepared himself for something along the lines of "because I'm a figment of your imagination", her usual response to such inquiries.

Not for the first time, she did something unexpected and kissed him. "Someday, Calder, you won't ask that anymore. Do you know why? It's because you'll be dependent on me, and you'll need me... because I forgive you."

She kissed him again, but he didn't kiss her back. Not for the first time that night, her mouth moved along his jaw-line and down his throat, but stopped when she got to his shoulder and sat up. "Can anyone else tell you that?"

He turned onto his side and she stood up.

The next few minutes were eerily silent, and eventually Calder looked over his shoulder to see that she was gone. By that time he had gotten used to her disappearing for awhile from time to time, but this time he was worried that he had offended her.

Wait, offended her? She was a figment of his imagination! She didn't even have feelings. Anything that she said was coming strait from his sub-conscience. So why did he feel like he had done something wrong?

Nothing made sense. He shouldn't even be alive, he had killed so many people... But that wasn't the point, wasn't it? He had survived, he had won. Cecilianne, on the other-hand, had lost. It was all fair.

Still, did he really deserve to go on with life as usual? Did he really deserve to live at all?

His eyes strayed to the table by his bedside, and his thoughts turned to the gun that lay inside. Soon, he was holding it in his hands. It was dangerous to even have it around, there was no questioning that he was crazy.

Soon enough the gun was out of his hands and on the table's surface. At the moment, his top priority was getting dressed. It didn't take long to pull his pajamas back on, it was somewhere around two in the morning after all. There were a lot of things that Calder had learned about Cecilianne, and one of those things was that if Calder was feeling guilty, or had any other emotional problems at any time of the day or night, sex was usually the answer.

Along with thinking about her death, he also spent a lot of time thinking about her life. Had she really been the person that his mind portrayed her to be? Had she and her meek-looking boyfriend solved all of their problems the way that she tried to solve his?

And did she think that sex was the way to solve problems because she didn't know how to talk to people about them? Or, and this was more reasonable, was the Cecilianne that he knew just a person that Calder had needed to create for himself to survive?

Above all, was he really that pathetic? For the second time, he looked at the gun.

Should he? It was in his hands again.

No, it was a stupid idea. Only somebody stupid would kill themselves, and Calder considered himself a very smart individual.

"What are you doing?"

She was back, and he was holding the gun in his hands.

"Calder..."

"I hate you." He leaned his head on her shoulder, and she took away the gun and set it down, awkwardly putting her arm around him. Eyes shut tight, he could hear the gun going off, but this time it was only a memory.

For once, she didn't have a response. She didn't even move.


Usually, when he woke up she was already awake and waiting for him. This time, that wasn't the case. After a few minutes, he decided that he didn't like it. It was bad enough when she was awake, but when she was asleep she looked even more real.

This did give him a chance to explore what he imagined was in her pockets, however. Cecilianne slept in her underwear, which he supposed was understandable. Her shorts, which he was reaching over her to the ground to pick up, couldn't be the most comfortable things to wear to bed. Reaching into the back pocket, he drew out the photo she had showed him on the day she first appeared.

Happy birthday, Cecilianne! Love, Gray.

Gray, was that the boy's name? Odd. So, he was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend who wasn't so meek-looking after all, now that he looked more closely at the picture.

"S'in a coma." A loud yawn followed the words, and he knew that she was awake. "There was an accident."

"I'm sorry." It was a natural response, what else were you supposed to tell someone?

"Why? You didn't know him."

"That's true. Do you miss him?"

"I love him."

That was unexpected. He looked at her with a puzzled expression, "Then why?..."

"What? Did you think that I had feelings for you?" She laughed, "You're such a boy!"

"Well, no, I didn't think that."

"Why, are you jealous?"

"No." But he was. There weren't any real feelings in their relationship, they both understood that. Still, didn't Calder have a right be jealous? "Did you sleep with him?"

"Of course I did, I love him."

"I can't believe I slept with a whore." He mumbled, pushing up his glasses.

"Excuse me?"

"How many guys have you slept with?" He forgot that she didn't exist, at least for awhile. "I can't believe that I let you--"

SMACK.

"Two. I have slept with two men, thank you very much." Cecilianne looked angry, that was a first for Calder. "You, and Gray. And I am not a whore! I love Gray, even if I'm never going to see him again, and I don't love you but I'm dead and it's damn obvious that you need something, and that something might as well be me because I need something too and that something might as well be you, whether I exist or not!"

"Ceci, I'm sorry..."

"And you're sort of like him, you know?" It was the first time that she had come anywhere close to opening up, and it scared him. He knew that girls were supposed to be crying all over the place, but she'd never done that before. Not in front of him, and she wasn't real anyway.

"Ceci..."

From behind one of her hands, she grinned. "Gotcha."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, do I really seem like the kind of person who's into that sort of sentimental stuff?" Despite what she was saying, she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"No."

She pulled the blankets over the top of her head and faced away from him, "Good. Because I'm not. 'Night, Calder."

Cecilianne Clark-Walker wasn't real, she was dead and what he was seeing now was a product of his insanity. He knew that, but she was just too convincing, and she was too smart, and he hated it.

"Cecilianne, don't you mean good morning?"

"Calder, Shut up."