He nodded, touching
her cheek gently, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. His breath filled
her.
“I don’t
know. I’m just here,” she said as he pulled away.
“But why?
You know I’m not real.”
“Aren’t you?
I’m not so sure, Will.” She touched a lock of dark hair that hung across his
forehead.
“I’m dead,
Kate,” he confessed.
“So you say.
But then, why does your touch feel real? Your lips make me feel alive.” She
toyed with the sleeve on his shirt, staring into his eyes.
“I’m just
part of your imagination. You create me.”
“I don’t
care, just kiss me.” She moved to complete her request.
“I’ve been
dead a while, you know?” he said, turning his face to dodge her kiss. He
grinned playfully. “Quite a while. Just look at these clothes. Would a modern
man wear this?” He gestured to his shirt—white with green stitching and the
sleeves were long, reaching almost to his elbows. He wore flat-front, pale blue
jeans that belled out slightly at his ankles, and a heeled, square-toed boot.
He was straight out of the late sixties. He looked up as an idea occurred to
him. “What are modern men wearing, anyway?”
She
shrugged, taking a step back to study his attire, liking the way he was
dressed. “Actually some guys would wear that. To be retro. I like your look. It
turns me on.”
“As if that’s
hard to do,” he said, laughing.
She moved
close to him and slipped her hands under his shirt. His stomach was hard
beneath it. She bent to kiss his side. His skin was soft and hot. He sighed,
then laughed quietly.
“Careful now,” he warned her.
“Why? You
said already, you’re not real. This isn’t real. A dream.” She was feeling
unusually confident. Perhaps he was right; perhaps it was a dream.
“Maybe I’m
wrong. Maybe I’m lying. It could be real.”
“Does this
feel like a dream?” She straightened and traced her fingers around his stomach
to his back and pulled him tight against her. He grunted and kissed her. His
hands came up from her waist, to her shoulder blades, as he returned the
embrace.
It had to be
a dream. She’d never wanted anyone like she wanted him. His mouth devoured her
and she knew that even once she had him, she would still be hungry for more,
for him. It would never be enough as fulfilling as it could potentially be.
She knew he
was dead. She vaguely remembered the day he died—it was the summer before she
started her sophomore year of high school. It was in the news. It was
everywhere. Will wasn’t real.
This was her
dream.
