See Through

Olivia Adams isn't alive, but she isn't dead either. Somewhere between heaven and hell lies perpetual purgatory, and she's inevitably stuck in it. There's unfinished business to be tended to, but the question of what it is remains unanswered. She walks the streets of New York City with tears in her eyes, but nobody notices the girl that barely exists. Until a beautiful day. Niall Horan has found her, and he sees and feels and hears her. She's falling in love with him, even though she's frightened since her last lover took her very own life. Through Niall, Olivia is able to reconnect with her sister, Jessi, and exist as if she never left. But, what happens when a dark mass tries to ruin any chance Olivia has of living again? Will the mass get to her, allowing her spirit to move on? Will she be able to fight it off long enough to become human again? Or, will she forever remain see through?

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1. The Girl That Isn't Seen

 

It was so cold that December night. I don't know why it happened, or why I gave into the man that I thought I had something with. I wanted to be loved so badly that I settled for him, even though I knew he was dangerous.

My life was simple and plain. My father was in construction, my mother passed away when I was young, and my relationship with my siblings were something I held dear. I made okay grades in school, and was a part of the soccer team and cheerleading squad despite my families' struggles to make ends meet.

But that wasn't enough for me. I had to be loved by someone. I didn't want to end up like my father, alone and restless, fighting for some kind of silver lining that would never come. I wanted the kind of love that lasted forever, in between the sorrows and the shame. The kind of love that could make you high off one kiss and give you butterflies.

I thought I found that with Brian.

He was sweet and caring, calling me every night because I was the last voice he wanted to hear. When I was down, he was there to pick me up. When I needed him for any reason, he was always there by my side holding my hand. I thought in those moments that I'd spent the rest of my life with him. Until love became to shove.

It started out as innocent arguments, shooting through our relationship like black bullets, piercing what we felt for one another. Nevertheless, we always made up in the end, just to turn around and dive into the arguments once again. Like clockwork, almost.

The arguments go worse and he began pushing me around like some little ragdoll that he could do anything to. He bossed me around, demanding me to make him something to eat or to have sex with him. I felt like a little slave because if I didn't do as told, things would just get worse. Even though I did everything right, they got worse anyway.

There comes the fights. Fistfights like you wouldn't believe. He punched, I slapped, we both fought for our right to be angry. Eventually, I realized he was stronger than I was and let him hit me. I blamed myself for getting beat up all those times. I usually made him mad or said something to really hurt him, and it all ended with a punch in the nose, jaw, or even temple.

How is it that arguments, petty shoving, and fights lead to death?

That simple question has a complex answer, because I don't even know and I lived it.

The air was tense the morning of December 22, 2011. Brian and I got in a huge fight the previous day because I forgot to call him before I left for work. I was a flight attendant, and my schedule was crazy enough. The last thing I thought about was letting him know I was clocking in. When I came home, he was so pissed off I could literally see the bloodlust in his eyes, drilling me with energized anger.

“Are you still upset?” I asked him when he opened the door to let me in.

“What do you think?” He replied, diving his eyes into my soul without permission. “You could've been raped or kidnapped or killed...or all of those!”

“Please don't start on me again.”

“Shut up,” he spat, throwing his plate of breakfast across the kitchen. “Go to work you fucking bitch, and find someone else to pick you up.”

So with that argument, I ended up walking from his house to my work, which was about 3 miles. It was raining, and cold, but I pounded the pavement as fast and secure as I could. If I didn't make my flight, I could have gotten fired, and it wasn't exactly easy for a nineteen year old girl to find a job.

Work was usual, but then came the time to come home. I stood out in the freezing cold waiting for Brian, sure that he would man up and come get me. Sure enough, he never did.

“Do you need a ride?” My co-worker John asked. “I can take you home.”

What choice did I have? I accepted and climbed into his large, red Toyota truck, resting myself on the gray leather passenger seat. The ride was quiet and a little boring. The music didn't allow us to converse and the pouring rain felt like beads of distress on our awkward silence.

“Turn here, please,” I said, pointing to the next road. As he turned, the truck died completely and sputtered to a stop. He got out and checked the engine to find the timing belt snapped in half. It was pitch black outside, and scary. Very scary.

“I'm sorry,” he said, getting back inside with apologetic eyes. “There's nothing I can do.”

“It's fine, I'll just try Brian again.” I took out my cell phone and dialed his number. This time, he answered and agreed to come pick us up. He wasn't too happy about it, but I hoped he wanted to see me. I did miss him, after all.

The last thing I remember is riding in the car with him, and him getting angry at me. It's a blurry memory, but I remember the pain on my head. A baseball bat, I think, and being shoved into the truck. I beat and beat on it, and I remember it finally opened and I was carried. I couldn't see. My vision was extremely blinded.

He laid me down and I heard two voices.

“Don't do this man, let her go.”

“Shut up. I'll do what the fuck I want.”

I heard a trigger. I tried to scream but I was so drowsy and scared that I couldn't even speak.

“Fine, but I'm leaving.”

“You better not call the police.”

“Whatever.”

A door shut and minutes passed. He was on top of me, doing things to me against my will and I struggled until finally...sirens. He apparently panicked and stood to his feet.

A single gunshot, and now here I am a year later.

I don't know what happened to Brian, nor do I care.

There's not much to do now but wait. All I know is, I'm not even alive.

It's hard to explain really, how I walk around New York City and nobody even sees me. When I look into a mirror, I can barely see myself, and that's depressing enough. I used to think – when I was alive – that the undead didn't exist, and if they did they probably mingled with each other. Regardless, I haven't met a single person like me.

I don't know what I am. Ghost? Spirit? Entity?

Most of the time I just sit on the sidewalk and ponder life...or, afterlife while in an emotional session on tears. Until ultimately...this beautiful, beautiful day.

“Are you okay?” I look up to the voice. The handsome, blonde-headed boy looked down at me and right into my eyes like no person as done for an entire year. His eyes are blue and kind, his smile white and gorgeous and loving. He's perfect. “Why are you crying?”

I can't say anything. I talk all the time, but of course, I'm never heard. What if this situation is the same?

“Hello?” he says again. This time I notice a thick, sexy Irish accent that completely blows my mind. “Okay then, if you're not gonna tell me I might as well join you.” He sits down on the edge of the sidewalk right beside me and smiles. “I would cry with you too but I don't want to emasculate myself. I'm Niall.” He sticks his hand out, but I don't even know if I can take it. Will he feel it?

Say something, Olivia. Do it. “You...you can see me?” Wow. Really? Way to act normal.

“Of course I can see you,” he says with a laugh. “What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be. So, why are you sitting on a dirty sidewalk?”

“Oh, uhm, I was just thinking.”

“Niall!” someone yells just down the street. A curly-headed, green-eyed boy runs up to us out of breath, chest heaving from the running in the crowd. “Where'd you go mate?”

Niall stands and I do the same. “I was out for a walk. Oh, this is...what's your name again?” he turns to me and I freak out. He probably looks like a crazy person talking to himself on the street. I didn't even think twice about that, but now that I do I'm kind of nervous.

“Olivia,” I say. The guy looks at him funny as Niall turns back to him.

“This is Olivia,” he goes on.

“Who are you talking about?” he laughs, looking around him. Of course, he doesn't even see me.

“Seriously, Harry? Stop doing that; that's just rude. She right here.” He motions toward me and the guy – “Harry” – finally looks my direction.

“Dude, there's no one there. You're acting insane.”

“What?” Niall looks at me and to the guy again with an extremely confused look written on his face. What do I tell him? Maybe it'll just be better if I...disappear.

Ugh, I hate the feeling I get when I do that. I think of a place and focus really hard, and then I'm there. Call it teleportation if you want, but I just call ghost jumping. Gotta have a sense of humor even if you're dead, right?

I kinda feel bad for leaving that guy back there. He probably thinks he's going crazy, and that's hilarious. Mean to think about, but still hilarious. I want so badly to go back and talk to him more. I miss conversation and human interactions in general, but guess what? I'm dead and it's impossible...so I thought. Niall, huh? Sexy Irish guy, where have you been all this time?

I'm sick of being see through. It's about time someone notices the girl that didn't get a chance to live.

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