"For real, though," Jennifer started, pulling her tie loose. "What happened specifically? Are you alright?"
I was driving; she was in the passenger seat in the dead of midnight after a failed mission. She was still all lethargic and smirky, while I was all blank.
"Did you hear me?" she tried again, taking off her blazer and tossing it to the back.
"I... I..." I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. "Can we continue this tomorrow afternoon? I need some rest..."
She raised an eyebrow. "More lazy than me is a feat, friend."
"I just..."
"It's alright. I wanna sleep too. It's not like there's anything at all we can do right now. She's gonna jump again." She reclined the chair, squirming to make herself comfortable. "Let me sleep here for the night. My house is too far away..."
"W—what?"
"Just let me sleep in here." Her eyes were already shut. "I know you want to, but don't do anything to me. I'll kick the living shit out of you."
I never wanted to do anything, but okay.
On the silent drive home, I recalled.
...
"My guy, you hit the lottery. She. Likes. You. It can't be easier than this." teenage Matthew Connors said, slapping me on the shoulder, encouraging me.
"I just... I'm just nervous," I said, nails dragging on the table.
"Listen, my guy," he leaned in closer, "I've confessed my feelings to at least ten girls, alright?"
"Not something to brag about."
"The point is, I didn't know for sure if any of them liked me. That's the most difficult part. This one, you know for certain, the rest is easy." Matthew pointed at her, Sophie Laurent.
Straight, black, silky long hair that cascaded perfectly down her head, her shoulders, until her back. A face sculpted by the heavens itself, with deep blue eyes, and a stunning smile.
But that wasn't what I was attracted to. I was mostly attracted to the fact that she liked me, partly attracted to her conviction when she spoke. Even right now during lunch break, she was debating fervently despite being outnumbered.
The faces on the opposing group told me they had already lost.
So by the time school ended, I caught up with her on her way home.
"Wait!" I halted her on an empty street, the sunset illuminating everything orange.
"Momo." She turned and called the nickname she had given me, only she calls me that. She looked surprised; her eyes were wide, and her cheeks flushed slightly.
"I..." had done a lot of sprinting, so I was panting. "I... I wanna tell you how I feel."
I was expecting the opposite, but her excitement somewhat simmered down.
"I... I... I like you too, Soph." I clenched my fists so hard they turned red. "I'd love to take us to the next... level..."
The last two words were difficult to mutter, for she looked more sad and disappointed than I would've expected.
"Do you..." I continued, and she clenched her fists too, one shoe stepping on the other. "Did you... lose interest?"
"That's not it!" She shook her head quickly. "That's not it at all!"
"Then why do you look like that?"
She pressed her lips; her face was tight, but no tears fell. Her eyes only trembled. "I do have feelings for you, they weren't just rumours..." she whispered after a long pause. "But being with you isn't on my list. I have too many things to handle before it."
"W... What does that mean?" A tear slid.
"We're still in school, Momo... There are so many things... unfinished. Once we become the best versions of ourselves..." She stood straight, looked me straight in the eyes with the firmest gaze. "We'll meet again at the summit."
...
We separated after high school, and just a few minutes ago, we met again at a university.
While Jennifer was snoring in my car at the parking lot, I burst into my apartment, the knob thudded against the wall loudly.
I tossed my blazer and loosened my tie, immediately filling a glass of water to recuperate.
My trembling hands spilled quite a bit of water on the floor when I saw her face again.
The hundreds of pencil sketches of her stuck on all corners of my apartment, what a terrible decision I've made.
Setting the glass of water down, I went on a frenzy clawing down every single sketch, giving the least care if they crumple or break.
"It wasn't you..." I mumbled to myself while frantically taking down all the sketches. "I'm just ill..." I tried gaslighting myself.
Maybe it was because I miss her too much, I imagined her face on the ghost.
But then the ghost wouldn't have called me 'Momo.'
After trashing my apartment, leaving pieces and piles of paper scattered, I caught my breath.
I headed for my sofa, then suddenly remembered I hadn't even closed the door, I had left it wide open, lights from the corridor shining in.
Locking the front door left the apartment unit pitch black, until a lighter flicked open.
It was my dastardly appealing lighter, but not me holding it. Jumping Ghost found me, probably by following me.
The room was dark enough for the hundreds of sketches of her face on the floor to be close to invisible. The only face of Sophie's I could see was the one on the ghost.
"Uh..." I rubbed my temples, squinting my eyes. "Tell me I'm dreaming... please..."
She slowly shook her head. "You're not..."
"What happened?" I asked carefully, seeing as her skin had turned translucent, her eyes had turned lifeless. Her physique had changed, molded into the university girl's.
"Skiing accident," she muttered.
I recalled again, a while before I confessed my feelings.
...
It was a scene where she was playing badminton in the high school court. She was practicing for a competition, and I showed up to support her.
"You look very bored." She walked over for a sip of water.
"I'm not."
"You sure you want to be here?"
"Absolutely." I responded almost immediately, straightening my posture.
"But you're not playing?" she asked with her head tilted, smiling like an angel.
"Not big on sports. I'm just here for your company," I replied, shaking my head while involuntarily smiling like an idiot.
"Thought you do taekwondo?"
"I do it, I don't like it."
"I see... There's a sport for everyone. At least, that's what my experience tells me." She wouldn't have added that second sentence if she were talking to anyone else.
"You wanna know what's mine?"
"Just saying..." She looked away, subtly pouting, subtly rolling her eyes, like I'm obligated to tell her without her asking.
"I've tried skiing."
She whipped her head around quickly. "Where?"
"Norway. It was a family trip. Skied down a hill three times this building's height. Maybe more."
"That sounds extreme."
"It was. And I really liked that." I looked up into her eyes, which were brimming with excitement. I couldn't help but propose, "I'll take you there one day."
...
I never did, but it seems she went herself.
Now, I responded to her answer with silence... and a sneaky, subtle manoeuvre to take down a sketch I missed.
"Why? Why did you become..." She gestured at my messy uniform. "This?"
"Why did you attempt murder?" I shot her back a question, now firmer. There was more exorcist than Chen Mo in my voice.
"My... My mother needs me," she answered, her face intense.
"So... whoever's body you've stolen doesn't need to be there for her mother?"
"Why do you think I jump targets?"
"To avoid capture."
"To find the perfect target." Her voice quivered, but it still held conviction as always. "Debbie doesn't care about her parents, nor think of her little brother as any more than a punching bag. And the things she watches? Child porn. I deserve to live more than her."
My jaw dropped at that statement. "Who... who are you to decide that?"
"Who are you exorcists to decide that?" she debated. "Why do you get to decide who lives and who dies? Why do you get to decide that I'm supposed to die? The only one my mother has left is supposed to die? Because of skiing? What'd I ever do? She deserves it, so much more than me." She gestured to her own body, or more specifically, Debbie, her victim's body.
"What?" I was actually speechless. "What's wrong with... What's wrong with..."
"What's wrong with me?" She flailed her arms, her expression softened, "I don't know... I'm desperate. I lost my father two months ago. She... lost her husband two months ago." Sophie corrected herself, "Then her only daughter last month."
My mouth was open, but I couldn't find words.
So she continued, "I'm desperate. I'm biased. I'm everything bad. But tell me I don't have a point. Please, tell me."
"You..." I retorted, "You tried to kill me. What arguments do you have that exorcists deserve death more than you?"
"You are all no different from serial killers." She shook her head, her face melancholy rather than furious. "We all have a chance to live, until exorcists came along. What difference is that from murder? Because we are already dead? But we're not. We're between life and death. That doesn't mean we don't deserve the chance to live again... Does it?"
"Take a seat." I really didn't know what else to say.
"I'm fine."
"Please, just take a seat." I insisted and gestured to the sofa next to her, myself taking the chair at the dinner table. Meanwhile, my feet beneath worked to crumple the few sketches still open to the eye.
She complied, but she didn't make herself very comfortable on the cushion. "I'm probably just... desperate... and delusional, aren't I?"
"Huh?" Is this still Sophie? Because if I recall correctly...
...
"Homework shouldn't be abolished!" The teenage her nearly slammed the table, but kept the strength appropriate for the debate. "The data we've collected clearly suggests increased time studying for students."
"That's common sense," the opposition interjected. "They're spending that time doing homework. However, there's minimal to no proof suggesting grades went up along—"
"I'm speaking. Please." She held an open palm out, practically saying 'shut the fuck up' politely. "There are no apparent signs of grades increasing nor improvements in students' learning progress. However, the time spent on academics alone is enough."
Her voice was clear and confident; her hand gestures flowed naturally, capturing all eyes in the room, especially me.
She continued, "Teenagers like us are in our rebellious phase. It's been proven time and time again that most criminals started wrongdoings as early as their teenage years. Smoking, bullying, drugs, those are roots, and they'll grow. That's not my opinion, that's facts." Never a 'maybe' in her speech. "... more time spent learning discipline and punctuality through homework, it's only sensible to implement it. The stress homework causes, which you've debated, can never outweigh its benefits. Earlier, you've suggested homework is a leading cause of suicide amongst students, especially teenagers. Our research showed otherwise. It's mostly household issues and social media, and it's printed." She slapped the papers on the desk.
The opposition could do nothing but clench their fists, grit their teeth, and stomp their feet. Victory was determined before the debate began.
...
She never had doubts in herself... until now.
"Tell me, Momo." She hung her head, twisted her fingers, "Am I being delusional?"