Existing

By Beckie Stevenson

Copyright 2013 Beckie Stevenson

The right of Beckie Stevenson to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is licensed for your person enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to all of my friends for taking the time to read and offer feedback on the original draft of Existing;

Kate Cox, Sara Turner, and Stephen Whieldon.

You guys rock!

To all of the girls and guys on Goodreads and Twitter…Thank you!

Special thanks to the bestest beta readers in history;

Katie Cairns,
Monica Robinson and Jillian.

Sheri, aka S.G. Thomas, aka Nevaeh, aka Copy editor/proof reader extraordinaire.

Thank you for all of your hard wor
k in helping to get Existing looking as good as it does.

Oink
, oink! :o)

As always, huge thanks to my Mum and Dad for all of their help.

And last, but by no means, last, thank you to Jason and Freya.

I do it all for you.

Love you x x

For my Mum, Dad and Greg.

I have wonderful childhood memories, and it’s because of you.

Love is crushing, all-consuming and demanding.

Falling in love is an unforgettable, euphoric moment. One never forgets that moment when it all just seems to
click
into place.

Being in love is like floating on an endless cloud of happiness.

In that terrifying moment when you realize you don’t even recognise the person who you used to be anymore, there’s only one thing to blame.

Love

L

O

V

E

Such a simple word.

Such a powerful emotion.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for love.

Nothing.

My Father leads me into the dining room and sits me down on a chair at the light oak table. When he sits on the chair opposite me, I notice for the first time that he’s starting to look old. At fifty years of age he isn’t old at all, but there’s a hint of grey that’s appeared in the hair around his temples and flecks of it that’s splashed in the stubble that covers the bottom half of his face. He looks tired too.

“Roisin,” he sighs
, “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you weren’t badly injured, but this has got to stop. I can’t take it anymore.”

My breath catches in my throat.
I hate seeing him like this. I wish I could tell him what he really wants to hear. When he stares at me with his turquoise eyes filled with disappointment, there are moments when I almost tell him everything. Almost.

“Dad
, I…” I look away and flick at a piece of cotton that hangs off the sleeve of my cardigan. “I can’t help it,” I finally whisper.

He rubs at his temple
, just like he’s always done when he’s thinking or worried about something. “You’re nearly seventeen, which means you’re nearly an adult, Roisin.”

I pause, waiting to see if he expects me to say anything.
I know full well how old I am.

He reaches out and pulls my bandaged arm toward him
, brushing his thumb over the medical tape that keeps it in place. “I need you to tell me what happened. I need to know the truth.”

I pull my arm away from him and tuck it onto
my lap. “I’ve already told you,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “You’ve told the police
, but you’ve never told me.”

I sniff and turn to loo
k out of the window and watch Mr. Thomas drag his little white dog down the road. “It was an accident,” I finally whisper. “The ghost distracted me and I dropped the candle. I’m sorry.”

“Enough!”
My Father stands up quickly, forcing the chair he was sitting on to tumble over behind him. He pushes his hands quickly through his light brown, floppy hair and paces around the room, causing dimples to appear in the plush beige carpet. Hallie will not be happy about that, I think, as I watch him pick the chair back up. “All this talk about a ghost needs to stop, Roisin. It’s been fourteen years now. Don’t you think you’re a little old to still be scared by stories about ghosts?”

I shake my head quickly. “I’m not scared of it and it’s not a story
, Dad. I see it.”

“Rose,” he says gently
, using my nickname so I know his anger has subsided. He sits back down opposite me and huffs. “There are no such things as ghosts. If it’s been hanging around here for all these years,” he says, waving his arm around the room, “why haven’t I seen it, or Ava, or Hallie?”

I shrug. It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times before.

“We need to do something about this,” he says sternly.

I half laugh. We’ve already tried to do something about this.

“Why don’t you have any friends, Rose?” he asks.

I look up into
his sad eyes, wishing I could answer all of those questions that he has dancing around in his irises. “I don’t know, Dad.”

“Maybe it’s this place,” he says
, looking around. “It’s got too many memories in it.”

I shrug. I don’t trust myself to say anything more. It wasn’t the ghost that did this to my arm, but it’s easier to let him believe that than for me to tell him the truth. The truth would shatter him.

“Roisin,” he says. The tone of his voice makes my blood freeze. “Where did you go for those four days last summer?”

My heart starts to thump so hard in my chest that it feels like it’s going to bust out and shove itself into my Father
’s face. I can feel tears stinging at my eyes as I think about what happened five months ago. I can’t believe he’s asking me. That bitch promised me that he’d never ask about it. I shake my head. “Nowhere,” I breathe.

“I’m asking you to tell me where you went.”

“Ask Hallie,” I tell him.

“I’m asking you.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. “Please, Dad. I can’t tell you,” I whisper.

“There’s nothing you can’t ever tell me, Rose.”

I swallow and nod. I hate this. I hate how I have to lie to my Father. I really wish I didn’t, but I know I have to. I hate my life.

“We’re moving,” he suddenly announces.
“I know we talked about it and voted on it a few weeks ago, but I’ve decided that we’re actually going to do it. I’ve spoken to the guys at work and sorted all that out. We’re going to pack up our stuff and go.”

I
open my eyes and look at him through my lashes. “Where to?”

“Oregon.”

I frown at him, wondering why he’s picked the place that I blurted out even though I had no idea why I had said it. “Oregon?” I repeat. “Why there?”

He shrugs. “We have offices in Portland.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You have offices in New York.”

He shakes his head at me. I can see the pain in his face and I’m sorry because I know that I’m the one that’s caused it. “We’re moving to Cannon Beach, Oregon and that’s the last of it.”

“When?” I ask.

“Two weeks on Friday.”

I nod, because the least that I can do is to just agree and go along with it without arguing. I don’t really care where we live. It’s not like anything’s going to change anyway.

Both of our heads turn toward the door
when three gentle knocks sound out. I smile.

“Hello?”
he calls out, even though we both know who’s knocking.

“Can I come in
, please?” squeaks the little voice.

My Father looks at me
one last time and sucks in a huge deep breath. “Come on in, Ava.”

My five
year old half-sister comes bounding into the room with the biggest chocolate-covered smile I’ve ever seen.

“Where’s Mommy?”
she asks.

My Fa
ther looks over her head toward the open door. “Good question, darling.” He licks his thumb and tries to wipe the chocolate off her perfectly clear, soft skin. “Why on earth has your Mommy let you eat chocolate at this time of day?”

Ava
smiles and bares her teeth at us. “Mommy always lets me eat chocolate for breakfast.”

I
quickly glance at my Dad, who does a very good job of hiding any opinion he has about this. “Well, it’s not really okay to eat chocolate for breakfast, Ava. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he tells her.

Ava
nods and turns toward me. “Rose, will you come out to play with me please?”

I nod.

“Actually,” my Father says, rising from his seat, “I was thinking we could all go out today.”

“
Is Hallie coming?” I ask.

My Father nods.
“If I can find her.”

“I can find her
, Dad,” giggles Ava as she turns toward the door. “I know all of Mommy’s hiding places.”

I watch both of them disappear out of the dining room and sigh. I
look toward the corner of the room and frown at the see-through shape that’s been hovering there this whole time. I can’t see its face, but I know it’s a woman because of the pretty skirt and the handbag that I always see hanging down by her side.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper
, even though I know I’ll never get an answer.

When I first started to see the ghost
, I was too frightened to even look at it. After a few months, the realization that it wasn’t going to hurt me had finally sunk in and I started to talk to it. I needed to know why she was there and what she wanted from me, but she’s never answered me back. After fourteen years, I still have no idea who she is or what she wants. Why can’t I see her face? Where does she go when she’s not here? Why can’t any of the others see her?

Every time I look in the mirror
, I see thousands of questions dancing around in my eyes, but they’re not ones I’m likely to get answered any time soon either.

I huff and walk out of the dining room. I tur
n around before I go into Ava’s room to make sure the ghost isn’t following me. When I realize she isn’t, I plaster a smile on my face and push Ava’s door open.

“What are you going to wear today?” I ask
, stepping over her, “and why are you lying on the floor?”

“I’m a mermaid,” she says
, kicking her legs together against the carpet.

I pull open her closet
and stare at the vast amount of clothes she has hanging in it.

“Rose,” she says quietly, “why does Mommy never dress me?”

I close my eyes with my back to her so she can’t see how much pain her question brings me. “I think it’s because we pick out the best clothes ourselves,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

Ava
stands up and comes to my side. “I’m glad you help me,” she says softly, “I can’t reach up to the high rack all by myself.”

I reach for
her small, chubby hand that always feels warmer than mine and squeeze it gently. I reach up and pull out a multi-colored, striped dress from off the rack and a pair of red tights from the shelf above it. I hold it out against her. “How about this one, titch?”