Page 60 of Ghost Of You
I plug her phone into my charger and set it down on my bedside table, my mind racing with questions. Her engagement ring is still in my hand—I’d forgotten to set it down, too distracted by the mystery of her phone. I look at the ring again, turning it over in my fingers, feeling the weight of it and all it symbolises. Why are these things still here? The ring I can sort of explain away, but the phone, the dust—it’s all too strange, too unsettling.
Laelia’s phone is her lifeline. She takes it everywhere, even into the bathroom when she showers or uses the toilet, mostly for the music, but still. And the ring—she’s always so proud to wear it, always stealing glances at it, her cheeks turning pink as she remembers our proposal.
Something isn’t right. As I lie there, staring at her side of the bed, the weight of the ring in my hand, a gnawing anxiety starts to take hold. The familiar comfort of our home suddenly feels alien, filled with shadows and questions I can’t answer.
As much as I would love to message her and try to unravel the mystery of why these two items are here, it’s pointless. Her phone is here, and she’s somewhere unknown, in a place that’s clearly off-limits to me and anyone not in the loop. I’m left in no man’s land, grasping for answers that seem just out of reach.
I rub my hand over my face, feeling the frustration gnawing at me, growing with each passing minute. The more I try to piece things together, the more the gaps in my understanding widen. I can’t even ask anyone for help—Laelia is always tight-lipped about her work. The confidentiality she maintains means she doesn’t share much, not even with me, outside of the most basic details. I know almost nothing about her patients or the peopleshe works with, so there’s no real thread to follow, no tangible lead to pursue.
The thought of texting my mum crosses my mind. She and Laelia talk a lot, and maybe she might know something, but I already know it’s a dead end. Even if they talk regularly, my mum wouldn’t have the answers I need—this is something only Laelia can explain. But she’s not here, and that leaves me with nothing but questions.
The idea of looking through her phone crosses my mind, the only real option left if I’m determined to find some answers. But the thought makes me uneasy. Invading her privacy, even with the best intentions, feels like crossing a line I don’t want to cross. I trust her with my life, and going through her phone would betray that trust. Yet, the unanswered questions are eating away at me, and I feel stuck between my principles and my need to know.
What do I do?
The internal struggle rages on. On one hand, the need to protect her, to understand what’s going on, feels overwhelming. But on the other, I know that crossing that line could have consequences. Trust is the foundation of our relationship, and once broken, it’s hard to rebuild.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. Maybe the best course of action is to wait, to trust that she’ll tell me everything when she’s ready, when she’s able to. It’s hard, the not knowing, the waiting, but sometimes, it’s all we can do. As much as I want to act, to do something, maybe the answer isn’t in doing, but in being patient, trusting that the truth will come out in time.
With the bad outweighing the good, my hand trembling slightly as I pick it up. The screen lights up, displaying a blank pass-code box, quietly demanding six numbers. My mind races as I consider what the code could be.
Her birthday?
I type in131293…Incorrect.
My birthday?
I try060591…Incorrect.
The day we got Satan, our cat?
200120…Incorrect.
One last option—the night I first saw her in the nightclub, the night that changed everything for us.
With a deep breath, I type080817and press enter.
"Yes!" I cheer quietly as the screen unlocks, a mix of relief and guilt washing over me. The small victory is immediately soured by a sinking feeling in my gut. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is a breach of trust, plain and simple. But the need to know, the fear that something might be wrong, had pushed me to this point.
My thumb hovers over the screen, suddenly unsure of what I’m even looking for. The reality of what I’m doing settles in, heavy and uncomfortable. This is her private world, and I’ve just let myself in without permission.
The excitement of cracking the code fades, replaced by a gnawing guilt. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. I know I’m doing this out of concern, out of love, but that doesn’t make it right. Every part of me wants to put the phone down, to stop before I go any further. But now that I’m in, the curiosity, the worry, the fear—they all push me forward.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare to delve into the phone, hoping that whatever I find will justify this betrayal, but also hoping that there’s nothing too troubling to find. The battle between trust and fear rages on, but there’s no turning back now.
With the guilt weighing heavily on me, I lock her phone and set it back on the bedside table, trying to shake off the unease. My eyes drift to Meatball, who has re-positioned himself at theend of the bed. He sits there, his gaze fixed on me with what I can only describe as an air of disapproval.
"What?" I ask, my voice carrying a hint of frustration. He blinks slowly, then licks his lips. It feels like he's silently judging me for what I just did, those beady little eyes boring into me with a kind of feline scorn.
"I locked it and put it down, okay? Don’t give me that look." I attempt to explain, though I know he can’t understand a word. He licks his lips again, his gaze unwavering. "I’m just confused and want answers. The only way I’m going to get any is by looking at her phone." His stare remains as intense as ever.
It’s half past nine, and here I am, talking to a cat as if he could offer me some wisdom or comfort. The absurdity of the situation hits me, and I can’t help but feel like I’m losing my mind. My paranoia is getting the best of me, and I’m caught in a whirlwind of what-ifs.
What if I look through her phone and she finds out? What if she loses trust in me? The thought of her being upset, of our relationship being strained because of this, fills me with dread.
What if she’s secretly cheating on me? The fear is a dark shadow lurking in the back of my mind, feeding on the uncertainty and the lack of communication.
What if I go through the phone, and it eases my mind, proving that everything is fine? Or what if it just brings more questions, more doubt, and more regret?