#xplore

It's been a year since you've passed away from a car accident. And since then, you've been attached to your boyfriend and your boyfriend's best friend who indulges in the paranormal.

Naturally, you found it very difficult to accept. Imagine, you lost your life, which was filled with the most valuable memories and connections you tried your hardest to keep, and it was all gone in the blink of an eye.

It was difficult to think about. It was unbelievable; unimaginable.

Before you knew it, you found yourself at the hospital. Everything before that was a blur.

You tried to get some of the nurses' attention, yet to no avail.

You tap the shoulder of a male doctor, yet, he ignored you.

"Excuse me? Hello—" you start to mentally insult the man, until a certain blonde haired boy caught your eye.

Sam sat on a bench that was outside one of the rooms, his eyes were bloodshot red, and his faced flushed the same color.

Beside him was another boy with dark hair, his hands covering his face. That was his best friend, also your friend, Colby.

You ran towards them, trying to catch their attention.

To make them look at you. To get them explain everything to you. Anything.

"Sammy!" You called his name before you took a seat next to him at the edge of the bench.

"Sam!"

"Colby!" You poke out your head to face the other boy.

Both of them ignored you.

You start to get irritated as you run your hands through your hair, threatening to pull the strands out. Why isn't anyone talking to you?

Your patience was about to snap. You reach your hand out to grab Sam's blonde hair.

Lo and behold, it passes through his head.

You stand up, startled. "What the hell?!"

You cover your mouth with the same hand.

"Sir," a voiced called to Sam. “Time of death: 10:11 PM."

You and the other two snap your heads at the voice of the doctor.

More tears flow down Sam's eyes like he hasn't shed enough.

"No way..." you hear his voice crack.

Colby wraps an arm around his best friend, doing his best to comfort him and himself. He needed to be strong for him; He was the shoulder Sam could cry on.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." The doctor smoothes his coat before he walks away with his head down in pity and guilt he somehow felt.

Regardless, you still had doubts. You still had a thought at the back of your mind that this could just be a prank. You had a gut feeling, but you knew all too well to never trust it.

You walk towards the room, and just before you could walk through the door frame, your legs give up at the scene in front of you.

You saw your own pale face, and blood soaked clothes. Your body rested on the hospital bed. Many doctors and nurses around you with a downcast look on their faces.

It was definitely you. It was undoubtedly you.

You felt your soul separate from your body.

That was the day you died.

You shake your head, realizing you zoned out. Who knew ghosts still had the ability to zone out too?

"And today, we are at the haunted location of—" Sam says with his utmost excitement and enthusiasm to the camera. He appeared content. Keyword: appeared. His face and hair were neatly groomed, and he held a charming smile. His blonde hair glowed with a golden hue that shone despite the surrounding darkness of the haunted location. He resembled the Sun, amidst the vast vacuum of the universe, endlessly radiating, providing warmth and light to those in need who scatter and reflect them in return. Notwithstanding that, if you peered closely enough into those sea-blue eyes, you could see your own face burned in the orbs, beneath the sadness he so tried to conceal.

You knew he blamed himself.

He felt liable for your demise. He thought he could've, should've done something. If he didn't make you leave that night, he would've stopped the sorrowful events that followed. He let you walk out of his house that night; and that resorted to you walking out of his life. Had you still been alive, things would've been so different. You would've been beside him—not as a ghost, but alive. Guilt ate him up inside out, and despite all the what-ifs, he can't do anything about it. You were gone. He could've killed, cried, prayed to God for all of eternity—done everything in your name. But you'd still be dead. He pled himself guilty for a crime he didn't commit—because in his heart, he believed he had. In the face of all his pain, he knew that it would never rival yours.

You longed for his warmth—his touch. Being a ghost didn't leave you warm in any way. Sam was your everything. And you missed everything.

After following them around the location for a few hours, it was finally time for both your favorite and least favorite part of the paranormal investigation: The Estes Method. At first, you loved it—another opportunity, a chance at finally reaching your boyfriend from the spirit world. But most of the time, that same hope almost faded, hence why you disliked it just as much. They always thought it was some angry ghost, threatening them. Not once did they consider that it could've been you.

Your words came through the device jagged and broken, lost in static and distortion. You couldn’t blame them for misunderstanding. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

"Sam? Sam Golbach!" You call out, trying to get your voice over all the radio signals. "This is your girlfriend—"

It was Colby wearing the headphones and the blindfold, while Sam was the one holding the camera, listening. Two brains, and still, nothing made sense to them.

"Uhhh... Is—your—and—" Colby repeats what he heard, which were all just fragments of what you originally said. "It's all static, man."

Sam just continued watching, his eyes narrowed in focus. His grip on the camera was tight as his mind was still set that an angry spirit was speaking to them, and not you.

Almost on the verge of giving up, irritated, you groan, "This is Y/N guys!"

Colby visibly flinches, frantically prying the headphones and the blindfold off. "Dude. I swear to fucking God—"

Clearly panicked, Sam quickly helps Colby as he almost drops the camera in the process. Distress was evident in his eyes. His mind was racing, spinning, thinking of all the possibilities what the "restless spirit" might've said.

"I swear, on my life, dude," Colby glanced at sam, his gazed filled with hope and distress. He nearly couldn't believe it, but he was too sure of what he had heard.

"That shit just said 'Y/N'."

Sam couldn't believe what just dawned on him. It was almost unbelievable. It was the same sort of feeling he had when he learned of your death. This was nearly unreal for him.

"...You're kidding." Sam's voice broke, and it sounded as though his heart wasn't already broken enough.

In an attempt to comfort himself and his best friend, Colby places a hand on his shoulder. "I promise I'm not, Sam."

Sam sets down the camera close by, and once he turns to Colby, tears well up in his eyes, threatening to flow like a dam that is about to burst.

"Y-Y/N?" He croaks out, like it was almost too impossibly painful to call out your name. It seems as though uttering your sweet name is taking all his vigor.

You slowly approach him, each step becoming heavier and heavier as you go. The world seemingly came crashing down, either of you knowing if it was a good or a bad thing.

The fortress Sam built around him has fallen like it was never real, contrast to the amount of time he'd spent on it, trying to hold it up. All those months spent attempting to move on from you were in vain. He had the same hollow ache in his eyes as he had that day. He’d spent months building a castle out of glass, convincing himself it was stone—only to watch it shatter at the sound of your name.

Colby rushes to him, his own heart breaking for his best friend's pain. That broken look Sam held was too much for him. He reaches out a gentle hand to his buddy's shoulder, soothingly rubbing indistinguishable circles in the name of comfort. He embraces the blondie, as both of them helplessly kneel on the ground.

You look down at your boyfriend, his back facing you. He shook, trying to compose himself, aware that he's failing miserably.

"Y/N," he calls out, surprising you as he finally acknowledges your presence. You could feel your own tears well up, desperately blinking like you're trying to keep them at bay.

Sam croaks out. "Is it really you? Are you here?" He sounded crazy, insane, even. He looked so desperate, desperately looking for any sign of you. His sobs come out restrained, broken, and painful. Grief had its claws and it was dragging itself through your boyfriend's throat. At the same time, the wound you thought you'd healed had rehashed itself.

You break into your own fit of sobs as if it were the only things holding you up. You embrace Sam, your hands touching absolutely nothing. Sam speaks out again, his heavy breathing in between words. "I miss h-her. I m-miss her, m-man...!"

Your arms around nothing becomes tighter before Colby patted Sam's back in a brotherly manner as he tries to compose himself. He held himself and Sam up, but a wave of shivers running through his spine does not go unnoticed by him.

"I'm sure she knows, I'm sure..." Colby says with a shaky sigh, as his eyes go directly through you—not to you—but through you. He was almost subconsciously aware of your presence, yet he couldn't totally wrap his finger around what was truly going on. He senses something there, but also not there. You were too out of reach to comprehend.

You whisper sweet nothings into Sam's ear albeit knowing he couldn't hear you. You knew damn well the silence would meet you. Hope is a cruel habit.

For a few minutes, Colby holds Sam in his arms as he continues breaking down. They decided that it would be better if they cut the recording for now, as it already took a mental toll on Sam.

As you watch them stand up, you helplessly stay seated on the floor, feeling empty if that's even possible. If spirits could feel nothing, you were the proof they could.

As they take their equipment, the sounds were locked out. The noise and quiet conversation between the two of them were distant—almost like you're underwater. And when the door closes with a click behind them, you stayed in that room, your figure still as a statue. You could feel the room around you exhale from the tension—but you don't.