Fragmento

En ingles, porque asi salio y ya.





"Silly little caffeinomane. Just for once, drink something else!" His voice was soft, deep, but that only seemed to make the mockery in it a million times more evident than it should be. She simply stared at him, brow furrowed, and sipped on her coffee. She'd normally drink it down like it was water; coffee had turned into a need, more than another simple pleasure in life. But with him there, she had to do things differently, lest he started picking on her. It seemed to be his favourite pastime, lately.


"You're just jealous you can't have it" she finally replied,smacking her lips. And she was, in a way, right. It was physically impossible for him to have a cup of coffe, because...well, he was not in posession of a physical body. Had anyone else been in that room, it's more than likely that they could only have seen her, talking to nothing. But he was there, too, leaning on the wall beside the fridge, studying the girl in front of him. He never really liked coffee,or at least he thought so. Just like cigarrettes, and certain types of acloholic beverages; either he had never liked them or he had never tasted them. Whatever it was, he couldn't stand it when she had them,and the aftertaste they left in her mouth. Yet, she was fond of those things, and who was he to tell her to stop?


Who he was had turned into almost the only question in her mind. Not only who he was to tell her to stop doing things, or quit on her habbits, but who he was overall. She didn't have a name, just an idea, a phisical appearance and eight million nicknames for him. He never gave her a real name, which, at first, was ok. But as time went by, she wanted to know more about him; why he was there, what did he want. She needed those things answered, maybe just because she wanted to know, or maybe because she wanted to be sure she wasn't crazy.


It had happened, once or twice, that other people had seen and heard him, too. She had felt reassured then, confident that she wasn't insane. Looking back at those times, though, she feared that it might be a bad omen, that she might be crazy, as well as the other people who "knew" him. Maybe he was the face of madness itself.

Well, if that was the case, then what a sweet, delightful madness.

If she was with him, even being mad was worth it.



He was studying her again, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to shoot a sharp comment. He loved it when she told him how annoying he was. He knew that, when it happened that she shot him a "murderous" look and told him to shut up in a marked cockney accent to then tell him just how annoying he was and how much she'd like him gone, she meant she loved him, and she wanted him to stay around forever. They kept each other company. She listened. Rarely followed advice, but he was certain she always listened.


And he'd always be there to talk to her. Even when she felt defeated, weak or frightened. There were promises to be kept. This was one.





"You know.." he said, walking to the kitchen bar, his fingers playing with a long, light,golden feather. She immediately looked up to him, her face blank of expression,but her hands gripping tight to her coffee cup. He smirked.


"You really should quit that thing. It makes you twitch and shake at nights"


"Oh, shut up already! Don't you have better things to do?"


"Would I be here if I did?"


"Die."


"You know I can't. And it doesn't mean I, or anyone else, have not tried. You'd miss me if I did,anyways."

She scoffs, then gets up. She's still holding the coffe cupin her hands.


"I'm gonna get my clothes and then take a shower..."


"That's just fine by me"


"You're staying out of the bathroom."


He chuckled at her words. She said the exact same thing every day. And he was always allowed in,sooner or later.





She'd always be the same.