"What is Love?" by H D Leonard

I stare down at the note with disbelief, the news only starting to sink in. He's gone, left me for some blonde slut and didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face.

I try to hate him, to hate him would make things so much easier but all I can manage to muster is a deep, empty loathing of myself. It's my fault he left, I should have... And therein lies the problem, I don't have a clue what I should have done.

What does she have that I don't have, besides the obvious of course? Why did he leave me? He left me for a girl, I can't believe it. Why? Why!? WHY?

And just thinking of that question answers flood into my mind, I can't bear to dwell on them, I can't. I can't live with the answers. I can't live without him.

Wiping the tears from my eyes I rip open the other letter, finding myself staring blankly at it's contents, hardly comprehending the words. Compared to the last message it doesn't make an impact. Four D's. I failed all my exams.

Without thinking I reach over for the bottle of aspirin that lies on the corner of my desk. Fumbling with the child proof cap I glance up at the mirror, tear stained face gazes back. What's the point in it all?

Tipping a heap of pills into my hand I take one final look up and stifle a scream. Someone else is in the room.

I whirl around on my chair, throwing the handful of tablets at the intruder, leaping to my feet, shrieking like a banshee, "GET OUT!!!"

My stomach somersaults as I see the pills fly right through the blond haired boy.

"You can see me?" disbelief shines in his sapphire eyes.

"Go away," I yell, leaping to my feet, clenching fists tightly, pouncing at him.

I hit the wall with a thud, looking up, slightly dazed I realise he hasn't even moved.

Hallucination, or perhaps I am already dead, or dreaming, yes dreaming, it must be a dream.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tries to reassure me, hands wide open at his sides in a gesture of honesty.

I don't care, I really don't care, I just want him to leave me alone, I'm not scared, just angry that anyone could even think of invading my privacy as if they have a right to be here. But he's not really here, I've lost it, I've finally flipped, deranged is now my middle name, in a few minutes the men in white coats will be along to cart me off.

"I need your help."

Hysterical laughter fills the room, it's mine, oh great, sanity has flown out the door. "I don't care," I retort, scrambling to my feet, heading back for the bottle of pills and the death contained within.

Trying to ignore him, hoping he'll go away, soon it wont matter, I reach out for the bottle but it slides away from my grasp. Frustrated I snatch it up, I could swear it tried to move. Tilting it to my lips, I should get a glass of water or something but stupid me I never thought of such practicalities. I can down them without water.

"NO!!!" With surprising speed the bottle flies out of my hand, slamming against the window, contents spilling all over my carpet.

I stare at him with shock not knowing what else to do. Perhaps I should hang myself, that would be a lot quicker than have poisonous pills eat away at my insides, less painful too. All over in a few minutes.

"You can do whatever you want once you've helped me, until then you're going to have to live." Then a slight smile spreads across his lips, "besides death isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"And I suppose you talk from experience," I reply caustically.

He shakes his head, "I may be a ghost but I'm not dead. That's why I need your help."

So many questions to ask him, but what's the point. I'm dreaming, this is not real, pinch myself to wake up, click my heels together three times and say 'there's no place like home' but I don't do any of these things, instead, like the fool I am I state the obvious. "If you're a ghost then how come I can see you? Besides everyone knows that ghosts are not alive."

"I don't know why you can see me. Most can't and those who can are mobbed by so many ghosts they wouldn't have time to help me even if they wanted to. But you," he smiles again, a charming smile that for a moment makes me forget he's some sort of demonic intruder who's not really here. "Please help," he says softly, hopelessness seeping through his words.

"Ghosts aren't alive," I repeat, trying not to let the walls around my soul crumble, I can't let him through.

"My body's in a coma, I don't know why I'm here, I wish I did. I'm going to get better," desperation ages his face making him look only slightly younger than I am. "Someone has to tell my parents not to switch off the machines. They," he takes a deep breath, fighting back emotion. "They've given up hope, you can't let them. I don't want to die. I need you to explain everything to them, keep me alive."

"If I do then you'll be able to return to your body?" I ask hesitantly.

"I'm working on a way how."

"I'll try then," I sigh, resigned to my fate. How's a few more days of life going to hurt.

"I'm Zave by the way," he offers me a hand, before remembering he's intangible, instead he makes a display of fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

"Paul," I reply, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.

"So you'll phone my parents now?"

"I can't just phone your parents. I don't even know them. It'll just cause a lot of upset if a complete stranger starts ranting some stuff out of a B rated horror film and tells them not to pull the plug on their son. They wont believe me. I don't believe me."

He looks positively baffled when I whack him over the head with common sense. Running everything over in his mind before finally reluctantly admitting that I'm right. "Perhaps you could talk to my girlfriend then, get her to tell them."

I sigh, "maybe you'd better think up something else."

"My girlfriend believes in ghost and all that. Just tell her and..."

"So it's to be like that film then?"

"Which film?"

"The one with Tom Cruise and Demi Moore, 'Ghost' I think it's called."

He shakes his head, "not really, though I wont stop pestering you until you do as I say, so you might as well go persuade my girlfriend to persuade my parents to keep me alive."

"Now?"

He looks out the window, "it's not even noon. You have plenty of time to get it all done and then kill yourself tonight."

The way he says it makes my plans sound even more stupid than his.

Then he asks the question, "so why did you want to overdose."

Because I'm lonely. Because when I wake up all I can see if a fog of grey coating the world. Because I can see no future. Because the love of my life has left me. Because I failed my exams.

I sigh and choose the least true of the statements, "I failed all my exams."

He sits crosslegged on the floor listening to me, "you can always re-sit them can't you? It's not the end of the world."

"My b... my lover," I correct myself quickly, "just left me for a girl."

He bursts out laughing at this, then looks vaguely apologetic. "Sorry, it's just..." he trails off. "I'm sorry, no one deserves to be cheated on. I don't know what I'd do if Lisa found someone else. Unless it was a girl, that could be fun," he smirks slightly, before blushing. "It's not the end of the world. Didn't you realise she was a lesbian?"

I decide against correcting his main mistake, the last thing I need now is having him prying into my private affairs. "Wasn't a lesbian," I reply shortly.

"Bi then?" he seems more intrigued than he should be.

"Yes bi," I agree the truth hurting all the more for the admission. "Though sometimes I wonder..."

"You never can tell with girls," he butts in, "I'm sure they all secretly..."

"Shut up."

He frowns, then continues cheerfully, "I'll give you Lisa's phone number. It's school holidays she should be home."

"I can't just phone her," I protest glad of the change of subject.

"You could spend the entire day at McDonalds instead, she usually meets her friends there on a Monday."

I sigh, "okay, whatever."

***

She'll think I'm a nutcase, she'll think I'm crazy, she'd probably be right, but as she walks into McDonalds these thoughts flee from my mind.

She's the type of girl I usually avoid, well I avoid most girls in general, but the dark haired, androgenous, made up to look like Kiss on a bad day, multi-earringed, nosestudded types dressed in the colours of death generally scare the living daylights out of me. So speaks the man who's been having a conversation with a ghost for the past few hours.

I walk over to her feeling 2 foot tall and wishing the floor would swallow me up. She glances at me and before she has a chance to look away I force smile, "hello."

She checks me out, finding me lacking no doubt as most do, why can't people ever look beyond appearances? I almost kick myself for realising I've judged her on her looks before she's even had time to open her mouth. "Hi," she replies, looking like she's about to brush me off.

"Lisa, I need to talk to you," I say unsure of what else I'm meant to say.

"Do I know you?" she frowns.

"I'm a friend of Zaves." Well it is the truth, "My name's Paul."

Pain washed over her face, "he had an accident," she murmurs.

"I know," I reply, "he will get better?" It's not meant to be a question but it turns out that way?

Why didn't I take a knife and turn it in her heart, that would have hurt less judging by her expression. "We'd better take a seat," she says guiding me into a booth before continuing, "I don't know how to say this... He... The doctors..." she blinks, wiping her eyes, smearing the dark eyeliner across her face, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Brain dead."

I stare at her with disbelief, then understanding. "His parents plan to let him die?"

"He's dead already," she responds.

I glance over at Zave, he's looking extremely angry. "Don't listen to her, miracles do happen. Tell her..."

"I'm sorry to bother you," I say, walking off, ignoring the ghost screaming behind me.

***

"Why did you do that?" he screams, "you should have..."

"I should have ignored you the first time you spoke to me. You're dead, it'll just hurt Lisa and your parents if you force me to dig up the past. If you loved either you wouldn't..."

"Who're you to tell me what I should and shouldn't do? You're still alive."

"No thanks to you. I did try and remedy that life problem."

"You'll go back and talk to her," he orders hands on hips, glaring right at me.

I ram my window open.

"Oh come off it you're not going to jump.

"Leave me alone," I clamber onto the window sill, looking down, the world spins before my gaze, lurching towards me. The window slams shut, I leap back instinctively.

"You can kill yourself after you help me," he mutters.

I wish I could help him I truly do. Just standing here gazing at him, I feel my heart lurch, I've only known him a few hours, I've been single the same length of time. I want to muster up hate, order him to leave me alone and mean it. But I can't, the feeling that's beginning to well inside of me is far, far worse than hate could possibly be.

He's dead, I barely know him, all he does is order me around but... There's always that small but, and he has such a cute smile and no I'm not falling in love, but I know that I could and it terrifies me.

If I help him perhaps, just perhaps things will work out. Things could be... No, I don't want to think of how things could be.

"I'll talk to Lisa again," I finally concede.

***

Two weeks pass. He let me do things the slow way, talk to Lisa, get to know her, persuade her that Zave is still around, that he's a ghost.

She's now my friend. Despite the fact she can't see him she believes me, I don't know of a single other person who would believe such a preposterous tale. She'll manage to convince his parents to keep him alive, he'll find a way back to his body. Everything will be all right.

Or not. Some day he will have to accept that he is dead.

I stand, fingertips curling around the rail, gazing at the churning depths below. If I jump I can keep him company. He wont have to be alone. I wont have to be alone. I do not have anything to live for, I do have something to die for.

He's straight, he's in love with Lisa. I don't even like him, it's just he's company and he needs me. No one's ever needed me before.

"Excuse me," warm velvet tones chime out from the darkness.

Go away, can't you see I'm trying to kill myself. Instead I turn away from the river, to face the speaker and almost blinded by golden light. I blink, clearing my vision, spots still dancing in front of me.

It's night, yet I can make out the features of the being before me with ease. Beautiful, surrounded with a halo of light, ebon locks stirring in the breeze, finely chiselled features that cannot be anything but perfection itself, stormy eyes that shift colours even as he looks at me, a body to die for, lithe, graceful, yet all that pales in comparison to the gorgeous feathers wings sprouting from his back. Midnight black, flecked with the purest snow white.

I crumple to my knees, held transfixed by his magnificence. This must be love, the true thing, the desire to die for what you believe in, I'd follow him to my death if he asked, I would bow down and worship him. Love, the taste so true and pure and sweet, the desire to do nothing more than just gaze in awe.

He smiles gently; a smile that lights up the entire sky, a light chasing away the dark demons from my soul. Reaches down, offers me a marble hand, flawless as the rest of him. It takes all my courage to take it, I have no desire to shatter the illusion. The world melts around me, dissolving to contain only him as he helps me to my feet.

"Domi," he offers softly, a name I guess. "Short for Domino, and you would be Paul."

"Are you my guardian angel?"

He laughs, the very sound music sweeter than any song, "I suppose that's one way to look at it."

So many things I want to say but my mouths frozen and my heart is somewhere in the clouds and words have deserted me completely.

"It's your birthday, I wanted to offer you a gift."

I realise with a shock he's right. How could one forget the day they were born and yet the date had slipped my mind completely. Not that it matters, birthdays are meaningless when you have no one to share them with. "W... wha... what?" I stammer.

"One wish." It sounds ridiculous, yet I believe him. How can you call an angel a liar?

"Anything?

He smiles, reaching out and touching my arm for a moment, shivers running down my spine. "Within reason."

I should wish for Kevin to return, or for Zave to love me... or for him. But love is a gift, that must be given from the heart, it is not something you ask for, not something you can force. There's really no question what I ask for. The issue that has consumed me these past weeks.

"Can you bring Zave back to life?"

"I cannot resurrect the dead," he replies softly.

"He's not dead, not technically. His body still lives. He's in a coma, but he's a ghost."

"If it's just healing I might be able to help him."

Impulsively I hug him tightly, "thank-you."

He laughs, smiling down at me, "you're welcome." Not stepping out of the embrace he asks, curiosity flickering in the depths of his grey-blue eyes, "why of all things wish for that?"

I shrug, "because he needed the wish more than me. Besides there's nothing I could wish for that would make me feel any better."

"I'll help Zave then. At the hospital isn't it? The young victim of the car-crash a month or so ago?"

I nod.

"Now you take care of yourself, please?" there's pleading in his voice. Expression turns thoughtful for a moment before he adds "meet me at The Still, Friday night, 8 o'clock."

He tilts my head back, my eyelids flutter closed as he plants a tender kiss upon my lips. Then in that brief instant he is gone.

***

Friday comes as Fridays are apt to do, yet no Friday has ever felt like this one.

Miracles do happen. Zave is alive, yet he remembers nothing of being dead. It is a secret that Lisa and I will have to keep. I doubt he would be as believing as either of us.

I'm sitting nervously in the pub, waiting for an angel to appear. Perhaps I am crazy. I can barely believe it myself.

I glance at my watch and the digits 19:54 flicker back at me. There's no way my nerves are going to hold. I slip over to the bar, pushing my way past the few men standing there and buy myself one of the cloying sweet liqueurs I love so much. Taking a sip I head back to my table only to find it's taken.

Gold flashes in the side of my vision, I spin round, colliding with another young man, his drink splashing over my white T-shirt.

He mumbles apologies, but I'm too busy looking for Domi to pay him any attention. Only the angel is nowhere in sight, and I happen to be soaked right through and there's no way I could spend the entire evening in a soaking wet shirt, stained with... I look down and realise with horror, of all the drinks he was drinking it had to be vibrant red. The stain's never going to come out.

I open my mouth to yell at the stranger and stop; he's ever so cute, looking apologetic and I have the feeling that if I start yelling it would be something akin to kicking a puppy.

Before I know what's happening he's leading me off to the washroom in the hope of getting me cleaned up. I find myself protesting, but he's not listening and in all the confusion I discover that his name is Benjamin.

We stand alone, the mirrors gleaming around us reflecting pristine white tiles.

"I'm ever so sorry," he mutters for the zillionth time. "I'm not usually so clumsy." Then he offers me a nervous smile, as if scared I'm going to bite him in a moment, "you look about the same size as me. We could always swap shirts, that way you're night wont be ruined. If you scribble down your phone number I'll get your shirt washed and back to you, okay?"

Without waiting for a reply he begins to pull his dark T-shirt over his head, I find myself staring, unable to tear my gaze from his torso. He's not got the flawless appeal of Domi, he's not even as attractive as Kevin, or Zave, but...

Before he has a chance to notice I'm looking at him, I remove my own top, and we swap. He's looking at me strangely, perhaps he suspects and he's going to find an excuse to leave, or beat me up, or worse.

But all he does is smile, a somewhat disarming smile, that makes all thoughts of the others flee my mind.

What's someone going to think if they walk in and find us standing here half-naked? They'll jump to conclusions, we could get arrested.

Quickly I tug on his top, musky scent still clinging to it, woah he smells gorgeous and for a moment I almost forget I'm meant to be meeting Domi.

"I might be able to dry this," he waves the rag that was once a piece of my clothing under the hand-dryer.

I nod, distracted, suddenly the room is far too small, too empty, I need to get out. Why am I feeling reluctant? Benjamin's a stranger, I don't even know him, but I don't know Domi either. "I'm meant to be meeting a friend," I begin to explain."

"Yeah of course, go, I'll get this dry, maybe see you later. Can I get your number to return this?"

"I don't have a pen, or paper," I admit sheepishly.

His face falls, "neither do I. Well I guess I'll have to just see you around." He switches the dryer on holding my shirt underneath, the noise drowning out any further attempts at conversation. Why is he bothering? It's ruined anyway. I should probably give him his shirt back but I'm not feeling that generous. I step back into the bar and wait.

***

And wait...

"Been stood up?"

I look up, meeting Benjamin's chocolate brown eyes, he seems genuinely sympathetic to my cause.

"Only an hour late," I respond.

He laughs, "you sound like me. I once spent four hours waiting for a date that never showed. I guess some people have never heard of a phone."

"It wasn't a date."

"Did I say it was?" confusion rumples his features, then he laughs again, "I might have implied. Um sorry, shouldn't fish."

"Would you stop apologising," I protest, not particularly bothered by the frequency sorrys slip from his lips. It's nice for once to be around someone who's not convinced that he is perfect.

"Sorry," he grins mischievously. "Don't suppose you'd mind if I took a seat and help you drown your sorrows? Misery loves company or so they say."

"My sorrows are the last thing on my mind at the moment," I admit finding it strange that this is actually true. "But you can sit anyway and I'll help you drown yours. Well as long as you get me a Bailey's from the bar," I pull a five pound note from my pocket but he waves it aside.

"You get the next round."

He returns moments later, passing me my glass, for a moment our fingers touch and the world stops. Our eyes meet, my stomach does somersaults, we both blush and look down.

He stares at his glass, deliberately sipping something that's probably cola. Silence descends on us, I study my drink trying to steal looks at him and realise he's doing the same.

My face is burning, and he's apologising yet again. Neither of us seem to have a clue what to do. I must be reading things wrong, he couldn't possibly be interested in me.

"I don't suppose you'd like to... um... em... maybe... er..." I try to say. "Pizza, with me, sometime, like tonight."

The smile he blesses me with is reward itself, "I'd love to." Then he looks apologetic again, "only... well... I don't like pizza. But if you want to I'll force it down or something."

I laugh, the tension seems to have faded away. "What do you like then?"

"You," he blurts out then looks even more embarrassed. "I mean... um... er... uh..." he looks down at his watch, cursing. "I can't stay, I have to go home, I'm sorry." He looks around desperately, swings round and mutters something to a girl at the next table. Grabbing a beer mat, he scribbles his telephone number on the back of it in pink, tossing the lipstick back to the girl, he cries to me, "phone me, please," then dashes out of the room.

I watch him leave, wondering what I've managed to get myself into. Staring down at the number I attempt to memorise it and sigh. Domi's not turning up, I might as well leave. Tossing back the rest of the drink I leave.

Only to go crashing into Domi's arms.

"You're late," I accuse.

He laughs, "actually I'm just on time," his smiles warm enough to melt the hardest of hearts. "Did you have a nice night?"

How can I be angry with him? "Yes," I reply truthfully.

"Good," he seems highly amused.

"You planned it?" Who would have thought angels could be so devious?

"Not exactly." That's as close to an admission of guilt as I'm likely to get but I'm going to push anyway.

"You made him spill the drink."

He has the decency to look embarrassed, well only slightly. "You and he did everything else. Now you better go home and get your beauty sleep."

"But," I protest, wanting to say something yet unsure what. Domi's so beautiful, so perfect.

"Go home," he says again, "call him tomorrow, or tonight. Maybe you'll find the love you're looking for." As if sensing my thoughts, he sighs, "I'm not that one. I love everyone." He looks down at me again, "if you ever need me again just call." He raises my hands to his lips, kissing them softly, pressing something into my grasp.

Then he steps into the pub, tearing my heart as he goes. I think I'll do as he says, give Benjamin a call. He's right, any relationship between us would be doomed to failure, that was assuming he was interested. I can still dream though.

I look down at the gift he left, a plain black feather, except it's not plain, gold plays upon it's surface, glistening, gleaming, sparkling in the dull street lights.

I should go home, phone Benjamin, perhaps, my future lies with him. I do like him, it's just he's not an angel. Then again, who is?