I love Jesse.

Now that's out of the way, this is the full-version of my entry to the Jesse POV Contest at MCBC.

The whole of Chapter 12 from Haunted in Jesse's POV.

All the characters mentioned are disclaimed to Meg Cabot.

Read and bask in the warm glow of Jesseness.

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Forgive me, Suze. With love, Paul.

I stared at the card in Susannah's hands, reading the words over and over again. As much as I tried to think of a reasonable explanation as to why Susannah might be receiving flowers from a man with the name Paul, I could not.

Not unless it was the same Paul that we both knew.

"Look, it's not what you…" Susannah tried to explain, and failed miserably.

"Susannah," I said cautiously, trying my best to keep my voice low and under control. "What is this?"

"Jesse. Look. I was going to tell you. I just forgot –"

"Tell me what?" I interrupted her, raising my voice without intending to. But I couldn't help it. I was outraged. How could she not tell me that he is here? "Paul Slater is back in Carmel, and you don't tell me?"

"He isn't going to try to exorcize you again, Jesse." Susannah said quickly, trying to calm me down. "He knows he'd never get away with it, not while I'm around-"

"I don't care about that." I scoffed. She was the one who I was worried about. "It's you he left for dead, remember? And this person is going to your school now? What does Father Dominic have to say about this?"

He must be against this. After what had happened, he must be.

"Father Dominic thinks we should give him another chance. He-"

Disgusted, I promptly get up from where I was sitting on her bed and walked over to the other side of the room. I could not believe what is happening. Another chance? He never gave her another chance, when she was up there, scared for her life!

"Look, Jesse. This is exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew you were going to fly off the handle like this-"

"Fly off the handle?" I turned around, looking at her in disbelief. How could she not see that her life might be in danger? "Susannah, he tried to kill you!"

She stared at me but slowly shook her head. "He says he didn't, Jesse. He says…Paul says I would have found my way out of there on my own. He says something about there being these people called shifters, and that I'm one of them. He says they're different from mediators, that instead of just being able to, you know, see and speak to the dead, shifters can move freely through the realm of the dead, as well…"

My hands turned to fists, a strange ringing sound in my ears. I didn't know if what he was telling her was the truth, but I felt sick nonetheless. "It sounds as if you and he have been doing a lot of talking lately."

She just shrugged her shoulders. As if talking to Paul Slater fits into her routine schedule. For all I know, it might be. "What am I supposed to do, Jesse? I mean, he goes to my school now. I can't just ignore him. Besides, he seems to know stuff. Mediator stuff. Stuff Father Dominic doesn't know, maybe hasn't ever even dreamed of…"

Upon hearing that I couldn't help but said sarcastically, "Oh, and I'm certain Slater is only too happy to share all he knows with you."

"Well, of course he is, Jesse. I mean, after all, we both have this sort of unusual gift…"

"And he was always so eager to share information about that gift with the other mediators of his acquaintance." I said flatly, knowing that it was not true. If I remember correctly, Paul didn't even share his knowledge about the ability that he has with his own brother, who shares the same ability of being able to see the undead.

Susannah looked uncomfortable. She knew what I said was true. But being the remarkable young lady that she is, she still wanted to look for the good in Slater, even though it doesn't exist.

"Look. You're overreacting. Paul's a jerk, it's true, and I wouldn't trust him farther than I could throw him. But I really don't think he's out to get me. Or you."

I laughed bitterly. If I still have a pulse, I knew they would be racing right now. "Oh, it's not me I think he's out to get, querida. I am not the one he's sending roses to."

She blushed in that adorable way she usually does. But she still felt compelled to defend him. I didn't understand why. "Well. Yes. I see your point. But I think he only sent those because he really does feel bad about what he did. I mean, he doesn't have anyone. He really doesn't. I think…Jesse, I honestly think part of Paul's problem is that he's really, really lonely. And he doesn't know what to do about it, because no one ever taught him, you know, how to act like a decent human being."

Lies.

It was all lies, words coming from him and twisted around so that Susannah would feel something for him. I gritted my teeth as she continued talking about him being lonely and I knew I should be listening to her, but I didn't like what I was hearing. And so, foolishly you might say, I chose to listen only to the parts that suited my disposition.

Walking over to the vase of roses, I flicked one of the rose and said, "Well, for someone who doesn't know how to act like a decent human being, he is certainly doing a good imitation of how one might behave. One who happens to be in love."

She flushed, looking at anywhere else but me. "Paul is not in love with me. Believe me." Susannah said softly. "And even if he were, he sure isn't now…"

"Oh, really? I think his use of the word love – not sincerely or cordially or truly yours – would indicate otherwise, would it not?" I gestured to the card still in her hands. Then I realized what she had said, and my frown deepened. "And what do you mean, if he were, he isn't now? Susannah, did something…happen between the two of you? Something you aren't telling me?"

Now she was definitely avoiding my gaze, and I felt a stab in my heart. Something must have happened between them. Oh Dios, if he had hurt her, I swear to you…

"No. Of course not."

She was lying. I could sense it.

"Susannah." I walked back to her side, feeling regretful that I had acted the way I did. She was not the one to blame in this situation. It was Slater.

She looked up at me, something like fear and sorrow in her eyes. I lifted one of her hand in mine, forcing my anger to subside. Forget about him. Susannah is the one who is most important right now.

"Susannah." Even saying her name was a joy. "Listen to me. I'm not angry. Not with you. If there's something… anything…you want to tell me, you can."

She quickly shook her head. "No. I told you. Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

I watched her, taking in her mesmerizing green eyes - that unfortunately were not looking at me – as she continued to stare at her bed sheets, her soft russet locks, her delicate skin in my hand. More than anything, I wanted her to confide in me, but I knew I couldn't force her to. She didn't owe me anything.

"You know, Jesse." She suddenly said, breaking into my thoughts. "If there's anything you want to tell me, you can. I mean, feel free."

My mouth felt dry as I listened to her. Was it just me, or was she hinting at something… something that I didn't even dare to dream of? Oh querida, there's so much that I wanted to tell you, so many things that I wanted you to know. About my feelings. About you. About us. But I couldn't.

Could I?

She finally set her eyes on me, and I felt my heart stopped. Or I would have, if only my heart was still beating. There was something in her eyes, something indescribable that made me believe that I was capable of doing anything. And in that split second, I knew I had to tell her the truth. Before the moment pass us by.

Tell her.

I opened my mouth to say the words that have been circling in my mind since recent weeks when the room door suddenly shot open and two people walked in. I let go of Susannah's hand and leapt back from her side, looking on at the visitors in astonishment.

"All right, Simon. Enough slacking," said the fair young lady who had stormed in the room first. "We need to get down to business, and we need to get down to business now. Kelly and Paul are whupping our butts. We have got to come up with a campaign slogan, and we have to come up with it now. We have one day until the election."

And I thought Susannah was a fast speaker. As I looked at the young lady and her male companion, I realized that they were Susannah's friends. The ones she always talked about and the one I sometimes see her with. Disappointment crept up inside me as I watched them, realizing that the absolute moment I had with Susannah had slipped away.

"Well, hi, Cee Cee. Hi, Adam," Susannah said, recovering from the surprise her friends had caused her. Us. "Nice of you two to drop by. Ever heard of knocking?"

"Oh, please," answered her friend mockingly. "Because we might interrupt you and your precious Jesse?"

What? I stared at Susannah's friend in shock, telling myself that I must have heard wrong. She couldn't have said my name, unless she could see me too, or…

"CeeCee, shut up," was Susannah's swift response.

"We knew he wasn't here. There's no car in the driveway. Besides, Brad said to go on up," said her friend again, putting down the things she had brought onto the floor.

…Or Susannah had told them. But if Susannah did tell them about me, what did she say? She couldn't have told them the truth because she knew very well that I did not have any cars.

"Those from him?" Her male friend spoke up, looking at the roses on the window seat. "Jesse, I mean? Guy got class, whoever he is."

I could not believe what I was hearing. What was even worse was the fact that I was angry and embarrassed that the roses were not from me. That I couldn't afford them.

"Yes," Susannah answered, and I looked at her in wild confusion. "Listen, you guys, this really isn't a very good-"

"Ew! That is disgusting! Your feet look just like the feet of those people they pulled down Mount Everest…"

They were talking about Susannah's wounded feet, but the words sounded jumbled and foreign to me. Overwhelmed, I felt as if I was gasping for air, desperately trying to breathe. Which was ironic, because I didn't need to breathe.

All of a sudden I felt weak, confused and troubled. I didn't know what Susannah has been telling her friends, but the Jesse that her friends described was not me. The one they were talking about was not only alive, but was able to own motor vehicles and buy her flowers.

The Jesse in their mind does not exist.

I walked away from the side of her bed. She didn't notice, because she was talking to her friends. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't speak to me. Although I doubt that it was her intention anymore after the way I acted earlier.

It was obvious that her friends did not know that she could converse with the non-living. Or that one of the non-living was currently in the same room with them. Did Susannah want to be with a living man so badly that she made up stories? Stories about me being alive? The mere thought of it made me ill. It couldn't be true. But what else could explain what her friends had said?

Unless she told them about a different Jesse, which I doubt. So does that mean she felt…

Quit entertaining these wistful fantasies, de Silva. You know who you are. You are dead. Dead. What made you think that you could actually be with her, someone who is alive?

I stared at the roses, just an example of the endless things in this world that I couldn't give her. When she deserved so much more. Jealousy coursed through my veins like poison, returning the hate and anger I felt for him. That bastard Slater. He could have everything else, anyone else and still he wanted the only person I had ever desired. The woman who made me believe that all those years of being alone was for a reason – and that was to meet her. To know her. And to fall in love with her.

Why, Dios, if you wished to let me stay, not needing to eat, to sleep, to rest, to age, then why did you allow me to feel?

I did not hope to be alive, for I know that it was impossible. I did not yearn to be acknowledged by those who still live. I did not need to be seen by those who cannot see me. I did not want to be sympathized by those who can.

For the very reason that I did not belong in this world.

Each day I think of being someplace that I do belong. Wishing that it was with Susannah, knowing that it didn't exist. Staying on borrowed time, not knowing whether the next second will be my last. Being with her was heaven for I became significant; loving her was hell for it was unreciprocated.

It's true what Abraham Crowley said, "A mighty pain to love it is, and 'tis a pain that pain to miss; but of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain." I am a testament of that.

I glanced over at Susannah, the longing I felt intensifying, piercing my already empty heart and I realized I couldn't stay there any longer. Not only because I couldn't bear to look at her with the knowledge that I couldn't have her, but also because there was no longer any purpose for me to be there. With one last look at Susannah, I dematerialized from her room.

If only I could cease from feeling. Only then will I be free from this agony of loving in vain.