Aviator
the ghost of pimping past
Ghost // Male // Age 18 // Training Instructor // Erudite to Dauntless
Sweat glittered on Charlie’s forehead like tiny chips of diamond as Ghost scampered the room’s perimeter and shoved past an emergency exit with her in tow. It led to a sparsely furnished service hallway, which in turn connected to a kitchen where the air was hazy with clouds of steam and smelled like well-cooked fish. Ghost barreled onward, heedless of trespassing. “Keep up the good work, everyone!” he chirped to the handful of white-clad chefs standing over stoves and cutting boards, and shot through a swinging door on the far wall. He and Charlie spilled into a narrow corridor lined on both sides with doors. Ghost tried the first door on the right, found it locked, and went to the next one. It swung open beneath his touch, revealing a room stocked almost to the ceiling with canned, non-perishable ingredients. There was barely space for him and Charlie to slip inside without knocking anything over. Ghost closed the door gingerly behind them, afraid that a too-strong gust of air would lead to a violent collapse on all sides. He turned and twisted the button lock on the door into an upright position.
Ghost’s heart was dancing a quadrille in his chest. He tried to bend over and brace his hands on his knees, only for his backside to connect with the wall just behind him. A groan that was due in equal parts to the liquor sloshing around in his stomach and dread at being crammed into such tight confines boiled up his throat. As a stitch in his side formed, Ghost threw an elbow up with his forehead buried in the crook and leaned against the wall, forced to stand. “If only I had my grappling hook right now,” he moaned into his arm, uncaring whether or not Charlie took him seriously. “We would’ve run up to the roof and been swinging above the tops of buildings. None of this hiding in a closet nonsense.” Heights were always preferable to small spaces. When he was surrounded by nothing but sky, at least he was still free.
From the kitchen there came a spine-cringing sound of a pot clattering to the floor, followed by a string of vehement curses. Ghost lifted his head. The voices increased dramatically in volume and venom as the kitchen door was pushed open. “Calm yourself, lady, we’re on our way,” snarled a vaguely familiar voice. Simultaneously someone else was saying, “—no way he could have possibly gone this way. How about we turn around before—?” The multiple pairs of footsteps receded as the door at the far end of the hallway opened and shut. Ghost and Charlie’s labored breathing was suddenly deafening in the silence.
Neither of them said anything for minutes. Finally, when it seemed unlikely that a trap was waiting for them on the other side of the door, Ghost turned the lock and stepped out of the cramped storage closet. His sides heaved in and out twice with newfound gratitude for the ability to draw a full breath. Charlie sidled up beside him and he hooked an arm around her neck, drawing her close. “Was that fun?” he asked, skimming his thumb along her jawline. Charlie didn’t ask after the reason for the altercation, so Ghost didn’t tell. Not wanting to risk the chefs’ ire a second time, he exited through the same door as his would-be assailants. His head quickly turned back to Charlie, taking his first real look at her since their meeting. Her eyeliner was running at the corners, her lipstick a ruby smear. Was that a product of their impromptu flight from the club, or had something happened earlier?
“See, I told you that you wear too much eye makeup,” Ghost teased, rubbing at an errant streak of makeup along the side of Charlie’s nose until it was gone. Charlie’s cheeks blazed with color and she stammered a bit, clearly unsure what to make of Ghost’s comment. “...But it looks good on you,” he finally finished, with a smile that met his eyes.
If Charlie had looked confused before, she looked downright bewildered now.
A ripple passed over her mouth, as if she were torn between a smile and a grimace. Clearing her throat, she confided in Ghost the occurrence of a recent panic attack. Now it was his turn to be unsure of how to respond. He blinked, both startled and worried by the nonchalance of her voice, his eyes cutting to Charlie as if to make sure that she weren’t currently on the verge of a breakdown. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it,” he said, trying not to sound awkward. The conversation was nearing dangerous territory for Ghost. Whenever Charlie talked about something that was troubling her, Ghost’s first instinct was to brainstorm solutions to her problems, but sometimes his advice was more welcome than others. Ghost didn’t understand what he was supposed to do if not that, or Charlie’s purpose in bringing her problems up if she didn’t want to look for ways to combat them. But that wasn’t a feeling he had uniquely around her.
As if summoned by his desire for a distraction, just then Ghost’s phone vibrated in his pocket. A response from Blair. It sounded as if her party experience had been subpar. Sure you got everything under control? he wrote back. Blair affirmed that she would be fine and thanked him for his concern. Pas de problème. You tell Ghost if you need anything. He sent the text and returned his phone to his pocket, not wanting Charlie to feel that his attention was elsewhere. As soon as his hand was free, something brushed up against it. A jolt of electricity went through him. Apparently his senses were still dialed up from the weed. Ghost latched onto Charlie’s questing hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Her touch felt somehow more than it usually did; Ghost was sure that he could feel each line and divot of her palm. Charlie asked what he had done earlier that day and stated that he seemed in a good mood. Her observation was guileless, but Ghost couldn’t help reading into it. His lips quirked. “Do you mean to say that ‘obnoxious jackass' is my default mode?”
Charlie swiveled toward him, horrified that he would misconstrue her comment so drastically. Off-balance, she tried to backtrack, but Ghost had planted his feet, unable to laugh and walk at the same time. He laughed so hard that a floaty feeling like butterflies in his stomach overcame him, and he sank against the corridor wall. “You can say it, I won’t be offended,” he wheezed between spasms of giggles. “It’s only this funny when it’s true.” Tears had fractured Ghost’s world into a million shards when he finally peeled his eyelids apart. Charlie was approaching him warily, as if deeply disconcerted by the strength of Ghost’s amusement. When she was within arm’s length, he enveloped her waist with his hands and snapped her close against himself. He planted a kiss on the corner of Charlie’s mouth. She tentatively reciprocated and the kiss deepened, fireworks bursting behind Ghost’s eyes as he gently kneaded her impossibly soft lips with his teeth. One of her hands trailed up his flank with tantalizing slowness and tugged aside his shirt so that she was stroking the bare skin of his shoulder. A shiver that started at the tips of his ears passed all the way through the soles of his feet.
When he could no longer stand it, Ghost broke away from her and declared, “Charlotte Stark, I am crazy about you… hold on.” He eyed the bodice of her dress critically, which had become a ruffled mess in the midst of their amorous activities. Ghost straightened the cotton-candy silk as best he could, before resigning himself to the fact that that was just how the dress hung. “I like your makeup and hair, but did you choose this dress?” He wasn’t used to seeing Charlie with so much skin revealed, the dress looping over her shoulders by flimsy straps. A knot of fabric was bunched high up on one thigh, a slit cutting down the middle so that the skirt fanned behind her when she walked. He examined it with his hands behind his back and head cocked to one side, the sort of posture one adopts when viewing art in a museum. “This shade of blue does you no favors. White and red are your colors. And the front doesn’t really mold to your figure the way the rest of it does. You can tell by the creases in the fabric that it’s meant for a woman with bigger…” Ghost’s lips flattened into a line, determined not to smile as he hunted for a word that wouldn’t sound too indelicate but still convey his meaning. “...assets,” he said at last, his eyes scrunched shut with the effort of not bursting out laughing.
Charlie’s expression wilted. A thorn of guilt immediately pierced Ghost’s heart. “No no, I didn’t mean it like that, I promise. I’m just trying to give you pointers for the future. Constructive criticism, and all that. I’m sorry if I offended you in the process. Remember: I’m the obnoxious jackass for a reason,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. It was of dire importance that Charlie understand the point he was trying to make, and Ghost’s eyes filled his face with the strength of his conviction. “You know what would be fun for us both? I want to go clothes shopping with you sometime. You should let me dress you, because I have an eye for fashion. You know that about me, right? No one looks better in a suit than yours truly,” he babbled, catching Charlie’s hand and holding it between both of his.
“Do you think if I started my own fashion line, it would be successful?” A scowl overtook Charlie’s face at this sudden change of topic. Ghost’s mind felt like an overstuffed toy, the depth of his idea bursting the seams. “Well, what’d you think, I’d let the money just sit there and collect dust? Aw, hell nah! I gotta expand the fortune, build something with it. Something important. An eventual empire. And you could be the queen of it, if you so desire?” The words themselves were a statement, but Ghost asked it like a question. His soul felt like it was glistening. There was a brief pause as he awaited Charlie’s answer, but a sudden, irrational fear filled him, and Ghost was unsure he wanted to know it. So he barreled on before she could respond. “If ever you get tired of working in the infirmary—as you should; the hours are long and the pay is shit—you can always come work for me. But I don’t really want you to work for me. I want you to be successful in your own right, have your own hustle that you can be proud of. And then we would be the ultimate power couple!”
Ghost’s voice shook with ferocity, as if he were daring the world to challenge him. He was on a roll right now, a force of nature, and could not, would not be stopped. “Because there’s nothing sexier than a self-made businesswoman, and I have so many ideas how you could get there, do you wanna hear? Like, if you learned economics, you’d have so much potential as a policy adviser, because unlike most of them, you actually care about the well-being of others and what’s right, and not just lining the insides of your own pock—”
A finger materialized itself over Ghost’s lips, drawing his lecture to an abrupt halt. He instinctively recoiled, breaking their linked hands, unaware of how breathless he was until that moment. He’d been looking at Charlie this whole time, but now he actually saw her, and the smoldering rage that lit her eyes. In her radiant gown, every inch of her was as sharp and bright as the glare on new steel, her slender shoulders squared into acute angles. Ghost had never seen her contain such pent-up frustration, let alone directed at him. When she spoke, the words shattered against his ears. Charlie told him how he was behaving just like all the other men in her life. How he was presuming to know better than her. How his attempted altruism was really just misguided arrogance in disguise, and she could take care of herself.
“Oh, yeah… of course you can,” Ghost said woodenly. He felt dejected and thoroughly chastised. His mouth felt dry. There was nothing to say in his defense. The truth of Charlie’s words pulsed inside him like a second heart, shame settling heavily on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to— I just— just— I’m sorry,” he stammered inadequately, not knowing what he’d wanted at all. For some irrational reason, Ghost felt deeply wounded, like a rift had been sliced through the middle of his chest, jagged bits of flesh poking from it. Sometimes he really had no idea why he got high, because he was never this weak sober. Then Ghost felt angry and hateful for feeling sorry for himself. Suck it up, you pussy bitch. Suck. It. Up.
Not wanting to show Charlie how badly he was hurting, Ghost made a motion as if to smooth back his hair but kept his hand level with his face afterward, so that half of it was no longer visible. Then he swung away from her altogether. “Come on, then. It’s almost time for us to be at your mother’s house. I hope for your sake that you can move fast in that dress. Or that she lives nearby the compound. Like, very nearby.” He led the way through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Dauntless compound, moving briskly. Then he arrived at the top of a wide set of stairs and forced himself to wait for Charlie, having easily outpaced her. He paced in narrow, anxious circles at the edge of the first step, unable to stop moving.
When she caught up with him, Ghost kept up a steady stream of chatter to distract from the pain and awkwardness of their prior exchange. “Can I tell you a secret to make up for it? But this is very personal, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone.” He looked at Charlie sternly. Once she gave her word, Ghost lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and leaned toward her. “I may say that I’m five-eight, but I’m not. Not really. I’m actually five-seven-and-a-half. But I like to round up. And the boots that I usually wear have a low heel, so it’s believable.” The corners of his mouth curved upward and he glowed, proud of having kept the secret so long and so well. Ghost was so busy gauging Charlie’s reaction to this earth-shattering revelation that he missed a step, yelped, and clung to the nearest solid thing he could find, which happened to be her arm. Had Charlie not seen the impending disaster and been so quick to clutch the railing with her other hand, they likely would have both gone tumbling. “Heh heh, sorry.” But Ghost’s apology was more playful this time. He scurried down the rest of the stairs and skipped the last two, landing with a smooth bend in his knees. At the bottom, he held the door open for Charlie, canary-yellow sunlight slanting in a wide rectangle across the stony floor.
Ghost didn’t realize how much he’d been shivering in the heavily air-conditioned building until he stepped out into the sweltering July brightness. He typically wore a knee-length coat when most initiates were content to walk around in tank tops and shorts, and his bed was swathed in thick blankets regardless of the time of year. Because Ghost was often cold in what was commonly regarded as room temperature. He hadn’t been that way before the lull, but he’d learned to adapt since. And then it had just become a fact of life. An airy, partially unbuttoned shirt with three-quarters sleeves was the most summery he had dressed in days.
“Okay, your turn now,” he told Charlie once they had made it outside. The final parade had recently ended and the crowds were dispersing; the journey would be slow-going. Ghost sidestepped a little boy in a red T-shirt charging at him with a full-sized lollipop in hand. Charlie’s brow was furrowed, perplexed, when he rejoined her. She asked what it was her turn for. “To share a secret, of course! What, you didn’t think mine was for free, did you?” Ghost’s mouth sharpened into a cutting smile. “I played truth or dare with the new instructor today, Bloom, over a few drinks. You and her are friends, right? What the hell, Charlotte! You didn’t tell me how bloody terrifying she is!” Charlie seemed genuinely surprised to hear Ghost call her best friend terrifying. “Yes, she’s terrifying! Bloom gives off these innocent, super sheltered, girl-next-door vibes, but that woman is a monster beneath the surface. She told me our game would be real fun, right? And by the end of it I’m unable to sit upright on my stool and she’s just watching me struggle with this sadistic-ass smile on her face. That witch hustled the shit out of me, Charlotte. If I get ideas to play another game with her ever again—I don’t care what—it’s your job to smack some sense into me. Your friend is evil, that’s what she is.”
Charlie seemed equal parts amused at Ghost’s misfortune and dismayed at how wasted he must have gotten earlier that afternoon—and still was, minutes before she introduced him to her mother for the first time. “No, I’m perfectly functional now. Alcohol drags me down a little, yeah, but weed gives me superpowers. They cancel out,” Ghost asserted as they reached a crossroads, and he started to walk the wrong way before realizing that Charlie wasn’t following him. “Oh.” He spun around and was just about to backtrack, when an outdoor florist shop caught his eye. "Hey! Let's stop and get some flowers for your mother," he called across the street to Charlie. Ghost skipped up to the shop, where blooms of color emerged from pots and decorated metal shelves. Pinwheels and flags bearing the Dauntless flame stuck out from between their leaves.
"I want to create a bouquet," Ghost told the girl with red braids manning the shop. Charlie appeared at his elbow as he was deliberating between a variety of long-stemmed flowers. "No, don't tell me what Sasha likes." Ghost cut Charlie off before she could bias his judgment. "If I pick out exactly what she likes, then it'll look like you bought the flowers and I just gave them to her. Whereas if I pick them out, it'll be a more authentic gift." He carefully selected an assortment of pink lilies, red tulips, and orange marigolds, all shades that flattered one another. Then, knowing how Charlie adored roses, he placed a single white rose at the center of the bouquet, creating a focal point amid all the warm colors. “Anyway. Back to our conversation," he said to Charlie as he paid the young shopkeeper for the flowers. "You owe me a truth, and I've already got a question for you.” Ghost grinned like a thief about to get away with a terrible crime. “How do I compare to Caspian, boyfriend-wise? In all the ways that matter.”
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. Let me know if you can make it." 
