The Ghost Counselor [Ziall] [MAJOR EDITING]

Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Enquiry

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March 2014

NIALL'S POV

Okay. I admit. This is not what I expected. The ghost whisperer/medium/counsellor whatever the hell you call him, is definitely not how I expected him to be.

I was thinking he'd be more along the lines of middle-aged, 'cos honestly, in the ghost world, he's talked about like he's a celebrity- which he kinda is- and that he is pretty good at what he does.

And to say I was surprised would be an understatement. 'Cos this guy was smoking hot. Even if he was a bit sick right now.

Molly knew how I hated recieving help, giving in to my weaknesses, but she was right. It has been a year. A whole fucking year since I've been wandering this hellhole. Being reminded everyday of how I died. Seeing the people who loved me everyday, and them not knowing that I'm right beside them.

But Molly- who I had met when I had died, and had had no clue how the afterlife worked- had finally crossed over, and now I knew that it was my time.

But that's the problem. I can't cross over. I can't find peace. I can't figure out what's tying me to this godforsaken place. Though I have a pretty good guess at what that might be, but once again, Molly is right.

I need professional help.

So here I am. Taking her advice. From the address I attained of the ghost counsellor, I am now in his room, trying hard to answer his questions.

I know he's only trying to help me, but I can't help but be a bit cold. I know I shouldn't be.

"Niall?" the ghost counsellor repeated my name after I grudgingly told him, and I felt my lips curve up at the corners at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth.

He then sneezed, which made me laugh. "Yeah?"

"So, uh, your problem is that you can't cross over, yeah?" he asked, blowing his nose noisily in a tissue.

I nodded.

"So, when did you die?"

"July 11, 2012," I recited without hesitation.

The counsellor's hazel eyes widened in shock. "W-wow. You've been in between for more than a year?"

"Yeah," I spat, scuffing my supras on the frayed carpet.

"So. What do you think is tying you here?" he asked, meeting my cold blue eyes with his warm hazel ones, and I once again looked away, gazing at the gloomy rain outside.

He groaned when I didn't answer. "Look Niall. I can't help you if you won't co-operate with me. I'm sorry but-"

"I know, I know. Sorry," I sighed. "It's just that, it's weird. I haven't opened up to anyone in years," I admitted. With the exception of Molly. But this is a human.

"That's understandable," he nodded.

"Yeah," I sighed. I turned back towards the sick, sexy guy sitting on his bed. I quietly checked him out, as he had the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up, with his tattoos on display.

I decided to tell him. He's the only one that can help me, whether I like it or not.

I walked over and tentatively sat beside the black-haired counsellor. "Um, listen..."

"Zayn," he smiled, ruffling his already messy hair with one hand. Zayn? That's a weirdly sexy name.

"Uh, right," I coughed. "Zayn. You're right. Ask me anything, I'll tell you," I offered honestly.