**Authors Note**
Just want to say a BIG thank you to those of you who have commented/voted on this fic, you're all awesome! To everyone who is reading my story, thank you. Keep sharing the Beetlejuice/Lydia love!
This chapter is very angsty, emotions are running high so expect a lot of feels...
especially as things begin hotting up between our beloved pair. *wink wink*
Anyhoo...I hope y'all enjoy! xD

**********************

"The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allan Poe

++++++++++++++++

How did she end up here?
She couldn't rightly recall. Or perhaps she did not want to. Her mind had long since ceased functioning properly. All coherency was gone, and all she could do now was feel, not think....

The previous evening had been awkward to say the least, having been given the third degree by Barbara. She'd had to sit and feign innocence as the kind couple painstakingly explained to her how 'he' was on the loose again, and quite possibly on the prowl...for her.
Lydia had wanted to laugh, and possibly cry simultaneously due to the surreality of the situation. The fact that the Maitland's were so concerned for her safety, felt like salt being rubbed into an open wound. Barbara honestly and whole heartedly seemed to believe that Beetlejuice, being the depraved beast that he was, was going to return in order to kidnap or subject her to some form of sexual deviation or another for his own twisted pleasure. All the while, she sat inwardly squirming, mortified by the knowledge that she was the one guilty of speaking his name, of bringing him back. And their fears were completely unfounded. Aside from his occasional attempt to grope her, and inappropriate remarks, he had proved to be no threat to her chastity. And knowing he may well be listening to their berating, added to her excruciating embarrassment. Even she found listening to Barbara's lamenting over having ever exposed her to such a lecherous 'pervert' painful to listen to, and bitterly ironic. Because as her ghostly friend recounted the way in which he had forcibly kissed her, leered at her legs and attempted to look up her dress, Lydia began to feel irrationally irritated. Her feelings alarmingly bordered on what could only be described as jealousy. But it couldn't be, could it?
So what if Beetlejuice had kissed Barbara? That really ought not to have bothered her...yet it did.

"Remember the...you know, the...whore house, Adam?"
Barbara went on, relentless in her quest to prove her point.

Adam fidgeted uncomfortably, adjusting his glasses.
"Well Barbara, I don't think we need to go into all of that."

"She needs to be made aware Adam, he's a sexual predator-"

"Look, I already know about that place, I saw it in the model. That's where he was when I first met him."
Lydia interrupted, unable to endure anymore.
"I knew then what type of place it was, I'm not an idiot."

The surprise on both of their faces was almost amusing. They really did believe that she existed in some type of bubble, an impenetrable bubble that kept the seedy, gritty reality of the world at bay. But that wasn't the case. There was no such thing, and it wasn't possible to remain naive and ignorant to the ways of the world forever. She knew the Maitland's had her best interests at heart, but their overprotectiveness was proving to be stifling. As endearing as it was that they cared, and wanted to shield her from all things potentially dangerous and unsavoury, Lydia was finding it increasingly difficult to live with. After all, she wasn't a child anymore. She was almost eighteen now, she had grown up a lot since having first encountered Beetlejuice, and now she longed for adventure and danger.

After eventually convincing them that she believed herself to be in no grave danger, whilst promising to remain vigilant, and inform them of any signs of his return, they had at last left. Leaving her all churned up inside, and more confused than ever.
She had no desire to dwell upon the strange emotions Barbara's warnings had stirred up. Along with the usual guilt and shame for blatantly lying to her surrogate mother and father by denying all knowledge of Beetlejuice having been set loose, there was far more worrisome feelings going on now.
Was it due to morbid curiosity? The nagging resentfulness she felt towards those ghoulish women who had indulged him in that bordello, made no sense at all. What was there to be envious or resentful about? He was pretty much everything Barbara claimed he was. A sexually promiscuous poltergeist, with an apparent insatiable appetite for women. But she couldn't deny that it troubled her. The thought of him having kissed her, like he'd kissed many others, and it meaning nothing, troubled her.

The realisation that she had wanted it to mean something, was sobering indeed and made her blood run cold and face flush hot. There definitely had to be something wrong with her. Wanting him, of all people, to want her....surely that couldn't be what she was feeling. The very thought of it should've been enough to turn her stomach, but there seemed to be no other explanation. There was no logic in it, and it didn't matter how much she told herself it was wrong. Her head had been continuously at war with her heart and, dare she even think it, body. But there was no reasoning with her ridiculously romantic nature. She'd clearly been hijacked by her hormones.

Forced to examine her feelings, she realised that instead of being repulsed by him she found herself increasingly intrigued by his crude manner and reputation for being lascivious. He had piqued her interest and awakened her deepest, darkest desires. Knowing that such desires could never be acted upon, for several different reasons, made the forbidden temptation all the more alluring.
Now instead of just viewing him as a ghastly, demonic entity, she was seeing him from a different perspective. She was seeing him as a man, albeit a dead one, but he was undoubtedly male, and he oozed masculinity. Physically, his stature was tall and broad, and his posture commanding. He radiated a self-assured confidence that the boys she had met all lacked. Their awkward shyness wasn't attractive, whereas his powerful, strong, assertiveness was.

Terrified by the startling revelation, she was attempting to process all of her conflicting emotions when he had put in an appearance. And her present mood brought out the passive-aggressiveness in her, possibly as a subconscious coping mechanism.
Noticeably jumpy and defensive, she had almost immediately yet inadvertently started the bickering which quickly escalated into an argument...

"Perhaps I should just tell Barbara that you're here."
She mused, feeling utterly torn.

And his reaction had been suitably predictable..

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? C'mon babe don't be stupid, old Chuck would probably have an instant seizure or somethin', they'd never trust your deceitful ass again, and it'd be a fate worse than death for me."

"Don't call me stupid. If anything I was stupid for not telling them about you in the first place."
She exclaimed, folding her arms defensively across her chest as if subconsciously creating another barrier between them.
"All you care about is your own self preservation. That's the only reason you're here anyway."

His pointed eyebrows drew together in a frown, as he stared at her hard with his twinkling green eyes.
"Well ya know, technically kid I'm here because you called me-"

"Don't keep calling me that...I'm not a child!"
She snapped, her irrational irritation increasing further still.
"I suppose that is all you see me as though, right? A stupid kid."

"Whoa, hold up a second. Rewind. Don't put words in my mouth, I got plenty enough of my own. Try to remember you're talkin' to a dead guy here, so pretty much anyone alive is a kid when you consider the fact I'm well over six fuckin' hundred years old."
His jaw perceptibly tightened as he spoke, and she faltered for a moment. Not having realised precisely how old he was, this came as something of a shock.

"Well...however old you are, it doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do. I don't owe you anything, you're nothing to me. So if I want to talk to Barbara about you being here I will, and you're not going to stop me."
She proclaimed boldly, tilting her chin upwards in defiance.

Clearly enraged, he flailed around in agitation. His features now contorting into a deep scowl.
"I think you'll find you do owe me, you fuckin' owe me big time. So don't go screwing everything up now just 'cause you've had some attack of conscience. Those losers don't need to know shit, it's none of their damn business. This is between me and you."

"No, there is no me and you. You're just trying to use me, that's all you've ever wanted. Well I won't let you, my loyalty lies with them. So there's no reason why I should keep listening to you."

"You know what, fine!"
He raged, and the anger in his tone made her shudder as though someone had just walked over her grave.
"I'll show you how much I need you, don't fuckin' flatter yourself sweetheart, I'm gone. I don't wanna hang around you deadbeats anyway. You're a real fuckin' drag, you know that? Screw the marriage, it ain't worth it. I'm outta here."

"Good, I hope you're not ever coming back either, because I definitely won't be calling you."
She ranted back, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop herself. Even as she spoke them, she could hear how hollow and empty they sounded.

"Well you can call me til you're blue in the face for all I care, but there ain't no way I'd come."
He growled, and his form began to disperse before her eyes.

"I hope that's a promise!"
She yelled at the empty space in her mirror that he'd previously occupied. But there was no response, only a heavy silence and her own reflection which stared back at her through teary eyes.

Damn him. She thought, and damn her stubborn pride and stupidity.

The remainder of the night had passed by painfully quietly. She ate dinner, though the food seemed to have lost it's taste. And for once, Delia's cooking couldn't be blamed.
Having showered, she retired to bed early, curling into a ball, holding herself tightly. She felt very much like a snow globe that had been shaken up vigorously then set back down.
When she finally drifted off, sleep had been a welcome escape, because good old BJ had entered her dreams once more. He'd been absent since Beetlejuice had entered her life, and now that he had gone, his dream counterpart returned. Although this saddened her, as she interpreted it as an indication that he really had gone now for good. And even the dream she had involved her quarrelling with her beloved, faithful companion. The comparisons were spookily similar, save for the fact that he was as equally devastated by their falling out.
In reality she knew, she took up no space in his mind.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She awoke feeling suitably dejected, and begrudgingly headed off to school without bothering to eat breakfast. She had lost her appetite, along with the previous good humour she'd felt over the last few days.
She was not in the right frame of mind for school, her languorous mood only increased over the course of the morning and by lunchtime she'd decided she'd had enough. Skipping school was not something she made a habit of, but today it was called for.
If any of the teachers had noticed her collecting her bike, she would've told them she was sick. Which wouldn't have been completely untrue. She did feel nauseated. She was sick of him affecting her so badly. Even when she'd been going through a rough patch thanks to Brett, she hadn't felt this upset and irritable.

The only person who did seem to notice her leaving was of course, Claire. It had to be. Wasn't that always the way? The one person you're least able to tolerate is the one who magically appears at the precise moment when you're not equipped to handle it. Lydia was in no mood for her nonsense, and fleetingly wondered how much damage it would cause to her bike if she deliberately ran into her.

"And where are you off to then Lydia? Got a funeral to go to?"
Her irritating, syrupy voice called out from the main entrance.
"At least you're always dressed for the occasion, and like, totally look all depressed anyway."

Raising herself up off the seat, Lydia hesitated briefly before she began peddling away.
"Claire....go suck my dick!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grumbling to himself, Beetlejuice sat cross legged, reading an out of date copy of the Afterlife newspaper. Try as he might, that was the one thing he never quite managed to do. Yeah, he was the 'ghost with the most' yet somehow conjuring the most recent issue of a newspaper seemed beyond the limit of his capabilities.
At least conjuring beer, cigarettes and beetles weren't, but after having spent centuries doing so, he was confident that was something he couldn't screw up. Unlike his relationships. Now that, he could've won a prize for. Physically shuddering, he shrugged off the unwanted thoughts that had crept back into his already overactive mind. There was no place for such thoughts, he told himself. He didn't even have a relationship per say, with Little Miss PMT. She was supposed to be just a means to an end, nothing more. But even that, he realised, was in jeopardy now. If she had sincerely wanted him to go, then any progress he thought he'd been making in regards to cajoling her around to his way of thinking, was in fact non existent, and the time and effort he'd put in wasn't worth shit.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, he took another long swig from his bottle of beer and lit yet another cigarette. He was already bored, after having spent the entire morning napping, chain smoking and drinking, whilst silently plotting his next move. She had pissed him off by banging on about ratting him out to the Maitland's. But not enough for him to leave. He was content to let her think that he had, but in actual fact, the prospect of being able to break his curse through this damn marriage was too good an opportunity to walk away from. He wasn't about to give in so easily, he'd come too far and waited too long to throw the towel in just because he'd hit a stumbling block. He was quietly confident that his plan could be brought to fruition, he just needed Mrs Juice back on side.
In the meantime he figured a lesson wouldn't go amiss either, maybe she would miss having him around and then regret having behaved like such a douche. But in saying that, as his leg cramped up for the umpteenth time, he wondered how much longer he'd be able to hack it, hiding out here.
He continued to drown his sorrows, and pickle his already shrunken liver, for some time, until the familiar sound of the bedroom door opening and closing gained his attention.

Half expecting to see one, or both of the Maitland's snooping around, or the mega bitch that was Delia Deetz, he rose to his knees in order to peer out, and was completely caught off guard by the sight of Lydia. Throwing her satchel onto the bed, she shrugged out of her school blazer, discarding that along with it.
Quickly glancing down at the watch which was set to living time, he noted that she wasn't due home as it was only 12:30....give or take a year....Perhaps the watch had ran down, or maybe he'd fallen into a time slip. He had after all, consumed rather a vast amount of alcohol.
But it was then he also noticed the way in which Lydia seemed intent on removing the rest of her clothes, something which she'd never previously done. Since his arrival, she'd made a point of ruining any chance of fun by getting changed in the bathroom. Yet now here she was, peeling off her black opaque tights, and unbuttoning her blouse excruciatingly slowly. Perhaps she really was gullible enough to believe that he'd left, in which case he was to be blessed with some entertainment after all.

Clambering to his feet in order to afford himself the best view possible, he found himself waiting with bated breath as her dainty fingers worked at the small buttons. He caught a flash of lacy, white bra material and smiled to himself, now secretly pleased for having given such a convincing performance as to have fooled her into thinking he had departed. But then she turned away unexpectedly, and his smile vanished. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he quickly reassessed the situation.
"Fuckin' little minx."
He muttered under his breath, as the realisation struck him like a blow to the head. This was a charade. A charade for his benefit. She was testing him, checking to see if he was there. This little performance was nothing more than an attempt to draw him out.

Facing the opposite way, she allowed the blouse to slip down her shoulders, before moving on to her skirt.
He was bordering on furious now, despite being impressed by her cunning, her arrogance incensed him. She clearly didn't appreciate who she was attempting to toy with here. And he decided she needed to be taught a lesson for her impudence. He wanted her to get a taste of the danger she was flirting with, and naturally he considered himself the right candidate to teach it.
"I fuckin' love loopholes."
He grinned to himself, mustering as much energy as possible.
"Now, let's turn on the juice and see what shakes loose."

Nervously, Lydia had just unbuckled the belt on her long, plaid skirt, when she felt a familiar, ominous presnce. She had all but decided to give up on him, certain that if he had still been in the mirror then he would've passed some inappropriate comment by now. That is all she had intended to do, see if he put in an appearance, and if he had, then her dignity would still be relatively in tact being as she had no intentions of stripping off completely, and she had even envisaged it as a way of breaking the ice after their quarrel. Indeed she felt incredibly ridiculous and awkward whilst removing her blouse, but it didn't matter now being as he wasn't there....
But then all at once....he was, and in every sense of the word.
She looked up and there he stood before her, looking considerably pleased with himself.
She let out a strangled shriek as panic gripped her, and made a feeble attempt to cover herself with her arms.
"God!"

"Not even close."
He drawled, his green eyes glowing as they roved over her hungrily.
"So, ya wanna kiss and make up?"

Desperately trying to regain her composure, she moved slowly towards the bed in the hopes of retrieving her abandoned blouse.
"H-how did you get out? You're not supposed to be able to do that."
She stammered, fumbling to string a sentence together.

"Yeah well technically it isn't supposed to be possible, but you see the last time you sent me back, I went willingly. And I guess you could say it's like a reward for good behaviour. Perimeters permitting and all that shit, I just about have enough juice to get to the other side all by myself like a big boy."

Her eyes widened as she made a grab for her shirt, and with lightning speed he whisked it away out of her reach.
'Now speakin' of me being a big boy..."
He reached down and lewdly grabbed his crotch.
"Ain't I glad I got me a big girl who's all grown up now. Ooh la la, you were right, ya ain't no kid. Haven't you grown little Lydia."

All innuendo aside, the sound of her name on his ludicrously full lips was enough to cause goosebumps to rise on her skin.
Skirting backwards, she found his deliberately slow approach even more unnerving than when he'd previously chased her around the bed. This felt like being stalked. His ravenous gaze and wiry hair put her more in mind of a lion than ever. His expression now bore more resemblance to a wild animal than a man, his eyes darkened and narrowed, assuming a feral look as he surveyed her closely. As though she were his prey.

"What, what are you going to do to me?"
She somehow managed, unsure of whether or not she wanted him to answer.

"Hmm, now that's a real interesting question, but the time for chit-chat has passed, wouldn't ya agree? I think I'll let my tongue do the talking, if ya know what I mean?"
He rasped, his voice thickening, just like the air in the room seemed to have done.
He edged ever closer, and she found herself unable to move, as  though her feet had been nailed to the floor. But it wasn't through any of his doing. Her legs had somehow involuntarily ceased working.

Closing the distance between them, she gasped as he reached out and snaked his hand up into her dark hair, gripping a handful of it tightly in order to force her head back. She felt the distinct sensation of his cool, firm lips pressing against the line of her throat and had to fight to suppress a squeal. This had to be a dream, she reasoned with herself, or perhaps a tantalising nightmare, as he slowly placed sensuous, open mouthed kisses down her neck. Sending shivers along her spine. Her conscience screamed that she should be outraged and appalled. And she was absolutely disgusted at herself for not being. His lips trailed back along her neck, growing more hungry as they reached a suddenly sensitive spot just below her ear.

"Beetlejuice."
She breathed heavily, and his head snapped up, having gained his instant attention.

"Ah, now steady there with the B word, if you send me back now you'll ruin all the fun! What's the matter babe, had enough already?"
He grinned down at her mischievously.

"No."
She wasn't quite sure if she'd thought or said the word, but judging by the look of utter astonishment on his face, it was safe to assume she had uttered both his name and the answer to his question aloud.

She felt her face burn like a brand, which wasn't helped by the way he'd locked eyes with her. And in that instant there was no more slow approach, no hesitation or decision to be made. He surged forwards, lowering his head and catching her small mouth in a kiss. Slipping his surprisingly strong arms around her, she felt her legs turn to water beneath her.
Rather than pushing him away, her hands reached up to grasp the collar of his jacket. Clinging to it for support, she found herself doing the unthinkable....she kissed him back. Nervously at first, and filled with apprehension, but as her stone-like resolve crumbled to dust, she kissed with more conviction. Straining upwards, returning his passion, she arched her petite body against his tall one.

Similarly, he had been completely blind-sided by the drastic turn of events. His initial intention had been to scare her with his wicked advances, yet it appeared she was enjoying this forbidden, intimate exchange just as much as he was. He could feel her melting into him, which was proving to be very very seductive indeed. Lost in the moment, he pushed her back against the wall, and braced himself against her.
She emitted a small, inarticulate noise as she found herself trapped against his chest. There was an urgency, a sense of need to his body language, as if he wasn't able to get close enough. He seemed determined to devour her mouth, and as his velvety tongue gently probed at her lips, she instinctively accepted him in, allowing him to tentatively explore.

He tasted, surprisingly, like treacle of all things, with an added hint of bitterness which put her in mind of alcohol.
Spurred on by his enthusiasm, she didn't stop to dwell on her actions for fear of ruining the moment by overanalysing it with such questions as, how did she end up here? She couldn't rightly recall. Or perhaps she did not want to. Her mind had long since ceased functioning properly. All coherency was gone, and all she could do now was feel, not think....afraid that if she did, she may well die of shame or disgust. But the fact that he was a ghost...a malicious, morally corrupt, ghost...was no longer enough of an issue to prevent her from surrendering to her curios, depraved desires.

"This is...this is all kinds of messed up."
She exhaled shakily as they broke for air.

His mouth twisted into a demonic grin that she found disturbingly sexy, adding fuel to the fire that he'd ignited in her belly, as well as cementing her belief that there was something seriously wrong with her. She needed professional help, from a psychiatrist....or possibly even a priest.

"If it ain't messy, it ain't fun."
He replied, his voice husky with need.
"What's the matter babe? Are you having a hard time dealing with the idea of making out with a dead guy? 'Cause I'm having a pretty 'hard' time here myself.."
Thrusting his pelvis forwards in order to prove his point, she all but shrieked when she felt the alarming, unmistakable bulge in his trousers pressing against her.

"Oh god! Wait! Stop!"
She cried, forcing him back with as much conviction as she could muster.

"What?"
He whined, sounding so disgruntled she half expected him to stamp his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
"What's the problem here? So you made a stiff 'stiff', why should that be such a big surprise?"

"Ugh, it is actually...I mean, how is that even possible?"

"Hey, don't sell yourself short baby. You're pretty fuckin' hot, so why should it come as a shock that you're able to, ya' know...'raise' the dead?"
He winked, and made to advance upon her again but she raised her hands to halt him in his tracks.

"See that is what I'm talking about! Can you please just stop with the whole being dead thing....it's creepy, and weird."

"Okay, so forget I mentioned it. But what do ya wanna do? Pretend I'm a breather? Will that make ya feel better huh? Will it make ya feel more comfortable?"
His sarcasm did not hide the hurt she detected in his voice. He was offended.
"What, you only just noticed or somethin'? Because if you're so hung up on me being fuckin' dead then why would you play tonsil hockey with me?"

Perceptibly tensing, her embarrassment soared to new heights. How could she possibly explain something that she was struggling to make sense of herself.
"I...I don't know, okay? I just...got carried away. I don't know what to think, or what I feel. But it's just so wrong, isn't it?"

He snorted loudly, not bothering to hide his disdain.
"You're asking me what's right or wrong? What am I some kind of oracle? Well I'll tell you what I think, you're too fuckin' self absorbed. Fretting about shit that doesn't really matter. I make my own reality, and I ain't here to fit into yours or anyone else's. I am what I am, take it or leave it."

"But what, and who are you exactly? That's the thing, I don't even know."
She pointed out, hoping that he was at least able to see her point even if he was reluctant to admit it.

"You know damn well who I am, as well as what. Quit trying to dig deeper 'cause I sure as hell know what I ain't gonna be, and that's an eccentric curiosity for some angsty teen..."
He ranted, arms flailing around in frustration.
"....Shit, I can imagine how I'd be a welcome distraction from your boring, shitty existence...hell I can even admit you have been for me, but I won't be a fuckin' cry for help, a way to rebel against your parents or someone to fool around with when it suits ya....the list is endless, but you either want me or you don't-"

"Stop it!"
She yelled, momentarily forgetting herself and gripping hold of his arms. He stiffened slightly, surprised by the unexpected contact.
"You're not just any of those things, you're more than that to me...I just don't know if I can do this."

Cocking his head to one side in a puppy-like fashion, he shot her a withering look which was quite at odds with his demeanour. His wild eyes glowed like two blazing pools of lava, fierce and frightening, reminding her that beneath the creepy playfulness lay a deadly force.
"Ya know what, babe?"
He growled, his lip curling into a sneer.
"I'll make this easy for ya."
His form grew hazy, and her hands no longer held him, causing panic to rise within her.

Grasping at his dissolving form, she felt tears begin to prick her eyes once more. He was going to go, and she suddenly couldn't bear the thought of losing him again. This time possibly for good. All games aside, she wasn't willing to run the risk. She'd been given another chance, and she wasn't going to lose him because of her reservations regarding his existence and what was morally, ethically or socially acceptable.
"Wait! Don't leave me!"
She pleaded, her voice strained and threatening to crack with emotion.

Rushing over to her mirror, she placed her hands against the glass, and attempted to steady her breathing. She didn't know if he was there or not, but she no longer had anything left to lose.
"Beetlejuice....if you you can hear me, then please don't leave. I know I've got issues, but you're pretty screwed up too! And I do know one thing...I don't want to be without you."
She admitted, in a small voice.

Several minutes dragged by, excruciatingly slowly like years. And who knows, perhaps for Beetlejuice it was. She remained unmoving, silently hoping, until finally his ragged, striped figure manifested behind the glass, the sight of which made her want to cry with relief.
Sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, feigning indifference as he deliberately ignored her, he pretended to be fascinated with one of his dirt engrained nails.

"Listen....I want to make a new deal with you, if you're interested?"
She exclaimed now with determination.

Slowly he turned his head to look at her, straightening slightly.
"I'm listening."

"I want to get to know you, properly. I need you to tell me more about yourself-"

"Why?"
He interrupted, confusion clouding his ghostly features.

Swallowing hard she persisted, hoping he wouldn't detect the trembling in her voice.
"Because...because I want to know the man, or ghost, that I married."

Her words caused a sudden heat to ripple through his aged body, as the gravity of her declaration breathed new life into him, filling him with excitement.
She wanted him to open up to her, and in return she was willing to acknowledge him as her lawfully wedded, yet deaded husband.

"Sure, wifey..."
He dead-panned, smiling lazily. His eyes now glistening with possibilities.
"...you got yourself a deal."