Becca
Chapter 2
Becca
June 6th, 2014 – Becca’s 23 rd Birthday – 187 Days till Death
I stand at the edge of the room like a prop, an accessory to my own party. I’m not the guest of honor, I’m a mannequin dressed up just right for their enjoyment. Whether I’m here or not, it doesn’t really matter. The night will go on, they’ll have their fun, and they’ll remember it all more fondly than I will. It’s why I feel both heavy and hollow—the weight of expectations and the emptiness of always fulfilling them no matter what.
That is the Becca Murphy experience.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned to excel at—well, besides everything—it’s being who people need me to be. And tonight, that’s the excited birthday girl.
As humans, we tend to wax poetic about birthdays. They’re sold to us as something that always needs to be celebrated, and each year, it needs to be bigger, better, happier . Birthdays are the start of a new chapter, a new year of growth. They’re supposed to be exciting, aren’t they? Then why is it that, instead of elation, there’s a twenty-pound rock opening a yawning pit in my stomach? The acidity escaping through it is climbing up my esophagus, eating up the laughter and easy conversation I was supposed to be enjoying tonight.
Or maybe it’s just that I’ve had too much to drink. Yes, that’s it; I’m already on my third glass of champagne. I should stop after this one, but it’s not good form for the host not to partake in the festivities. It’s also not good form to actively avoid your guests or worse, break their hearts.
Trying to be a good sport, I take another sip of the champagne from my birth year that my parents gifted me. But, instead of the crisp flavor of refreshing liquid luxury, the sourness of my mood transfers to my tongue. It tastes off; not off like flat, off like the sinking premonition of something terrible. Worse than what’s already happened, and everyone knows it, too. Eyes above wide eager grins sit heavy on me with expectancy. Smile, birthday girl. Take another drink. Have fun.
And I had planned to—have fun that is. I’d bought myself this little dress in my favorite color, lavender, to bring out my eyes and compliment my pale skin that’s barely seen the sun this summer break since I’m still taking classes and searching for the perfect internship opportunities. I’m even wearing heels; Meg insists I should show off my long legs on any occasion . Meg. Her eyes are the heaviest, watching me over her red cup. You can’t ignore me and you certainly can’t keep secrets from me.
Her words—her actions—are the reason that my birthday party went from something I was kind of looking forward to something I desperately wanted out of in the span of minutes. “Bec, can I talk to you really quick?” she’d asked. Of course, I said yes. She’s been my best friend for years. I was expecting my gift in private or a sentimental shot. I didn’t expect to have her confess that she’s in love with me, that our friendship isn’t just platonic for her. Not anymore .
Up until that point, I’d never been afraid to tell her anything. Meg had seen me at my worst in high school when I was still taking advantage of the comforts of being on the outskirts of Chleo Bower’s clique. It had been shamefully easy to remain in her good graces and enjoy the perks that her status provided. That is until Chleo had laid into Meg so badly that I simply couldn’t stand by and allow her to act like a tyrant anymore, especially not when my brother was giving me those eyes from across the lunch area. You can’t keep sitting by and allowing her to walk all over everyone. Of course, he was right.
Meg and I had been inseparable ever since. And thankfully, she welcomed me into her friend group with open arms; it was just the four of us against the world for the last four years. But tonight, Meg likely divided us forever and Brittany and Theresa don’t even know it yet.
With a soft voice and empathetic eyes, I’d tried to let her down easily. I just don’t see you like that. I love you, as a friend.
What I got back was anger and a sense of injustice. “Why not? Why not me?”
“I don’t date girls.”
“Jesus, Bec. We’re still doing this?” The tears in her eyes were half a decade’s worth of accusations.
“Doing what?” The ‘don’t make me do this, not after what happened’ was silent, but we both knew it was there, the heavy presence of that truth always threatening to resurface from my past. As my best friend who’s known me for years, you’d think we wouldn’t have to go there.
“You know what. Why are we still playing pretend? I thought we were best friends?”
“We are.”
“So, tell me the truth. Is it girls, or is it me you don’t like?”
“Both. You know that.” You’d think I’d be numb to this absurd conversation. I’ve said it a million times, to her, to Chleo Bower, to all the kids who wrote shitty things in my yearbook in seventh grade, and to every guy I’ve dated.
“I used to think you were so brave. But I’m tired of letting you lie to yourself and to me. You think you’re so perfect, you have your whole life figured out on paper. But you don’t know shit about yourself if you think that’s true. You’re not brave at all, Bec; you’re a fucking coward who’s always going to be running from her past.”
The undeniable finality of the slamming of the door behind her had been a punch to the gut and I’m still reeling from it. From our conversation, her accusations. It’s left me unstable on these uncomfortable heels instead of my usual Converse. I’m acutely aware of just how short my dress is in them, of how much of my legs are showing. I’m so exposed , and it’s her fault.
Fuck. This. Night.
Fuck birthdays, and best friends, and putting on a charade for other people.
I drain my glass of the remaining champagne, the carbonation going down rough and trying to come back up like the sting of the fracturing of my friendship. I’m on my way back to my room to change when I hear the most obnoxious sound known to man.
“Beccaaaa!” Nate Peters calls from the open front door where he sizes me up with a cocky smile and lingering eyes.
Who the hell invited him? My brother isn’t even here. I stomp over, not because he called me, but because the neighbors are going to flip if this party gets too loud and I really don’t want to deal with it. I yank at my dress as I make my way across the room.
“What are you doing here?” My brother may have put everything between them in the past, but I’ll never forget how Nate made his life a living hell. “Aiden’s out of town.” Thank god. The idea of them hooking up just a room away from me would truly scar me for life. My stomach rolls at the unwelcome mental image.
Nate shrugs, his muscles rippling effortlessly. “I’m not here for him; I’m here to party.”
“Whatever, just don’t break anything.” I have enough shit to deal with, it’s not even worth arguing about.
How does this night just keep getting worse and worse? I need another drink.
Walking through my own home feels like a landmine. I’m simultaneously dodging the daggers Meg is staring at me, avoiding my other friends so I don’t have to find out whether they’re mad at me too, and trying to make it to the kitchen without having to make any small talk with anyone who’s just here to take advantage of an opportunity to get drunk and socialize.
That’s what I should be doing. Liquor spills over my hand with my clumsy, rushed pouring. Sucking in a deep breath, I attempt to plug my nose as I toss the shot back. The sharp scent of ethanol burns my nostrils. Despite how rancid the cheap vodka is, it’s easier to swallow than the truth of my best friend’s heart.
The kitchen and dining area is sweltering, now packed with buzzing bodies as people gather around tables to play King’s Cup and beer pong. They may as well all be invisible because all I can see is Meg’s devastated gaze from across the room. It appears we’re coping the same way; however, she seems intent on keeping my attention while I’m actively avoiding her. I need time to think. This isn’t the time or the place to continue this conversation, fight, whatever it’s going to be. Just the thought of it stifles me more than the increasingly ripe smell of sweat, pepperoni, and artificial sweeteners failing to mask all the varieties of alcohol.
Air. I need air.
“Come on, birthday girl, your turn,” Nate calls over the thumping music that someone’s turned up again. A haughty rejection is on the tip of my tongue, but my annoyance is a welcome distraction. So much so that my feet easily move in his direction.
Taking aim, I hope for some beginner’s luck as the ball flies out of my hand. Like the rest of this night, it disappoints, bouncing off the rim and into the crowd. A series of white and orange balls meet the same fate, while my opponents land at least every other throw.
“Next person to miss a cup has to take a shot, dealer’s choice,” one of Nate’s friends, Rob, I think, proclaims as his eyes caress the slight dip of my neckline. Of course, I lose, and before I can object, his moist, calloused hand is tugging on mine.
He picks up bottle after bottle as he concocts some mixed shot; his “specialty”. As long as it’s better than the straight rubbing alcohol I had earlier, I guess I can’t complain. Resigned to my fate, I wait by his side, taking shallow breaths so I don’t suffocate in the toxic cloud of his aggressive cologne that smells far too similar to a teen boy’s body spray for me to stomach.
After what feels like an eternity, a shot glass is presented in front of me. But just as I’m leaning into it, I’m thrust against the wall.
“Oh shit!” someone obnoxiously yells while others whistle.
My throat tightens nervously, barring the objections that desperately want to jump out. I never get a chance to voice them because someone is towering over me, their weight holding me in place. Behind me is hard and unforgiving, but in front of me, I’m wedged against the softest body I’ve ever felt. The way it contours around me is surprisingly pleasant, moving my mind from shock to curiosity. Wispy pink and blond hair tumbles around us as I stare up into an angelic face that sharpens with sinful intent as we make eye contact.
No woman has ever looked at me like this.
Like a rabbit in a snare, my heart thumps wildly as I wait for the threat to close in around me. But the fear doesn’t manifest. I’m frozen in awe, so she’s met with zero resistance as her gentle fingers frame my jaw in a firm hold and she tilts my head back. My skin tingles at the slide of her pink and black acrylic nails against my heated skin. Squirming, my back arches.
“Open up, birthday girl,” she purrs.
Bewitched, I fall under the spell of her sultry voice, my lips parting for the shot glass, my tongue lying in wait for the harsh sting of alcohol. But instead of smooth glass, a gust of cool mint flows from her open mouth and coasts against my own before a waterfall of liquor cascades from her rosy lips into my waiting throat.
“That’s it, let me in.”
Heat gathers low in my empty stomach and warms me from the inside out, my skin becoming sticky and slick. It’s boiling at the surface under her attentive gaze that sweeps over me.
“Oops. You’ve got a little something...” My confusion is quickly quelled as the tip of her tongue sneaks from the corner of my lip into my mouth when I gasp in surprise.
She presses forward in her exploration. Her palm clasps around my throat, the weight an anchor as my body and mind float outside of me, the burden of this night becoming distant as my world shrinks to just the points where we make contact. The music, the whistling, the murmured judgments all melt into an irrelevant hum, my ears only picking up the sigh of her breath and the quiet meeting of our mouths.
Her thigh slides between my legs. The combination of the friction from her lacy thigh-highs and the sudden pressure of her knee sends a rush through me like the drop of a roller coaster. My gut drops and flips with a punch of adrenaline. I’ve never been touched like this. With graceful intent. The thrill spikes as she leans into me, my dress inching upward. The concern of flashing everyone is fleeting, overridden by her tongue winding around mine. The shock of cold metal in the center elicits a gasp. Her methodical movements coax a whimper from me that I pray is eaten up by the thumping music.
My nipples harden in response to the friction of her own grazing my silky slip.
“Fuck,” she moans, and I choke on the undiluted lust. The overwhelming potency of it breaks the trance I’ve been lost in.
Hands coming between us I shove her away. “What the hell are you doing?” Along with my breath, she’s stolen my voice, the words weaker than they should be. I say it again like I mean it.
A flinch of hurt passes over her mahogany brown eyes, but she recovers quickly. She suppresses her shock and morphs her expression into one of smugness—severely lined eyes and reddened lips pulling into a smirk. I answer with a glare that’s a forceful diversion from staring at the cleavage that spills out of her low-cut black mini-dress. While she was soft and languid against me, everything about her hardens, her edges sharpening with narrowed eyes and the pop of her hip. Grasping for control, I ignore the way the movement shifts her dress up her plump thighs exposing more of her peachy skin. Let it go, I plead silently with furrowed brows. There’s a challenge in the assertive eye contact she returns, and I squirm internally under the assumption that simmers there. But unfortunately, she’s not the only one who sees right through me.
Following a long whistle, Nate bellows. “Damn, that was hot. Who knew Becca was into that.” His eyes skim over me as if seeing me for the first time. Whatever he sees during his appraisal brings a curling smile to his lips. “Well, I guess I owe Chleo that ten dollars after all. Can’t believe she’s about to win a decade-old bet.” He laughs and like usual, people follow his lead. “Looks like it runs in the family; maybe she’s not such a bore after all.”
“Shut up, Nate. I’m not . . . into that .” Humiliation and fear ripple through me in uncomfortable heat waves that make this tiny slip of a dress feel like clinging wool. I purposely avoid the pointed gaze of my best friend; it’s too much to bear when I’m already crumbling beneath the judgment of my peers.
“No?” Nate steps closer. “So, what is it then? Are you just a slut like your brother?” The hateful words are like glass shards under my skin.
“Shut the hell up,” I hiss defensively. I can tolerate a lot being said about me, but nobody is going to insult Aiden in front of me.
“I bet you would love that.” He takes another step forward and my back bumps against the wall and this time, I seek shelter in its unrelenting surface. “If it was nothing, why don’t we give it another try? I bet I can make it count for something. My birthday gift to you.”
“I’ll pass. Like I said, it was nothing.” My focus is past Nate’s shoulder where I try to summon a defense for myself beyond all the curious eyes watching this disaster play out. I settle on the only reasonable explanation for what’s transpired here. “I’ve just had too much to drink. I’m not into you or her.”
The reason for this entire confrontation is standing closer to me now, her scoff loud and abrasive. “Sure felt like it.” Despite her accusatory words, her smoky voice threatens to rekindle the fire I’ve just put out.
The whispers around us grow louder as more people have stopped what they’re doing to watch this embarrassing interaction. Loyalty overriding her anger, Meg appears at my side. “She said she wasn’t into you.” She shifts slightly in front of me. “You shouldn’t have done that. Clearly, she’s had too much to drink. That last shot certainly didn’t help.”
Like a carnivore who’s spotted prey, her eyes move between me and my angry best friend; the palpable tension between Meg and I is blood in the water and she’s planning to strike. My stomach muscles clench as I brace myself for impact.
“The way she melted into my grasp and moaned into my mouth felt like an open invitation to me.”
“It wasn’t,” Meg and I insist in unison.
The blond leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they effortlessly read Meg. “Oh, I see,” she pouts mockingly, her hands sliding between her thighs as she squats down to our height. “Sorry, hun. Maybe you should have stepped up first if you wanted her so badly. Better luck next time.” She might as well have snapped Meg’s neck between her jaws and carried her off with that pointed assessment. Jealousy coils tightly in my best friend’s pained grimace and clenched fists.
“There’s not going to be any next time. For anyone,” I clarify. Instead of reaffirming, my mood sinks further.
The mysterious party crasher’s attention shifts from Meg to me, and she shrugs as if what she says next isn’t absolutely damning. “You know what I think.” Her perfect lips are inches from mine again. I dig my toes into the soles of my shoes holding myself in this exact spot. My neck remains rigid as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear tickling the sensitive skin with the barely there touch of her nails. “I think…” Anticipation knotting my shoulders, I teeter at the precipice of the cliff she’s threatening to push me off of. “Thou doth protest too much.” Her smile grows wide and wicked as my body sways with uncertainty when she leans around us, grabs a paper towel off the counter, and brings it to her upper thigh. “In fact, it seems like things got a little wet.”
My chest and cheeks are surely tomato-red at this point. How dare she insinuate something so vulgar.
“Get out of my house.” I can’t think clearly with her so close to me. Not when she swipes that wretched tongue—the one that just invaded my mouth and pried those confused reactions from me—over her lush lips.
She snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll see you around.” Her hand snaps around mine before I can move out of her reach, and a wadded-up paper towel is stuffed between my clenched fingers. “In case you need to clean up.” Mercifully, she makes her exit without another word. I attempt to look anywhere but at the sway of her wide hips that draws attention to where the thin black fabric stretches over the round curve of her ass but I’m as helpless as everyone else who watches her walk away. The fact that it’s not just me who’s captivated by her presence quells some of my panic. She’s just one of those beautiful people who effortlessly commands a room.
The front door finally closes with a harsh thud that sets my teeth on edge. “Who the hell is she?” I seethe to no one in particular. “Who even invited her?” Several gazes flick away from me as my breathing becomes uneven and I begin to spiral. I don’t wait for an answer, I need a minute to recover from the pink-haired menace that just flipped my night upside down.
“Wait, Bec.” Meg is on my heels; her pursuit only makes me move faster.
The force with which I slam the slider behind me even makes me jump. Several people who thankfully missed the spectacle inside turn to look at me, including my other two best friends. I keep moving until I’m inside the casita. Thankfully, the sounds of the party are muted behind the thick door. I find myself in a reassuring cocoon of silence that finally allows me to drop my guard. My shoulders shake with the release of tension and corresponding tears. The reprieve is short-lived as the door opens behind me and I catch a glimpse of red curls.
“What the hell was that?” There’s a sharpness in her voice that we never use with each other.
“Fuck if I know?”
“Who is she?” The words are serrated, dripping red with anger. The infection between us irritated anew.
“No one. I have no idea. I’ve never seen her before.” Defensiveness has me stepping closer to her. My hackles rise. “She’s just a stranger who saw an opportunity to get under my skin. Our skin . She just wanted to embarrass me.” Even as I say it, I doubt myself. There was something familiar about the woman and the way her skin felt against mine, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I don’t tell Meg that though, I need at least one person at this fucking party to believe me. “That was nothing, just a drunken mistake. Obviously, I was in shock. Wouldn’t you be?”
“You just said you weren’t into other women.” The air is heavy with expectation as Meg takes a step toward me.
My own humiliation and hurt is reflected in her eyes. “I’m not.” Even I hear the lilt of uncertainty.
“Sure, Becca,” Meg scoffs. “Whatever you say.” She tips back her red cup and drains its contents before throwing the door open and leaving me exposed to the people who cast questioning looks my way. I can’t hear their whispers over the blaring music. I don’t need to. I’ve been on this merry-go-round before.
She’s gay with that one weird girl.
We should move our desks; it might be contagious.
Cover yourself, she might try to sneak a peek.
Told you they were too close of friends.
Determined to forget all the repressed memories that’ll haunt me if I don’t hide from them, I go back inside. Under the weight of it all, each step is a thousand pounds, but I attempt to keep my head held high. Passing the keg, I go right for the hard stuff, tipping the vodka bottle for a heavy pour and add a splash of soda that’s just enough to take the edge off the foul taste. I’m not much of a drinker—especially not hard liquor—but if any time warrants it, it’s right now.
“That was quite a show birthday girl,” Nate taunts as he takes the bottle from my hand to top off his own drink. “So, tell me, what do I have to do to be next?”
“You’re disgusting,” I say with a slight slur. He steps in my way as I try to leave, and my hand meets his chest. “Piss off; I’m not in the mood.” I attempt a glare, but my fuzzy vision probably means I’ve missed the mark.
“Excuse the fuck out of me, Princess. Didn’t realize you couldn’t take a joke.” He looks down at me, no warmth in those hazel eyes that so many people swoon over. “Don’t let that mouth get you into any more trouble tonight. For once, Aiden isn’t here to stand up for you.”
“Yeah, probably because he’s avoiding you,” I hiss as I shove around him and make a break for my bedroom, hoping to take a few minutes to pull myself back together so I can try to enjoy some part of my own birthday party.
In the quiet sanctuary, I take a few deep, steadying breaths with each inhale, my heartbeat slows down to something resembling a normal pace. Taking a seat at my desk vanity, I start to conceal the dewiness that’s gathered on my forehead. I’m adding a bit of blush when Brittany and Theresa join me.
“Have you seen Meg?” Brittany asks carefully.
“No. She stormed off. I assumed she went to make another drink.”
My friends make eyes in the mirror. “What?” I fight the urge to snap the lip liner pencil in my hand as I try to repair the perfect lip combo that my party crasher messed up.
“It’s just…are you two okay? You’ve been weird since the party started, and she’s seemed really upset.”
“We’re fine. I’m fine. If you’re so worried about her, why don’t you go ask her yourself?” Lashing out isn’t usually my style but I can’t seem to hold back the striking words. The events of tonight have sent me reeling. Maybe another sip will dull the edge.
“We looked everywhere for her.”
Reluctantly, I open my phone and check Meg’s location. My brow creases with worry, but it’s replaced with another bout of anger when I see the message she sent me fifteen minutes ago.
I’m tired of playing pretend wi th you.
I attempt to chase away the shame that ripples through me with a large gulp of the vodka soda.
“She’s a couple blocks down, on Spruce and Ivy. It looks like she’s walking home. You should go after her.”
“We should. We’ll come back, though, once we make sure she’s okay,” Theresa promises.
“It’s fine. This birthday is an epic fail. I’m going to tell everyone to leave soon.”
Brittany squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bec.”
With a weak smile, I dismiss them, then take a long chug of my revolting drink that nearly comes back up. I drop the lip liner, no longer caring enough to finish it off with the lipstick I was wearing earlier. I just want this night to end but my plans fall apart as my feet sway beneath me. I have to grip the edge of my dresser to keep myself upright, while the room rocks back and forth in front of me. Everything is swimming around me, the bright hallway light spills in sideways as the door creaks open. The distorted tinkling of my chimes is a delayed warning that reaches my ears too late.
A vague muscular shape blocks out some of the light, growing larger as it comes closer. I squint to force focus but instead of clarity, the form triples. I’m plunged into complete darkness before I can make sense of what I’m seeing.