Stasi
Chapter 3
Stasi
119 Days till Death
Surrounded by incense smoke and bathed in candlelight, I double-check that everything is prepared for my ritual, but first, I need to make my offering. The last month has required a lot of work with Aphrodite to help me get back on track. Despite putting my plan in motion, the public rejection did reopen some old wounds. But I’m back to myself and more determined than ever to make Becca mine. I’ve waited all these years, what’s a few more weeks or months?
I’m close; I can feel it.
The flames burn bright and warm in reassurance as I light the pink and red candles that are interspersed between the rose quartz towers, tea lights, statues, and unique trinkets I’ve collected for my goddess over the years from shops along the coast. Carefully, I open the shell trinket I picked up on my most recent trip. The pink and white ombre of the beautifully cut shell will definitely please her, more so as I fill it with the pearls, miniature shells, rosebuds, and rose quartz chips that I set on top of the tiny mirror at the center. Igniting her favored honey and rose incense, I cleanse the offering, then leave it in the middle of the altar as a token of my gratitude for all the ways she’s changed my life.
The altar frames my naked body in the mirror as I shrug off my lacy robe and begin my manifestations. “I am magic. I am desired. I am everything she wants and needs,” I whisper as I take inventory of myself, appreciating every inch of my body like I want Becca to and willing the sight before me to make its way into her dreams. The way my full cleavage sits low on my chest, my nipples embellished with silver piercings. They’re ready and waiting to be taken into her mouth. My gaze moves down, caressing the dreamy moth tattoo that spreads over my wide stomach, hugging the curves and rolling contours. How perfect would it look with her hand splayed across it? With gentle strokes, I rub over my large thighs that press together, dimpling the soft flesh that’s adorned with pink garters tattooed across the width of each leg. There’s nothing I look forward to more than her kneeling to worship me between them. Turning around, I lift the flowing length of my hair over my shoulder, exposing the gentle folds at my sides that are kissed by the shadows of the flickering candles. My spine tingles with the ghost of her delicate fingers trailing down my back. I step back a few feet, revealing my calves that bear the figures of the beloved poet, Sappho, and Aphrodite herself. She may have her altar, but together, we’ve made my body into a temple that I’ve proudly learned to worship over the years under her love and guidance.
Which brings me to the ritual. Sex magic has played a vital role in my journey from a terrified, angry, and insecure little girl to a confident and empowered woman who’s in control of her destiny. Tonight, I’m fortifying the plan I set in motion at the party. Spitting in her mouth should have secured the bond that had gone lax during our separation. She took it so willingly , after all. I’m going to pull that thread between us taut. I won’t let it falter again.
I want her to feel me in her gut when she wakes up.
Crawling into my bed, I’m surrounded by all the items I need to amplify the spell.
It’s time to transform a lifelong attraction into a gnawing hunger that she can’t ignore.
I begin like any other routine, walking myself through the steps quite matter-of-factly, but the innate sensuality of this ritual quickly takes over my psyche. I apply a coat of lip gloss methodically, but a primal groan unleashes from within as I slowly run my tongue over my lips while concentrating on the subtle signature notes of coconut and strawberry. With each pump of the applicator in the tube, the synthetic, sweet scent of it wafts into my nostrils. If I keep my eyes closed tightly enough—until the shapes and colors behind my lids take on a life of their own—I can pretend it’s her. It’s Becca’s inexperienced finger sliding cautiously into my cunt as it grips at her eagerly, encouraging her to sink deeper into me. It’s her teeth tugging at my taut nipple and her tongue flicking out to soothe the sting of it. It’s her placing a chaste kiss on my clit like I’m something to revere, someone to be cherished.
It’s nothing. The harsh words that have no place in this ritual echo in my head for the thousandth time. But unlike before I found Aphrodite, I’m able to dismiss the words for the cowardly denial they really are instead of the hurtful truth that my old insecurities would have me believe. With a calming breath, I release the unbidden memories and refocus.
Slipping my favorite sparkly blue vibrator inside myself, I move with purpose. A throaty gasp escapes me when I envision the gentle press of her palms as she handles me with care. My toes curl at the phantom caress of her long brown hair across my bare breasts as she kisses every inch of my skin. With quickening strokes, I guide the toy in and out of me.
“Becca Murphy will see that we belong together.” I reiterate my intentions through a moan as I pleasure myself.
With shaking fingers, I grab the lace tights I usually keep preserved in a zipped plastic bag. I only bring them out for a few minutes at a time; the earthy scent of her grows fainter with each use. Still, I press the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply as I sink the toy as far as it’ll go. Heat blossoms across my thigh at the reminder of how wet she was as I pushed up against her, the thin, damp fabric the only thing between us.
“Becca,” my moan is muffled by the tights. “You’re going to be mine. You know I’m the only one for you.” I speak as clearly as I can through the heady pleasure that consumes me while I’m wrapped up in the manifestation. “It’s always been us .”
Moving the silicone faster and faster I imagine her sitting on my face, spread open and dripping into my mouth as I suck at her pretty glistening pussy. Soft and wet and warm, just for me. I’d give anything to take her clit between my teeth and send her over the edge right along with me. Instead, it’s just me, my hand, and the pieces of her I managed to stow away. But that’ll be rectified soon.
My heart pounds in my chest as I chase something close to satisfaction. I inhale another whiff of her and drag my tongue over the lacey fabric that I can almost pretend is her panties. The idea of her slick and shaking, while she grinds down on my eager mouth, is what does it. As my orgasm rocks through me, I clench my quivering thighs around my hand, trapping the toy inside me for a few more seconds while my toes uncurl, and a wave of short-lived bliss passes through me.
Becca Murphy will be mine, to have, to hold, and to cherish. Soon.
Maybe she’s not able to wrap her mind around the idea yet, but there’s no denying what her body wants or the chemistry between us. Not when she opens up to me so easily. Kissing her at the party was as natural as it was ten years ago, and I’m not going to let her get away again.
She’s been mine. She just needs the final push and I’m happy to use the magic I’ve learned to wield to provide it.
93 Days till Death
It doesn’t count as stalking if you’re doing it for love, right?
I’ll admit, spying is a bit unbecoming of me, I typically take a much more direct approach, but it’s going to take some time to get her to come around to the idea. It’s going to take some convincing for her to admit her truth.
Luckily for her, I’m willing to humble myself a bit if that’s what’s required. It’s a bit romantic, even. All the great stories of love illustrate the art of wooing. While my most reliable talents typically lay in the skills I’ve honed with my tongue and fingers, Becca is different, she deserves more. I’m determined to learn everything about her so that when I make my next move, there will be no doubt in her pretty little head that I’m perfect for her. That she’s meant for me.
So, here I am, attempting to be discreet as I stake out the object of my affection in the ‘U’ through ‘Z’ aisle of the health science section of the library. Across from me, Becca’s none the wiser as she reads her textbook and dutifully takes notes. She’s all seriousness but it’s anything but boring as I watch her through the narrow view between the tops of the books and the bottom of the shelf. Getting to observe her like this, unguarded and in her element—alone for once —I’m learning too. How she sighs when she’s frustrated by something she doesn’t understand. Does she make that sound when she thinks of me? How focus pinches her features, creating a line between her brows and pressing her lips together. Will she look at my body like that when she learns how I like to be touched? How she fusses with the edge of her sleeve when her confidence wavers. Is she going to do that when I make her flustered by telling her all the filthy things I want to do to her? I hope so.
There are many things that have changed about her, but from afar, she looks like the same Becca who befriended me when I was just a meek and shy girl hiding in a baggy black sweatshirt in the middle of summer. Becca’s straight brown hair is longer now, brushing her waist. Despite all the sunny California days that have passed, her skin is still ivory, and her pale blue eyes still hide her tempered-curiosity behind a cloud of gray. My gaze snags on her lips that pout like the gravity of the world is dragging them downward. Back then, she was sure and confident, always smiling as she took charge of the situation. There’s a nervous energy that clings to her now, a cautiousness that makes every movement careful and all her decisions calculated. From her bland Brandy Melville clothes—the ones that are made to flatter girls with her frame and shame anyone else who’s duped by their inclusive pretense—to the way she keeps her belongings piled neatly just beside her and her body tucked in tightly. S he’s shapeshifted quite well to fit their expectations. But when she tucks her hair behind her ear exposing an eclectic collection of earrings that actually show some personality, a bit of the real Becca pokes through the facade of all-American perfection she’s been molded into. The worn-in black Converse are familiar, too. There’s my girl.
If I look past the polished presentation, I can still clearly envision her in the faded blue backward baseball cap, shorts, and tank top—her ‘summer uniform’ her mom would tease. Tomboy the neighborhood kids would call her. Back then, she didn’t care, but that was before it was used to fuel the accusations leveled against us.
The tipping point of no return.
The reminders of the real her are evidence of the internal battle she’s fighting with this curated imposter. But more than that, they’re hope that she’s still in there, that the girl I loved hasn’t been replaced with some carbon copy of Chleo Bower. I shudder with horror.
I’ll bring my girl back. I’ll gladly set her free from the cage of conformity they’ve kept her in while I was away. The blood in my veins thrums with the challenge. I’m closer than ever to having what I’ve always wanted.
And damn if she isn’t a sight to behold. Even in the dull, dreary setting of the university’s poorly lit library, she’s ethereal. Instead of washing her out, the fluorescent light that pours down on her from above reflects off her skin, bathing her in an angelic white glow.
An ache builds in my legs with the need to drop to my knees beneath that table, shove down those dainty lettuce-trim shorts, and see if she tastes as heavenly as she looks. It’ll be made even sweeter when I make her scream and moan with pleasure defying all the ‘keep quiet’ signs plastered passive-aggressively on every wall. How pretty she’d be with her skin flushed from equal parts satisfaction and humiliation. A bit of humbling, just a little tumble from grace.
Publicly rejecting me not once but twice is unacceptable, after all. That’s not how you treat people, especially an old friend. Admittedly, my pride bristled when I realized that there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition when she lied to my face, but in truth, I’ve done a bit of transforming of my own— thank Aphrodite for that . But anonymity might serve me well for the time being, until I know exactly what I’m up against. Until I know how far I’ll have to go to break through the walls she’s put up around her truth. With a bit of self-restraint and the strength of my goddess, I intend to prove to her and everyone else that she wants me. And then I’ll show her just how good it is to be mine.
But first, I need a plan. Getting Becca to confront the rotting skeletons she’s kept in her closet will require tact, something I’m not predisposed to. But I can try to be patient. We’ve been playing the long game, and now victory is within my sight. All that time spent crying in my bedroom looking at old photos of our first day of school, sleepovers, and lemonade stands, stowing away memories of better times, it’ll all be worth it when she finally sees we were meant to be. Forever. Just like we always said.
That pretty picture is overshadowed by a swaying blond ponytail that blocks my view.
“Hey, Bec,” Ponytail says with reservation.
“Hey, Theresa.” Becca closes her book with a sigh and looks up at the other woman. “What’s up?”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” Becca starts packing her books away.
“Distant. Weird.” Her friend leans across the table and places a hand on hers. “You and Meg should talk. I know you two can work it out.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No. Meg won’t say. But are you really going to throw years of friendship away over your pride?” Theresa pushes.
Becca scoffs, pulling her hand away and resuming her task. “My pride isn’t the problem. It’s not really any of your business, honestly. If Meg wants to talk to me, she can.”
And with that, my recon mission ends on a sour note as Becca makes her way out of the library as quickly as possible. Thanks a lot Theresa.
But I can’t be completely pissed at her; she’s served the important purpose of reminding me about a potential sticking point in my plan, Meg . Becca’s jealous best friend who’s hopelessly in love with her. Too bad for Meg, I held that role first, and I’m not willing to back down. Becca has been and always will be, mine .
I pity anyone who stands in the way of that. While Aphrodite might be best associated with love and beauty, she’s also been worshipped as a war goddess, and as they say, all is fair in love and war.