Stasi
Chapter 19
Stasi
66 Days Dead
Over the last few days, we’ve both kept to our respective spaces. I’m a bit surprised Becca hasn’t come looking for me. People like her, the ones who need praise and adoration to thrive, don’t know what to do with themselves when left to their own devices. As the days pass, she becomes restless. The desperation is getting to her, the hearty filling of life giving way to the spongy emptiness of rot and mold.
Ironically, she excels at being a ghost, wandering the halls by night, moping around as a silent voyeur observing her family by day. Without the waterfall of affection, she’s become a wilted flower that droops and dries in the corner alone. It’s only a matter of time before she turns toward the sun in a last-ditch effort to revive herself.
I’ll be happy to shine a light on the parts of her that’ve been kept in the dark.
If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s seduce someone. Sure, Becca is a bit of a difficult case since she’s been holding that closet door closed for dear life, but I’m up for the challenge. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
Plus, it’s not exactly torturous work; I’m sure it’ll be a bit fun even. Honestly, it’s a win-win. I get to prove once and for all that she’s wanted me all this time and I get to have my revenge.
I’ll admit she’s been a little bit more self-sufficient than I’d hoped, but she can’t avoid me forever. I’ll make sure she isn’t able to; she just needs a little nudge.
Stripping off my skirt and top, I toss them on the bed and head out to the yard, plopping down in one of the lounge chairs they have set out—the same ones we spent entire afternoons in during the summer of sixth grade. In the familiar setting, it’s impossible not to go back in time.
Coconut-tinged tanning oil we snuck from her mom’s bathroom coats our bodies that glisten under the sun. The ruffling of magazine pages catching on the breeze is only a little annoying. Copies of Cosmo, Girl, Seventeen, and Teen People that we’d snagged at the 7-Eleven pass between us in a steady rotation. Every time our hands brush, heat creeps down my neck, and my heart races. Sneaking a sideways glance, I’m disappointed to find that Becca remains unphased, while it takes every ounce of my self-control not to stare at her lips hoping she’ll ask me to help her practice kissing again.
The memory is stolen from me when my attention catches on blades of grass snapping beneath someone’s weight. It could be her parents, but I know it’s Becca. Can feel it in the way my center of gravity completely shifts. Still, I feign unawareness and play with the ends of my hair, staring pointedly at my lap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her irritation is my amusement.
I lift my head with an annoyed sigh. “Getting some sun. Is that a problem?” I look up at her through my lashes and roll my eyes. She is so uptight, goddamn. My fingers flex around the arms of the chair with the desire to work out all the knots she must have.
“When you’re basically naked in my family’s backyard, yes.”
Confidence surges through me under the attention of her wandering gaze. “Nobody else can see me, and there’s nothing going on here,” my nonchalant fingers flick between us, “so I don’t see what the problem is.”
Weakly, she clears her throat. “It’s just inappropriate.” Her eyes dart around as she tries to find anything to look at but my nearly naked body.
“We’re dead, Becca. Who gives a single fuck about what is and isn’t appropriate anymore?” I laugh openly at her. “I promise you’ll feel a lot better without that stick up your ass.” Truly wicked temptation slithers through me. As I lean forward eager to provoke her, I shift my arms to not-so-subtly push out my bare breasts. “Of course, if you like having something fill that beautiful ass, I’m sure we could figure something out.”
“You’re disgusting,” she scoffs.
“And you’re a fucking bore.” The yawned insult is lazy on my tongue. “A gorgeous, self-centered bore, just like all the others.” Slashing at her ego is the quickest way to get under a perfectionist’s skin.
“Are you such a smug asshole with everyone?” Asshole. She’s still mad about that? It’s too easy.
“No. I reserve it for spineless bitches who help hide bodies.”
“I told you I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t do something like that.” Becca has the audacity to sound offended as if anything I’ve said is some slanderous lie.
“But you did.”
“Why are you so insistent on blaming me? Don’t you want to know my side of things?” If we weren’t dead, the rising pitch of her voice would attract a nosy neighbor or two.
“Because, Crybaby, there’s nothing you could say that would change the facts. Your perspective doesn’t matter to me.” I lean back in the chair holding her gaze as I infuse my words with moral superiority. “You’ll do mental gymnastics to maintain the illusion that you did what you had to do, but that’s all it is, a performance that benefits you.”
Instead of responding, Becca exaggeratedly angles her body away as she sits in the lounger next to me. She has the audacity to act like she’s disgusted by the mere thought of being near me. While hypocritical, her insistent denial only makes this more fun. I will snatch away that security blanket, but for now, I’ll have some fun tugging on it until she’s ready to explode with frustration.
“Tell me something. If you’re so innocent, why are you wandering the house all night? Could it be that you’re growing desperate for any kind of distraction because if you’re alone with your thoughts for too long, all those pitiful excuses you’ve made for your mistakes will unravel themselves?” I tap one of my perpetually perfect nails against my chin. “Or is it because when you’re left to your own devices, I’m all you can think about?” While I wait for her answer, I toy with the thin string of my underwear that digs into my full hip. Her eyes follow. Too easy.
Rather than admit I’m right, a weak defense falls from her lips. “I can only spend so many hours occupying myself. Obviously, you can relate if you’re just lurking at the window like a goddamned stalker all night.”
If only she knew how much lurking I’d really done when we were alive. When I was still under the illusion that Becca was the one who got away. Lurking has turned into observing. Know thine enemy, and all that. “Like you said, there’s nothing better to do.”
“Exactly and unfortunately, you’re all I’ve got to keep myself busy.”
“Lucky me,” I sigh and stretch my arms over my head. “If you’re as bored as I am of arguing, there are other things that we could do to keep busy.” I antagonize her further. Usually a girl like Becca—lost, insecure, curious—would be so much fun to mold into my perfect little fucktoy. The ones who resist the most give in so beautifully. All that pent-up need makes them so malleable. It’s too bad she had to go and ruin everything. The plans I had for us. All I want to mold her into now is a tangle of emotions and a destroyed little mess so that she’ll never be able to get me out of her head once I’m done with her. I’ll only be satisfied when I know she lies awake at night roaming those halls wondering how she ever let herself fall for me.
“Only in your dreams.” We have a ways to go I guess, but right now I’m thankful for all the disdain I hold for her because the hissed rejection only faintly stings.
I shrug. “Whatever you say, Crybaby.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Maybe when you stop acting like one, I will.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Mhmm. The absolute worst.” She stands and flips me off, encouraging me to yell after her. “Don’t forget to call me that when you’re begging me to touch you; it kind of turns me on.”