Becca
Chapter 20
Becca
28 Days Dead
My argument with Stasi that’s been replaying in my head all day is interrupted by the clattering of silverware. “I can’t live in this tomb anymore or I’ll die right along with her,” my brother says abruptly interrupting my parents’ silent dinner as he carries a box to the entryway. The statement reaches across the veil and throttles me. As if I haven’t had enough devastating changes lately. The tiny island of stability I’ve found rocks beneath me at the realization that he’s willing to leave everything he knows, including the parents who have always supported him despite his antics and nurtured his interests, even when other kids tried to beat the different out of him. My gaze turns to the chair across from me that’s perfectly worn to his body from countless family dinners and endless hours playing games—cards, dominoes, and board classics—as a family. Will I ever find him sitting there first thing in the morning, with messy hair and a smile on his face while mom bakes his favorite blueberry muffins again?
He’s leaving a lifetime behind. I did that. Ripped out the rug of our lives from beneath our feet. His knees are bruised, but far worse, something in his soul shattered. The priceless vase that got knocked over in the final struggle of my life.
Of course he doesn’t want to be here where there’s a constant reminder of the worst day of his life—and I do hope it remains that way, and that nothing worse ever happens to him. Even though it’ll break me further, I hope it gives him the chance to start putting himself back together. It’ll do him good to put some space between us, or the memory of me. He’s become a shell of the lively, lovable person he used to be. Aiden deserves to find his way to himself. But the undeniable fact that he’s leaving me behind, running from my presence, makes me realize how empty I am without him. Who am I without my twin when I’ve already lost everything else? It’s selfish and unfair to think of him as my only source of comfort, but having him to watch after, seeing him miss me, is soothing.
I follow Aiden out as he loads two large boxes into his car with a grunt.
“I’m dropping these at the post office, then I’ll be back, but I leave on the first flight out Friday.” Knives sink into the tender meat of my heart. He’ll be gone so soon. Determined to spend the little time he has left here together in whatever way I can, I sneak into the passenger’s seat as he closes the trunk.
My plans are quickly scattered to the wind when we pull out of the driveway. As soon as the tires roll onto the street my head and stomach pulse with agony that sends my thoughts spinning and nausea whirling in my empty gut. I steady myself against the walls of the shower as I find myself transported to our bathroom. Bewildered, I run to the front window and catch sight of the back of the car as he turns left and continues on his way without the slightest idea of what just happened. Blissfully unaware.
Didn’t I want that for him?
Shame and longing ache in equal measure. I have to let him go.
As I stand, I can feel the chasm opening inside me. My feet spur me forward but my mind is stuck back in Aiden’s car. I’m forcing a door open, unseeing, but everything abruptly comes into focus with a single moan.
Instead of turning away, I find myself rooted in the most blatant display of pleasure I’ve ever seen. Not that that’s saying much—of the sex I’ve had, most of it’s been fine, some of it painful and cruel. But this, this is something different altogether. The strumming of fingers and the rolling of lush hips makes masturbation look like a goddamn art form. I’m hypnotized by quaking thighs spread on top of the counter, sharpness carving into softness.
“Fuck, yes.” Stasi’s groaned words are a powerful spell that pulls me forward.
I’m transfixed by the show unfolding before me. The way she’s losing herself in her own touch is a spectacle. But what really captures my attention is the silver that catches the light. She has her clit pierced. I never even considered someone might do that . . . there. My stomach doesn’t turn in disgust, it flips with a nervous energy. My eyes gravitate to the full breasts I did my best not to ogle at the other day. Those tempting silver bars press against the tight black shirt as if to say ‘touch me here’. The clasps down the center of her top strain as she arches into her own palm.
Look away. I urge myself. Instead, I’m engrossed by the flashes of ecstasy that cross Stasi’s face, the glistening wetness between her thighs, and the quivering of her legs when she inserts a finger—all of it.
“Are you going to participate, or are you just going to watch?”
Humiliation heats my cheeks, and I turn around so abruptly that a sharp twinge sparks in my knee. “I was just leaving.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” she says through panting breaths. “Having you here is making me so wet. Fuck it’s pouring down my thighs.”
God she is. “Aren’t you going to stop?” A restless energy builds inside me.
“Why would I? After all, I was thinking of you.”
“Excuse me?” I choke out. Surely, I couldn’t have heard that correctly.
“I said—” she inhales quickly, “I was thinking about you and how good it’d feel to have that reluctant tongue licking my pussy.” She pulls a finger from between her legs and traces her lips. “The way your lips would look coated in my wetness. How delicious we’d taste together when I lick it off.” Stasi’s hips jerk off the counter suddenly. “Oh, fuck. I could come from just imagining my clit kissing yours while you lay below me trying so hard not to show just how much you love it too.” Stasi slips two fingers into herself, pumping quickly. Her thighs spread just a bit wider, enough room for me to stand between them, but I force my feet to remain firmly in place.
This isn’t me. What happened between us before was just because I was drinking. I don’t want her.
I definitely don’t want to taste the wetness that’s dripping down her ass and onto the counter. I attempt to swallow, but my throat is burning and dry. I definitely don’t want to kiss those glistening thighs as Stasi works hard for her orgasm. I definitely don’t want to sink my fingers in and out of her to pull those moans from her lips.
Stasi grinds her hips upward into her own hand. “Look at you, stunned into silence. I know you want me. Why don’t you just come have a taste?” She pulls her fingers from inside herself and holds them out toward me. “Just admit how thirsty you are, and I’ll be more than happy to let you have a drink from my dripping pussy.”
Shaking my head from left to right, I’m at a loss for words.
“Suit yourself. It’s your loss,” she taunts through a smug smile.
I can’t move or look away, completely entranced by the squelching that punctuates the rhythm of her fast-working fingers moving in and out, in and out, despite how her body tenses around them.
“I’m, oh fuck, yes, yes, yes—” she struggles to get out coherent thoughts as her body convulses, hips jerking eyes rolling back, toes curling. Every masterful painting, every breathtaking song, every poem pales in comparison to the way Stasi looks right now. Divine.
But that doesn’t mean I want her. I’m just appreciating another woman’s love of her body. Perfectly acceptable thoughts anyone would have in my position. It’s like watching porn or a movie, I can appreciate the eroticism of it, but I don’t want to be part of it. Especially not with her .
With that settled, I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to . . . you know. You just caught me off guard. I was in shock.” I gesture toward her as she flattens her skirt over her thighs.
She snorts a laugh. Bullshit . “I like to watch, too. There’s something so hot about women touching themselves, empowering themselves to get off just how they like it. Don’t you think?” She slips her finger into her mouth and sucks it with a loud pop.
“I didn’t like watching. It’s just, I’ve never,” I clear my throat again, unable to keep ahold of my voice that wavers up and down. “I haven’t ever seen another woman masturbate. Not in real life at least.”
“You’re welcome to watch any time you want, but I can promise it’s so much more fun when you participate.” A mischievous smile curls her lips. “It’s okay if you don’t know what to do, I’m always happy to teach.” Stasi slides down from the countertop and saunters toward me.
“Can we please stop talking about this?” The words are rushed, frustration making them more of a plea than the demand I’d hoped.
“Sure, Crybaby.” I scoff in objection, but she ignores me and brushes my hair over my shoulder, with the same fingers that were just inside her. “So, what did you want? I hope it’s something a hell of a lot more interesting than the fuck-all I have going on around here. Being dead is such a fucking drag.”
“Just forget it. It’s nothing.” I’m reeling from the shocking distraction Stasi unknowingly provided, not quite sure how to voice my despair after that . I’m not sure why I thought she was a person to lean on in the first place. She quite literally bragged about how miserable she wanted me to be. This was a terrible idea , I scold my subconscious.
I turn on my heel to leave, but the sudden grip on my elbow stops me in my tracks. “Don’t do that.” My voice is an unfamiliar growl as I jerk my arm out of her reach.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” The somber tone she uses makes me want to believe she actually gives a shit.
I don’t want to be vulnerable in front of her, but it’s too late; she’s cracked the thinly veiled composure I was holding together. Of course I’m not okay. I don’t even know what that means anymore.
Okay with being dead?
Okay with losing everything?
Okay with my brother abandoning me?
Okay with the riptide of confusing emotions that rises up within me every time I’m in her vicinity?
What kind of question is that? When was the last time someone thought to ask me that?
Where I expect to see hardened indifference, there’s a reassuring warmth that’s enough to surrender the walls I’ve been holding up around me. My weary bones going soft as I sink to the floor. “He’s leaving.”
“Who’s leaving?” Stasi moves closer, an arm outstretched that makes me scoot closer to the door, and thankfully it’s enough to make her think better of it.
“Aiden,” I say between too-quick breaths. The panic swirling inside me doesn’t care that I don’t actually need to breathe, it’s just leaning into muscle memory. My airway constricts; my lungs are tight. These drowning sensations have become far too familiar. I’ve spent so much of these last few months under water.
With careful movements, she comes closer. My breathing shallows further, the chaotic rasping is ear-shattering. Preparing for her to grab at me, my shoulders tense, but she surprises me again by sitting on the floor. Slowly I drag my gaze over my shoulder, watching her as she folds her hands in her lap.
“What—”
“Turn around.” Her voice is low and steady, all of the usual sharpness filed down. “You’re having a panic attack. You need to find your center.” Something about the uncharacteristic tranquility she’s radiating has me following her instructions, one leg folding under another as I sit across from her.
“Put your arms across your chest like this.”
I lean back instinctively, but Stasi doesn’t reach for me. Instead, she demonstrates on herself and I copy her.
“Good. Now, inhale deeply; try to get to five. If you can’t, it’s okay; we’ll work up to it.”
One. Two. Three. I fail my first attempt as the sucking rasp starts again.
“One,” she says, encouraging me to try again. This time I get to four before my lungs clench tightly. It takes two more times, but I finally get there. The old familiarity of achievement soothes something deep inside me; it’s enough to help me get a grip on my breathing.
“Good.” She smiles and this time, it isn’t that knowing Cheshire cat grin, it’s soft and warm, filled with relief. “Repeat after me, ‘I’m safe. Everything is going to be okay.’”
“I’m safe.” I take five more breaths. “Everything is going to be okay.” With each breath, calm spreads through my body. For a few minutes we simply mimic each other.
But it’s not long before shame overshadows that peace, a warm summer’s day ruined by the humidity. “I’m sorry.” Knees pulled up to my chest, I fold in on myself, attempting to disappear.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
I expect a condescending remark, but mercifully, she lets it go.
Exhaustion descends on me as my body attempts to regulate. “Can I sit here for a little bit?”
“Sure.” Stasi stands and walks to the other side of the room. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight, you can stay here.”
That’s…unexpected. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“I know you desperately want to paint me as some heartless monster, but I hate to break it to you, I’m not. I’m not one to turn my back on someone when they need me most.” There’s an edge in her words that takes me by surprise.
“Right. Well, there’s only one bed . . .”
“Wow, what an astute observation. No wonder you were on the Dean’s List.” She beams with sarcasm.
“How did you—”
“Anyway, what about it?”
“Shouldn’t one of us take the couch?” I eye it uncertainly. I haven’t slept out here since high school, but I could barely stretch out on it back then.
“I mean, you are welcome to it. I’ll be sleeping up here.”
I eye her skeptically.
“You’re worried I’m going to what? Touch you?” She scoffs. “You’re safe, Crybaby. Grieving isn’t really a turn-on for me. If you’re really that worried about it, we can put pillows between us. Your mom certainly has enough on that mountain.”
With a harsh swallow, I look from her to the bed, then back again.
“Scout’s honor I won’t even think about laying a finger on you.” She holds three fingers up, and I can’t help but squirm as I remember where they were when I first came in here. It feels like hours ago but that tingling feeling in my stomach comes back. I hurry over to the bed and busy my mind as I pull back the comforter and rearrange the pillows to create a clear divide.
Stasi shrugs, then starts to undo the clasps on the front of her top.
“What the hell are you doing?” It comes out as a shout that’s embarrassingly shrill.
“You can’t seriously expect me to sleep in this? I always sleep naked. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t already seen it all.”
“It’s not like we actually need sleep now. Can’t you just be uncomfortable for one night?” I plead with her.
“Whether I need the sleep or not, I don’t want to spend the whole night tossing and turning. Being dead is already boring enough. I don’t need eight more miserable hours in my day.” Stasi unclasps the first hook. “Sorry to inconvenience you, but not all of us had the forethought to wear something comfortable before we died. One of us didn’t choose to die.”
The air pulls taut like a noose between us at the mention of my suicide. “Do whatever you want.” The reminder of my death makes her being naked a non-issue because all I can think about is the sight of my unconscious body and my family falling apart around it.
“Fuck,” Stasi sighs under her breath as she slides under the covers quickly. “I’m sorry. That was too far. I know it’s still a sore subject for you.”
“Uh, yeah. I literally just fucking died. Of course it’s still a sore subject. Whatever you think you know about my death, you’re wrong,” I hiss in disbelief. I attempt to settle my irritation by closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. I don’t want to accept her apology but I’m not in the mood to argue. I just want this day to be over. “I’ll find you something more comfortable to wear tomorrow,” I offer.
“Don’t bother. You won’t have my size,” she mumbles and somehow that makes me feel even worse for being so oblivious.
Is this how my eternity will be? Stilted conversations and arguments, forever at odds with the only person who can see or hear me. This fucking sucks. I just want to escape it all, I want the peace I thought I was rushing toward. In an attempt to slow my thoughts, I begin counting sheep. After the third round of one hundred, that fuzzy lucidity of dreaming begins to settle in. As I drift and ease into the embrace of sleep, I can distantly hear the familiar melody of Once Upon a December . My surprise quickly melts away as I lose consciousness.
Unfortunately, that serenity is fleeting, my dreams veering into completely different territory, specifically, to Stasi kneeling between my legs. Shocked by what I’ve conjured up, I awake abruptly to my hips rocking creating an intense pulsing between my legs.
A snicker sounds from beside me, and I nearly jump out of my body. My eyes meet Stasi’s, which are much too close to my own for comfort. But when I go to lean away, I shift again accidentally grinding down on something between my legs. Instead of finding a pillow, skin meets skin. Horror clutches me as I realize it’s Stasi’s thigh.
“I can explain. This isn’t what it looks like.” A reasonable explanation evades me as I attempt to pull away, but her hand clutches my ass.
I shoot her a glare, but the cocky grin spreads wider across her face. “Oh?” she says expectantly.
“Don’t look at me like that. Sex dreams are completely normal.” With a heave, she shifts me up and down her leg.
“Shh. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not. But you have the wrong idea.” I push her hand off my ass. “It wasn’t about you.”
Her raspy laugh only adds to the pleasure I’m fighting between my thighs. “Aww, don’t be mad at me because you weren’t able to sleep beside me for one night without touching me. There’s no need to lie.” She lifts my leg, spreading me open. “Look at that. There’s no denying that your pussy is wet for me.” Stasi shrugs smugly. “I tend to have that effect on women.”
Insecurity bubbles within me at the accuracy of her words. The last thread of my pride hinges on me not looking down at my soaked shorts. I fail when she strokes a lone finger down the seam, applying just enough pressure to make my hips lift. The reaction is instinctual like my body desperately wants to obey her. Instead, I sit up and slam my legs shut, guarding myself against any further provocation.
My tired body’s reaction doesn’t mean anything. It’s still trying to purge the mental image of her touching herself; this is just a residual side effect. It did something to my brain chemistry. It made me want her.
No . No. No. Not want her. I wanted that elusive freeing feeling she embodies. It’s been so long since I felt anything remotely close to pleasure. Not since you had her fingers rubbing you. My disloyal subconscious supplies.
I shake the disconcerting thoughts away only to find Stasi watching me closely. Too closely. Huntress eyes too keen. “You don’t have an effect on me.” I use air quotes around the last five words. “You’ll never have that effect on me.”
“Is that a challenge?” She has the audacity to perk up.
“No,” I hiss as I untangle my feet from the blankets and get out of the bed. Her spicy floral perfume is clouding my judgment as I try to find my words. “No, it is not a challenge.” I pull my flannel tightly around me. “The only reason anything ever happened between us was because I was drunk, okay. And asleep.” I tack on. “I’m not like you.”
Her jaw ticks and that flame of lust in her eyes takes on an icy chill. “Not like me?” She crawls across the bed toward me and instead of retreating, my traitorous eyes rove over her naked body. “Liar.” Her breath across my cheeks is a jarring return to reality, immediately bringing my attention back to her face.
“Fuck you.” The words arch from my lips and land a deep cut.
Stasi eases off the bed so she’s standing in front of me; looking down her nose at me despite the fact that she’s completely exposed. “Not even if you begged.” Each syllable is weighted with promise.
Instead of the acidic disgust I expect to invade my throat at the insinuation, rejection punches me in the gut, and something like desperation tugs at my core. It’s disorienting, the start of a carnival ride when you’re not ready. I hate her fucking games. “ Not even if you were the last person on Earth . . . oh wait.” I retort, but the smart comment is weak, just like the threads of my sanity around this woman.
“Get. Out,” Stasi bites out, her eyes focused above my head.
Without another word, I gather what’s left of my pride and race toward the door, only slowing momentarily to check that no one is in the backyard.
As I shut the door, bitter words follow me out. “And don’t come back until you’re done being a fucking coward.”
I cast a glare at the hidden grave she was buried in. It shouldn’t be possible for someone I helped put in the ground to become the bane of my existence.