Becca
Chapter 30
Becca
50 Days Dead
“Come on. I want to show you something.” Stasi drags me out the window and leads me up the ivy-laden ladder that’s attached to the side of the house. The view from the roof is beautiful; even though it’s one story off the ground, it feels like you’re so much closer to the sky here. The small distance from everything else in the world makes this space feel sacred—always has.
That awe is obvious in my voice as I turn in a circle taking in the view. “I haven’t been up here since I was little. Probably like eighth grade.” Not since I was a kid. Not since that sunset I didn’t know would be my last with her, my childhood best friend, the one I tried so hard to forget. I never came back up here, never shared an ice cream cone with someone again, never accidentally let my fingers tangle with another girl’s while they lay between us. “Do you come up here a lot?” I redirect the conversation.
“It’s one of my favorite places.” Stasi sits down with her legs crossed and leans back on her splayed hands like she’s completely at ease on the hard shingles.
Joining her, I’m reminded that everything feels different now. Edges are dulled, surfaces are softer, and there’s cushioning between us and the rest of the world. “I forgot how pretty the sky is when you’re a little bit closer.”
“Yeah, I love to come up here and think.”
“About?” She’s piqued my interest.
“Everything. Life, death, what I would have done differently. What I’ll do for the rest of forever.”
“You think we really have forever?” I haven’t allowed myself to put much thought into it. The concept of forever is terrifying, something I never had to consider before. It’s such a vague amount of time that I can’t even wrap my mind around it and honestly, I don’t really want to. I spent my entire life planning and preparing. The future was the vast majority of what I put my energy into and look how that turned out. Near the end there, it became a matter of just getting through every minute, every hour, every day.
“Who fucking knows?” Stasi lies back gazing up at the stars and I follow suit.
“Who cares.” Something about her relaxed demeanor is infectious. Everything about her is addicting. She’s opened my mind, my world to so much in such a short period. What could eternity be like with her? The thought chases off that momentary peacefulness I achieved. Where did that come from?
“Stop overthinking and just be here with me.” Stasi interrupts my thoughts, forcing them to halt and redirect. Giving me a mischievous smirk, she stands and cups her hands around her mouth, then screams at the top of her lungs. “Hello!” It echoes into the night around us, not a soul stirring at what would ordinarily be a bizarre disruption in such a quiet neighborhood. “Nobody can hear us. Nobody can see us. Nobody even knows we exist.” She sinks back down beside me on her knees, taking my hands cautiously in hers. I don’t even tense. “We’re completely alone in this world. Don’t you get how freeing that is?”
“I don’t think it’s something I can conceptualize. I’ve never felt free a day in my life.” I laugh because if I don’t, I’ll cry, again. I’m so goddamn tired of crying.
“Let’s change that. Put your hands like this.” She cups her mouth again.
“Fine.” I bracket my mouth with my hands.
“On the count of three.” Her laugh confirms this is ridiculous but at least we’ll embarrass ourselves together. “One. Two. Three.”
“Hello!”
“Hello!”
Our voices echo in synchronicity and disappear in the distance. Not a soul acknowledges us; nobody judges us.
“I’m dead,” Stasi yells. “I’m dead and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” This time, she shouts up at the sky.
“I’m dead,” I yell, too, the lightheartedness draining from my voice. “I’m dead and I wish I wasn’t.”
I ignore the pull of Stasi’s stare.
“I’m dead and I wish I hadn’t killed myself.” I drop my hands, instead whispering into the void around us. “But I’m done regretting it.” I turn toward Stasi. “I’m done punishing myself.” Some of the heaviness that’s bared down on me every day finally dissipates. “I’m sorry, Stasi. I’m sorry that I helped Nate hide your body. I’m sorry that I didn’t do the right thing. I’m sorry that it took me so long to genuinely apologize.” I fight the emotion that’s rising at the back of my throat and behind my eyes. She needs to be able to read the sincerity in the shape of the words and the weight of my eyes on hers. “I’m sorry that you’re dead, too.”
For once she’s speechless. Her brow furrows and her lip tucks behind her teeth. My anxiety and her uncharacteristic silence create an unbearable atmosphere of uncertainty, but I sit with the discomfort.
“You know . . .” Stasi bites at the tip of her nail. “I don’t think anyone has ever apologized for hurting me.” She stares at me for several more seconds, then clears her throat. “Thank you. I forgive you…for helping hide my body.” The small smile she gives me is genuine, but there’s something at war with it in her eyes, a distinct sadness that I don’t think I’ve ever seen there. I hate it. I hate wondering if I’m the one who put it there. I hate how it dilutes the brilliant brown that usually burns through me like the expensive whisky my dad used to bring out on Christmas.
At a loss for what else to say, I sit back down. The easy energy that was flowing between us is stifled by whatever I just stirred up. But when Stasi joins me and lays back, I follow suit.
“Are you any good at spotting the constellations? I honestly don’t know much about them.” She points upward and I follow the direction of her finger. “That’s the Little Dipper, right?”
Her casual air throws me off for a moment, so I have to search for my words. “No, that’s the Big Dipper.” Reaching across the small distance between us, I shift her finger over until the constellation she was looking for is clearly in her sights. “That’s the Little Dipper.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.” Her laugh isn’t brimming with confidence like usual; this time, it’s shy, uncertain. It doesn’t sit quite right with me.
“You were close. They’re easy to mix up.” Folding my hands over my stomach, I shift my hips a couple of inches closer to where she lays. “Not everyone’s a nerd who cares too much about being right like I used to be.”
“You’re not anymore?” She sends me a doubtful look from the corner of her eye that makes me roll mine. But that haughty laugh is back, and it warms me from within.
“You sound like my brother.” My light laughter dies as quickly as it starts. All of my attention shifts to closing the floodgates that just broke open. The rusty metal around my heart that I keep neglecting reminds me it needs attention.
“Aiden, really?” Either Stasi is ignoring the shift in my mood, or she knows what I need better than I do because she doesn’t miss a beat.
“Yeah.” I suck in a deep breath, an unnecessary but comforting habit. “I forget that you’ve . . . been around.” How was there ever a time when I was completely unaware of her?
“I imagine you miss him. He’s quite a character.”
When I turn to her, I expect to see the typical interest or lust for my brother—something I learned to guard myself against early on—but her expression is thoughtful.
“Of course I miss him. He wasn’t just my brother and my twin, we had a friendship. Maybe not a conventional one—I mean, we weren’t as close as we could be—but I loved him, and I know without a doubt that he loved me fiercely. We had our own way of being there for each other.” Afternoons spent in silence while Aiden would paint and I’d do homework come to mind. I wish I hadn’t taken them for granted. The thing is, when you’ve had your sibling around, and they’re there through the ups and downs, monotonous and eventful, it’s easy to act as if they’ll always be there. You never expect to find out that they won’t.
“Yeah, you two seemed to get along pretty well. Honestly, I was kind of jealous of your relationship.”
I roll over on my side, giving her my undivided attention.
“Being an only child was kind of lonely at times. Especially when I was short on friends.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of person who would have a hard time finding friends.”
Stasi’s gaze leaves mine, fixating on something in the distance. “The thing with friends is that it’s not so much hard to find them as it is to keep them. I mean, I didn’t do much of either, but I did have a best friend once.”
“What were they like?”
“She was my other half.” Toying with a piece of her hair, she grows more serious. “She made me feel like I was someone special, like someone who was wanted.”
“You don’t talk to her anymore?” This conversation makes me miss my own friends. Not how everything was distant and fucked up at the end, but when we were inseparable. I think of how Meg and my first close friendship were so similar. How both of them thought the same thing about me. How I made them both feel invalidated. The way I hurt both of them. Shame clings to the back of my neck like humidity. Can I even consider myself to have been a good friend?
“No.”
I nod solemnly. “Friendships are hard.”
“They are.”
“Do you think we could be friends?”
Stasi props herself up, giving herself a better view as she scrutinizes every detail of my face. “Is that what you want to be? Friends?” In a quick movement, she’s seated atop me, hovering just over my hips, stopping just short of trapping me beneath her. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually let my friends fuck my face.” Her hand latches around my throat and pulls me up to meet her lips. Claiming my mouth, her tongue presses between my teeth and strokes mine. While our tongues tangle, her possessive grip on my throat grows slightly tighter, forcing out a whimper.
“Is this okay? Do you like it when I hold you like this, Crybaby?”
I nod, chasing her lips.
“Tell me,” she demands. “Or better yet, I won’t even make you say the words. I’ll just check for myself.” The backs of her knuckles tickle my stomach as she undoes the series of buttons and pulls my shorts open as much as she can with the denim resisting. But she manages to slip two fingers down the front, dragging them up my center. Even over my panties, the movement has my hips jerking forward. “Oh yeah Babygirl, you’re so wet for me.” She scoots back onto the roof. “Take these off, I want to see for myself.”
Clumsily, I pull off my shorts, but when I go to remove my underwear, she swats my hand away.
“I said I wanted to see.” Grabbing my hand, she guides me back down. “Spread your legs for me. Show me how needy I make that pretty little cunt.”
Another gush of arousal seeps into the fabric between my legs as I open them for her.
“Oh sweetheart, look at you.” Her hands grip my knees as she stares down at the growing wet spot, speaking softly. “Just a few words have you soaking your panties?” She rubs her cheek against my knee. “I’m so glad you stopped lying to yourself because to deny this, well that would just be silly.” The brush of her thumb over the damp fabric has my legs twitching. “This pussy deserves better than that. It’s been neglected for so long, just waiting for someone to come along and fuck you the way you need.”
My panties just keep getting wetter and wetter, there’s no resisting it. My body yearns for her and that approving smirk. “Touch me. Please, I want you to make me come.”
“Oh, sweet girl, if you think you’re going to get me to rush through this, you don’t know me at all. I’m going to take my time with you, working you up, bringing you down, making you moan and sigh and gasp until you’re not sure where you end and I begin.” My hips jump when Stasi shifts my underwear to the side and slides a finger through my center. “I’ve been more than patient, and so will you.”
Biting my lip to prevent the objection that wants to slip free, I nod and try to relax as one finger enters me.
“Right here, this is where I belong, buried deep inside you.” I’m helpless but to let her drive another finger into me. The obscene squelching and my gasps are the only sounds between us as she keeps up a steady rhythm. “I love the way your pussy talks to me.” She hooks her fingers and drags them, making my hips jerk off the roof and a plea spill from my lips. “There we go, give me more. Yeah baby, so good to me, giving me every last drop.”
“Ah, god,” I yelp as she begins to pump into me faster and leans down to take my lip between her teeth. The smooth ball of her piercing tickles the tender skin.
“There’s no god here. Not in this dead world we find ourselves in. All you have is me.” Her tongue flicks against the open cut, soothing and inflicting discomfort at the same time. “You can pray to me if you want, though. If you ask real nice, I might even bless you with a chance to make me come.”
Wetness leaks down my thighs, between my ass cheeks, her words making it flood from me. I don’t even have time to worry whether that’s normal because she sends another shockwave of pleasure through me when she presses her thumb to my clit.
A gasping breath leaves me, and she inhales it greedily. “Does that feel good?”
“Y-yes. It feels s-so good,” I whine, growing more desperate for her by the second. My fingers ache with the need to feel her to the point that it becomes distracting, so I sit up and grab at her until she’s back in my lap.
“What do you want, Dirty Girl?” Her tongue gathers the remnants of me that coat her fingers. “Tell me and I might just give it to you.”
“I need to touch you.” I run my hands up her thick thighs that straddle me and slide them beneath her skirt, grabbing fistfuls of her round ass, trying to find something to tether me as I float outside my body and into some other realm of eroticism I haven’t experienced before.
“Do you want to feel what you do to me?” She takes my hand, folding all of my fingers but the middle and pointer, and then inserts them in her mouth. Her tongue ring tickles as she twists it around the digits. I’m confused until she slips it beneath her skirt and under the elastic band of her panties. My fingers twitch with the urge to sink deep inside of her. “That’s it, play with my pussy.”
She grips around me as I begin to pulse in and out of her. With her in my lap I can viscerally experience every flex and contraction in her thigh muscles, the press of her plush ass against my legs as she shifts up and down, and the friction of her cleavage rubbing against my chest. With her tits bouncing right in front of me, those three dermal piercings sparkling in the moonlight, my mouth waters uncontrollably. Unable to resist, I trace the outline of her nipple piercing over the fabric of her top while my left hand fumbles with the silver clasps. I admit defeat, realizing there are far too many to contend with while I’m still trying to keep up a rhythm with my right hand. “Take this off,” I plead.
She makes quick work of it like she’s done it a million times in far darker places. My stomach sinks for a moment at the reminder of just how much more experienced she is than me. But I don’t have time to dwell, as she captures all of my attention with her hand in my hair, pressing my lips to her breast. When I flick my tongue over her hard nipple, her satisfied groan encourages me to explore. Alternating between sucking, licking, and playing with the metal bar, I take my time learning what makes her squirm on my lap.
“Don’t stop.” Her words are a validating caress.
I squeeze her supple breast to keep it in my mouth as she begins to ride my fingers faster and harder. I love the way her body yields to me like I’m soothing an ache she’s been dying for. It’s the only surrender a woman like this will ever make, and I’m just grateful to witness it.
“Put another finger in. Fill me up.” I suck hard at the same time, which makes her whimper—a sound that could never get old. That girlish plea is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever heard. I did that to her. Cold, sharp-tongued Stasi just whimpered for me.
“Stroke your fingers li—” I drag them down the front inner wall, guessing at what she meant. I must have been right because her thighs shake. “Yes, ah, right there. That’s my girl.” She picks up her pace, riding me faster. I continue the motion and her free hand dives down to her clit. “Oh fuck, oh yes. Mhmm, that’s it. That’s—” Her words break off into a cry as she comes. The sensation of her pussy pulsing around me along with her teeth sinking into my shoulder pulls a moan from me in harmony with her own.
Stasi’s arms tighten around my shoulders as the aftershocks of her orgasm roll through her. “Fuck me, Dean’s List, you are a good student.” She laughs into my hair and my own follows.
Gently I slide my fingers out of her and cup my hands around her breasts, placing a kiss on each nipple.
“Nope, no more of that. It’s my turn.” She presses a manicured finger to my forehead and forces my lips away. The rosy buds taunt me as they harden under my attention. I would lick and suck them all night if she’d let me. I just want them in my mouth, so soft and sensitive. The way she squirms—
“Earth to Becca.” Stasi shakes her head at me. “Lay down, with your head that way.” She points to the edge of the roof, and I give her a wide-eyed look. “Just do it. Trust me.” She ignores the shake of my head and presses her palm to my chest, guiding me onto my back. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re already dead.”
Letting the argument go, I position myself like she says, my head hanging just slightly off the roof. A slow buzz begins to build at the same time she starts touching me.
Stasi trails her fingers along my inner thighs, brushes over my clit, and traces my center. My cunt tightens, seeking her touch, but she just keeps her finger moving in those teasing circles around my opening. “Please,” I whisper against her skin.
“What’s that, Sweetheart? You’re going to have to speak up if you want something from me.”
“Please try to make me come.” I attempt to find my voice.
“If you keep being so quiet I’m going to tease you to the brink of losing your mind and you’re ready to scream from this rooftop again. But this time, it’ll be my name.”
Never in my life would I have thought threats of humiliation would be erotic, but there’s nothing expected about her. I crave the way she pushes my expectations, and how she draws me past my limits with the promise of pleasure. “I want you to make me come,” I say with more confidence, earning a victorious smile from her.
“There we go, Angel. That’s a good start.” Stasi kisses me hard. As if she’s trying to summon the exact words she yearns to hear. “One of these days, I’m going to pull the filthiest words from your lips. I’m going to mold you into such a nasty girl who can give it as good as she takes it.” Her unrelenting strokes push me further into the fantasy she’s built up for us. Instead of a flood of dark thoughts, my head is light and empty of anything but the jolts of electric heat she sends through me with every swirl of her thumb and pump of her fingers. The faster she goes, the more my legs shake. The deeper she reaches, the louder my cries become.
“That’s it. Give yourself over to it. Let all that shit go, Becca.” She doesn’t let up on me. “You’re dead; who you were doesn’t matter anymore. Whoever you felt like you had to be doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just you and I at the end of the world. You’re mine and I won’t stop till you say my name. Until you tell everyone in this cookie-cutter little neighborhood who you belong to.”
Whether it’s the conviction in her voice or the reassurance that she won’t give up on me, a switch flips in my mind and nearly a year’s worth of tension and repression floods forward. I jump off the proverbial ledge without any hesitation. “Oh god, Stasi, ah—” Instead of fear, there’s only excitement and relief. An out-of-body experience is the only way to describe the way it feels falling apart on her fingers. There’s some kind of safety in her firm grip, in the selfless determination of her fingers and lips, in the need in her eyes. Her need for me, not want, need , is why my body, my mind, and my soul are drawn to her. The electric magnetism between us transcends the transactional nature of so many relationships—even the most important ones—that I had in my life. There is nothing but me and her, and when her hands, her lips, her teeth are on me, I know that it is everything .
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” Stasi says as places a kiss on my head and lays back.
On this high of what she’s given back to me, I want to give something to her—a truth.
Forcing the words out is like jumping out of a plane from thousands of miles above ground, but I’m betting on Stasi being my parachute. I have to believe she’ll be there to catch me. Cleaning my throat, I get it out before I lose my courage. “I’m . . . I’m queer.”
When Stasi turns to me with a smile and doesn’t say anything, I continue “That much I can accept, that much feels good to own. But, whether I’m bi, pan, lesbian, or anything else that’s something I can’t figure out. What if I don’t know what I am?”
She links her hand with mine and pulls me into a sitting position so we’re face to face and knee to knee as we sit cross- legged. “Well, the good thing is you don’t have to. You never did. Labels and shit like that are only as important as you make them. They have their purpose and can make us feel seen or safe, but you don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. As long as you’re living authentically to yourself, that’s all that matters.”
“Is it bad that I’m sad I didn’t get the chance to figure out that answer when I was alive?”
“It’s okay to feel sad that you didn’t get to live your truth and explore your identity more while you were alive. But that life is behind you. Don’t let regret take this step in your self-discovery from you. Here and now, it’s just me and you. And if you can accept that you’re queer, that you’re attracted to me, that you want me, then that’s all that matters.”
Stasi holds my gaze until I nod my agreement then we fall into a comfortable silence. I let myself observe her with fewer judgments and less fear. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. The stars behind her are dull compared to the vibrancy of all that she is.
She’s always commanded my attention, but before I saw her lure as a threatening presence. Now I see that she’s glitter, making me shine in all the ways I never imagined possible. The more time I spend with her, the more I learn about myself. The more I become myself .
How is it that the woman I helped condemn to a muddy grave has helped me claw my way out of my own hole? It seems impossible to know so little about someone but need them so badly. She stomped into my life at quite literally, the worst possible time, and we’ve been thrown together under the worst possible circumstances, but I can’t help but feel like she was always meant to be in my life. Maybe she was my fate all along.