Becca
Chapter 34
Becca
61 Days Dead
Her secret was a slicing blow that I never could have prepared for.
It’s bled me out and left me limp. There’s nothing without her now that I know how it can be when she’s everything.
And just like that, the sliver of sunlight I’d found in the long night of the afterlife has been swallowed up, pitching me into a darkness that I thought I’d escaped. Finding myself back here, in the bleakness of a new loss is terrifying. The brutal betrayal of her lie shatters every bone. It tears open my skin and splatters my insides all over the damn place. She’s wrecked me. All the fragile bits she’d started to mend, have gone to pieces.
It’s not that I don’t understand her anger, it’s that I can’t comprehend keeping such a vital secret while being so intimate. Just the thought is violating all over again.
I hate her for it. Anastasia. I hate her for the sense of safety she lulled me into. I hate her for unlocking the hardest-to-reach places inside myself that were poisoning me from the inside-out. I hate that she’s made herself a comfort. Without her, this bed is large and empty. Without the heat of her gaze, this world is too damn cold.
I hate her most because I still want her. My skin burns with the need to feel her touch. To settle the way my hair stands on end in a lingering state of fear. To chase away the memories of unwanted touches that still grab and pull at me when my mind is left to its own devices.
Once again, I yearn for the dark and quiet of death that I was robbed of. I can’t keep hurting, and hurting, and hurting, and hurting. At what point will I know peace? It continues to evade me no matter what I do, no matter how perfect I try to be.
I’ve hit low points in my lifetime, been to the depths of hell the night of my birthday, was dragged across the coals with Nate, Rob, and Richard, and fell into an abyss of pain when I had to witness the aftermath of my suicide.
Despite everything I’ve been through, it’s Stasi’s betrayal that keeps me up night after night and steals all of my energy day after day. The fact that she kept such a big secret from me, that she lied to my face every single day, should deter me from wanting anything from her. And yet, she’s all I think about. Yes, with anger, and sadness. But also with a profound longing.
My entire life, I thought that being the best at everything, having my life together, appearing to be the smartest, and ensuring I was pleasant to be around, someone who is described as easy, reliable, and independent , was what would fulfill me. Like once I was truly all of those things, once I reached some undetermined level of perfection, then I would be happy.
But the happiest I’ve ever been is lying next to her, having her hand in mine, letting her tongue and fingers inside me. The happiest I’ve ever been is being anything but easy . Stasi is a lot of things and has done a lot of things, but she never expected or required me to be quiet, small, or docile. If anything, she encouraged me to take up space, to make my flaws and discontent known. She was the one patiently helping me stitch back together the mangled pieces and tattered parts of me. Her adoration flipped the switch that made me come alive again.
But she also lied to me. Her obsession with us being together clouded her judgment. She didn’t stop to think about how her actions would impact anyone else, how they could rip me apart .
I was never whole to begin with though.
I’ve always been searching for something. You were always worthy . Her proclamation soothes the restless overachiever but provokes the romantic in me. How can she say that when she withheld so much? If she’d just given me half the trust I showed her, she would have realized that I have so many regrets about how things ended between us. I would have jumped at the chance to get my best friend back.
Would you? It’s Stasi’s—Anastasia’s—voice calling me out. She’s even inserted herself in my inner monologue.
With nothing but my own misery for company, I find myself facing more and more of those unpleasant childhood experiences. Like how I distanced myself from Ana. It started as a way to mitigate my own hurt and shame but developed into something so much more sinister. I didn’t just let our friendship fizzle out, I up and left her. Texts gone unanswered, calls left to ring through voicemail, logging off when she logged on instant messenger—not caring that she’d hear that slamming door—and then ignoring her at school. The worst of it though is something I’d refused to admit to myself for so long.
Aiden had done me another favor by giving me his yearbook, which he thought was a kindness. But while everyone thought I was the sweet one, he was really the twin with the better heart. He’d gifted me a piece of gossip that I was supposed to use as a bargaining chip to keep the popular girls off my back. It was meant to buy me some peace. Instead, I’d used it as a golden ticket—an escape from the worst of the torment—one that would secure me a spot in their circle while Ana was left to fend for herself. It was rotten, selfish, and an absolute fucking betrayal of everything we had. No wonder she’d wanted me to suffer.
And therein lies the problem, the rotted floorboards we’ve tried to build on top of . How is there any fixing it when the very core of our relationship is poisoned? When something’s bad from the start, you tear it out, straight from the root. That’s what I need to do. Tear Stasi out at the root. Get her out of my system, forget her, move on, start fresh, and figure out a way forward without her.
Without her.
Alone.
A simple word, but one that sinks right into my core and guts me in one fell swoop. Squeaking hinges interrupt my spiraling and my stomach twists with relief only to drop into a deeper pit of despair. My mom closes the door and grabs my robe from the hook there. Bringing it to her nose, she takes a deep inhale. Her exhale is a tormented sob that rips through me, tearing through the curtain of resolve I’ve put up between myself and them. She staggers to the bed and collapses against my pillows, right next to me. It’s like I can feel the life thrumming off of her in the panting of her breath and her shaking limbs. Watching my mom fall apart stirs up regret and longing that I’ve been trying so hard to drown out. My body aches with the strain of every atom of my being trying to reach across the veil and clutch onto her.
“Mom,” I whisper because I know it doesn’t matter if I scream. “Mom, I’m sorry I did this to us.” Even though she can’t feel it and it makes no difference, I reach out and stroke at the tears that coat her cheeks. “I never would have hurt you like this if I could have seen clearly through my own pain. All there was for miles and miles was what appeared to be an endless sea of monsters lingering in the dark. I wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting. I was so tired, Mama.” I tuck my head against her chest, forcing her to hold me close. I ignore her responding shiver. “I didn’t mean to lead you into the darkness, too. I didn’t think about you at all. I hope one day you can forgive me for that. I can’t bear the thought of you suffering forever.” A sniffle interrupts me. “You were a good mom. You didn’t deserve this kind of pain. I know I was your whole life, but I don’t want to be anymore. I need you to let me go.”
But she doesn’t leave. And I don’t have it in me to be the one to walk out that door just yet, so I close my eyes and simply enjoy the melody of her breathing, steady and slow, as she drifts into sleep. In each even breath, I can hear an echo of those lullabies she used to sing. Letting it transport me to another place, I sink into the comfort of my mother just this one more time.
By the time I open my eyes again, the sun is setting, casting my room in a sherbet glow that only brightens my mom’s smile. In her hand is one of the old photo albums I keep under my bed. This is one of the oldest, filled with pictures of me and Aiden where there are big gaps in our smiles and fewer differences between us. Years of family vacations—road trips to Vegas for the weekend, visits with our grandparents, and days at amusement parks—cover page after page as we travel through elementary and middle school. And that’s where I find Ana looking back at us, her soft round face hard to equate with the severe angles she favors with her makeup now. Instead of platinum and pink, dirty blond waves fall to her shoulders. It’s not easy to reconcile the two people. She’s changed so much, but in her eyes, the warm whiskey brown, I see the truth of it. Her gaze fixed on me in adoration instead of on the camera.
I missed so much.
But I guess that’s easy to do when you don’t want to see. To be fair to myself, I was just a child. But now…now I have a choice to make. Do I look away and shove her out of my life, or do I give us a real chance?
The words tumble from my mouth before I really think much of it, habit and instinct taking over. “It finally happened, Mom. I think I’m experiencing my first love. My last love? My only love? It’s complicated, but it’s just as painful as everyone says. Two times over, actually.” I scoot closer to her. “Do you remember Anastasia?” I laugh at myself. “Of course, you remember Ana. You used to ask me about her so much.” I swallow around the painful memory. “We found each other again. Would you believe it? Well, she found me. It’s actually kind of creepy...but also, romantic?” It’s romantic, isn’t it? I chew at the side of my finger. “Even though I was so lost, she came into that darkness for me. She was trying to protect me from Nate, that’s why he killed her.” Sitting up, I wrap my arms around my knees that I hug to my chest. “She came to set me free.” And suddenly all of the days of those childhood fantasies they try to sell us about the princess and the knight make so much more sense. But mine didn’t just try to save me from a dragon, she was trying to save me from myself. And just as I build up the fantasy in my head, I remind myself that she wanted something from me too. She hurt me, too. She set me free, but when she was breaking down those walls, I became collateral damage. “I think I love her. But she hurt me.” My wet cheek presses into the jutting bone of my knee. “She lied to me. She tricked me. At one point, she used me. That can’t be how you love someone. It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense.” Staring into my mother’s stormy grey eyes, I search for answers. But she can’t give them to me anymore.
I don’t need her to, because in the void of emptiness, there is only one thing that rings true: I love her. I love her for who she was to me, that matters, but for better or worse, I love her for who she is to me. For who she’s helped me become.
I need to tell her.
With purpose, I hop up from the bed, not even thinking about my mother sleeping there. But even though I’ve passed, her motherly instincts didn’t die. She sits up, eyes glued to the spot I was just residing in.
“Becca?” It’s hushed in disbelief, but the next time she says it her voice holds conviction. “Becca, sweetie? Is that you?” Her hand pats frantically across the empty space beside her. “Chris!” Her breaths are short as her eyes scan the area for any other signs. I remain still as stone. The need to call out to her crawls up my throat, sharp and desperate. But I refuse to feed into that hope. I can’t prolong her torment when I don’t know what my future holds. The restraint it takes has me shaking, but thankfully my dad is at her side holding her steady. Being the rock he’s always been for all of us. His arms lock around her waist as he whispers soothing words into her ear.
“No, Chris. No, she’s here. I can feel her. I told you. She was just here.” Her finger juts sharply to the bed repeatedly. “Becca was right there next to me. Becca is here now. Can’t you smell it?”
“Smell what, Erin? The dust. The lingering hint of our daughter’s fruity perfume?”
“No, past that. Can’t you smell the peach?” She turns in his arms, pleading with him to try harder. “Her hair. Can’t you smell it? Sweet. Soft. Her.”
My dad’s mouth opens and closes. He wants to understand, but he’s too in love with her to lie to her. Something I’ve always respected, but it fails to impress my mother, and she tears from his embrace. Bolting through the door, she’s back in seconds with my shampoo bottle in her hand.
“For Christ’s sake, Erin. Why do you still have that? We agreed.” My dad swipes a hand over his face.
“Breathe in deeply.” My mom waves her arm across the room, and her stare doesn’t leave him until he does so. “It’s. Her.” She flips the cap and presses it under my dad’s nose. “But much fainter, right?”
His cheeks hollow as water rises in his eyes. “Honey...” She bats away his hands as they reach for her.
“I know. A mother knows,” she insists, a punch to the gut that tears out my insides. “I know, Becca is here. I’m going to prove it.”
And then it’s just me and my dad as he takes a seat on the edge of my bed and hangs his head in his hands. The moment catches up to him, his breathing losing that even keel he maintained for her. “We miss you sweetie, but I can’t keep doing this.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he does. “I love you. I hope you’re not still here. For your sake and your mom’s. She’s slipping away from me, but I won’t lose her, too.” His hand covers his mouth but not before I watch his lips quiver with unsteady resolve. “Forgive me, Becca. I hope you’ve found the peace you were looking for.”
It’s another death realizing how badly my parents need me to stop haunting them. My mom and dad were always there when I needed them—at least when I gave them the chance to be. I wish it could have been enough to keep me safe from the rest of the world; I wish it would have been enough to keep me from self-destructing. There was nothing else they could do, but there is something I can still do for them— I can let them go .