Stasi
Chapter 36
Stasi
100 Days Dead
Despite what we’ve given over to one another—the vulnerability we’ve shared, the way we’ve stripped ourselves bare of our secrets—peace continues to evade us even now as we lie intertwined. Every inch of me protests as we try to find the right words while I stare into the void that’s gathered in the corner flickers. The pitch-black watches us right back, mocking the serenity we’ve found in its absence. But good things never last.
With a heavy sigh, I prepare myself to ruin the moment. “I’m going to need you to trust me.” Stroking her arm, I attempt to quell the anxiety I can feel building within her.
“Why does that sound so ominous?” Becca asks hesitantly, her muscles tensing beneath me.
I choose my next words carefully, remaining vague in an effort to build her up to the truth of the situation. “There’s another ritual we need to do, and this one…it’s a bit more invasive than the banishing we did before.”
Silence stretches between us as my words register. Instinctively, Becca looks over her shoulder, sensing its oppressive force. “It’s back? Why is it back?”
“I’ve been feeding it everything it needs—desperation, anguish, sadness—for the last few days.” Shame creeps into my voice even though there was no helping it. Becca only nods, like it wasn’t just me who brought this on. “If we want it to stay gone, I think we’re going to need something more powerful.”
With a deep sigh, she steadies herself. “What’s that exactly?”
“Blood.”
As expected she recoils, her fingers tracing the underside of her wrist. “I can’t.” Her voice falters.
“Becca, I need you to trust me.” Taking her face between my palms, I attempt to wrangle the fear that’s pouring from her wide pupils into her veins as we speak. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.” She shakes her head frantically, but I stay firm. “Remember, we can’t die. Nothing can truly harm us.”
“Why can’t we just ignore it? I’m sure we could if we tried?”
“That’s no way to live. And what if it turns its attention to your parents? I know that you don’t want that.” It’s not a dig at her vulnerability, but a real concern I would hate to see come to fruition. I don’t know much about these things, but nature is always seeking balance and what it doesn’t get from us, it’ll surely seek out another source.
Her shoulders heave up and down, but eventually, resolve spreads through her limbs. “Okay. I’ll do it for their sakes.”
“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
She nods and I take her hand, discreetly leading us to the bathroom. Once inside, I find a disposable razor that’s tucked away in the extra toiletries at the back of their cabinets. Patting the counter, I instruct Becca to hoist herself up. Her body vibrates with fear, but she does as I say.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She blows out a shaky breath.
Setting the razor on the counter, I start to undo her buttons.
“What are you doing?” Her hand on my wrist stills my movements.
“Making you more comfortable.” I kiss her forehead and continue. “Just trust me.” Complying, she lifts herself enough for me to pull her shorts down. Stepping between her legs, I take the razor in hand once again. With a deep breath, I bring it to my hand and dig it into my palm. The muted sensation is similar to that of a scratch, for which I’m very thankful. The tension in Becca’s shoulders drops just a bit.
“It’s not going to hurt much,” I reassure her. As if summoned by my blood, our guest of honor joins us. Gripping Becca’s chin, I keep her focused on me. “I need you to repeat after me and don’t stop saying these words.”
“Okay.”
“In our forgiveness, in our trust, in our love, we are stronger together. You hold no claim to us anymore. We banish you.”
She repeats after me and I focus on creating a small gash on her inner thigh. Interrupting her just briefly, I hold my hand to her mouth. She makes a face but puts her mouth to it reluctantly. Smearing it across her lips, I turn my attention back to her leg while she works the verbal part of the spell. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.” Pressing my lips to the cut, I suck at the blood, letting the taste of her fill my mouth, the final piece of her that was missing from my possession— I’ve never felt more whole .
The power of it fills me, completeness swelling within me as she confidently chants the words louder and louder in the face of the final challenge we have yet to overcome.
Glancing into the mirror, I watch proudly as light scatters through the void, threatening its form and loosening its hold. The voices it emulates, now barely a breeze on the wind, unable to touch us or play with our minds. Assured that Becca has this handled; I’m determined to amplify the spell in my own way.
Returning my lips to the cut on her leg, I suck and lick at the blood that flows, then work my way up. Pulling her panties to the side, I tease my tongue between her lips. A small gasp escapes her, but she doesn’t falter in her recitation.
“In our forgiveness, in our trust, in our love, we are stronger together. You hold no claim to us anymore. We banish you,” she repeats again and again as her hands sink into my hair.
Tilting her hips forward, she leans back against the mirror, opening herself up to me— trusting me —even in the face of what terrifies her. Rewarding her for her bravery, I slip a finger inside her and lavish my attention on her swollen clit.
“In our forgiveness, in our trust, in our love, we are stronger together.” The last word drags its nails across my back in a moan. The voices coming from above warp and crackle, fizzling out with every roll of her hips.
“You hold no claim to us anymore.” She clutches at me tighter but still manages to remain focused, the air at my back becoming lighter and cooler. “We banish you, ah—” Shaking legs clench around my head as she barrels into an orgasm that has her writhing and gasping and grinding against my open mouth. I greedily collect every drop of her, inhaling like it’s the only thing that can sustain me.
A silent calm falls over us as we both come down from the influx of energy flowing between us.
“You did it, Becca.” I claim her lips with mine, tender and slow. “I’m so proud of you for facing your fears.” Gathering her in my arms, I take her back to her room and tuck us into her bed. She turns to me, curling into my chest, then wraps one of my arms around her. The simplicity of it isn’t lost on me, but her allowing me to hold her with such ease, is monumental and I promise myself to never take one of these moments for granted.
My entire life, I’ve been starved for affection, cursed with an unyielding thirst for devotion. Having Becca’s adoration, her trust, and her heart, it’s like I’ve finally been brought in from the cold and offered a lavish feast. This new dynamic between us— where we’re not both constantly on guard, protecting our secrets—nourishes me to the point of feeling full for the first time. It assures me that there was never any ‘getting her out of my system’ or ‘letting her go’, she was always meant to be mine.
Mine to protect, mine to lean on, mine to possess in every way.
Curling my arm around her, I tug her closer so I can press my lips to her throat, enjoying the way she struggles to swallow.
“Wait, I have something I want to show you first.”
Sighing my protest, I bite at her collarbone like I did on Halloween. “I never did fulfill my promise of claiming you as mine.”
Pushing me off, she rolls out from under me. “I promise it will be worth it.”
“Fine, but it’s going to have to be something big to compete with what I have planned for you.”
I watch with curiosity as Becca’s calves flex as she presses up onto her tiptoes and retrieves something from the top of her closet, freeing it from the weight of the sweaters she had stacked on it. For several moments she remains still, just staring down at it. Restlessness begins to gnaw at my gut, but I force myself to stay where I wait on the floor. Finally, she turns around with glassy eyes. Her long fingers curl around a small rectangular box that’s clutched against her stomach protectively.
When she sets the Sketchers shoebox in front of me, we both stare at it like it might detonate. As someone with an aversion to patience, I have to fold my hands in my lap to avoid tearing the lid off.
“You know,” she mumbles and sets a hand on top of it. “I thought locking up the memories of you and putting them out of sight would make me forget about everything.” She shakes her head and huffs a humorless laugh. “But you were always there, beneath all the layers of protection I’d built against the world. I could never hide from the brand your friendship—your unconditional love—put on my soul. For long bouts of time, I forgot about it under all that scar tissue, but then, some days, I could still feel the burn of it.” Her hand rubs across her chest like she’s trying to soothe heartburn, and then she grips the edges of the lid, revealing a time capsule trapped inside.
It’s bursting with little notes folded into triangles with colorful writing on them, keychains, and discolored photos of two smiling girls who had no idea what the world had in store for them. With eager hands, I sift through the contents, a pile of ticket stubs catching my eye. Thumbing through them I’m drawn down memory lane—to the time Becca’s mom took us to the Dream Within a Dream tour up in Sac—I was more of a Christina girl but it was still iconic. There’s one of those instant photo strips stuck to the back of it featuring me with pigtails sporting pink pom-poms and Becca in the red track pants and yellow tank she loved.
“We look so cute,” she chimes in, hovering over the box.
“We look happy.”
Beneath the concert tickets is a mood ring—which I discreetly pocket—and movie tickets, most notably Blue Crush, an instant-favorite of mine, for what are now very obvious reasons.
“I mean, the way I obsessed over Michelle Rodriguez . . . I feel like there was really never any question,” I laugh holding up the ticket stub for her to see.
“Is that your type?”
“ You’re my type.” Taking the opportunity, I lean in and kiss her. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a childhood crush?”
“Of course not,” she dismisses a little too quickly.
“Good. You know you’re my only girl. But if you need me to remind you—” She cuts me off with a stack of CDs that thud against my chest. I don’t need to read the writing on them to know they’re the ones we used to exchange for any and every occasion—birthdays, holidays, trips, whatever. Turning over Slumber Party Mix , the scratches prove it lived a good life.
“Do you remember when we’d make my mom and dad watch us perform?” Becca tilts her head back in laughter, the sound coming so effortlessly, but it’s a testament to how far we’ve come. It’s the reassurance I need that we’re good for each other.
Stopping to show each other trinkets—butterfly hair clips, stretchy tattoo chokers, those spiky headbands—we revisit our childhood and the simple joys we shared once upon a time. But when glinting silver catches my eye, I become determined to uncover what’s buried in the corner. With a shaking hand, I slip my fingers under the stack of photos we’d begged her dad to print at the drugstore, and tug at the necklace chain tucked beneath them.
She kept it. I’d always assumed she’d thrown it away like she had our friendship, but I guess I was wrong about a lot of things.
I hold it up between us, the half-heart with its jagged inner edges looking lonely without its other half. Just like me. “You kept it?”
“It’s been here since the day I took it off, along with all the memories of us. I couldn’t bear the reminder, but I couldn’t part with it.”
Absentmindedly, I run my finger over the cursive font that’s delicate and sweet, just like our friendship had been. Across the silver are two lines of broken text:
st
ends
Becca holds out her hand and I drop it into her open palm.
“I still remember the day you gave me mine.” I sigh. “The fact that you’d had it made and picked everything out, down to the charms and jewels that hung from the clasp had meant the world to me.”
Her smile is equal parts sad and touching. “I’d chosen the pink jewel for you and the purple for me. Mine had the butterfly charm and yours had the—” she breaks off swallowing thickly.
“The bow.” Her eyes flick to the bows on my thighs that resemble the charm that had once adorned my necklace. I don’t confirm or deny the question in her eyes. “I was devastated when it broke off and disappeared. I tore my room apart looking for it, but it must have fallen off somewhere else.”
“I almost destroyed mine. I’m glad I kept it. I’m glad I was able to keep you close.”
“I can’t believe you really used it to make a piercing. I meant it when I said you were out of your mind,” she gasps between kissing me.
Smirking, I rub a hand across her stomach where my piercing and the last piece of the necklace now live. “I’ve always been out of my mind for you. Consider me proudly obsessed .”
Becca wraps a hand around the back of my neck and urges me forward so our lips collide and her tongue slides over mine with purpose, worshipping that heart at the center of it. As our kiss intensifies, so does her boldness.
“Can you get up on the bed for me?” A bundle of curiosity and lust, I comply. I’m rewarded as she tugs my skirt over my hips, running her hands down my legs and dragging her lips over my stomach as she rises to remove my top. “What are you going to do with me, Babygirl?”
“Treat you like the goddess you are.” Without hesitation, she cups my breasts, latching her mouth around one and teasing the bar on the other. Every suck and flick of her tongue has my back arching off the bed.
“We’re off to a good start,” I encourage breathily.
With my interruption, she releases me with a pop. “So glad you approve. Now how about you put your hands against the headboard?”
Becca’s directness renders me speechless as I do as she says.
Climbing off the bed, she stands beside me, reaching up to grab several strands of the dangling fairy lights behind her bed. We’re both silent as she focuses all of her concentration on wrapping them down my arms and around my wrist, before looping them through the opening in the headboard. She repeats the process on my other side.
“Alright, my dirty girl, you’ve got me all tied up, now what?” I taunt as she crosses the room and returns with more lights that are wound up and around my legs, then my torso. When she finishes, she latches her hand around my ankle and brings her lips to the arch of my foot, kissing gently.
“Now I’m going to have my way with you,” she answers with surprising matter-of-factness, while running her fingers under one of the strings that digs into my stomach, not uncomfortably, but enough to create new contours over my body. “You said you’ve always been told you’re too much…we’ll you’re not for me. I love you exactly as you are. Every inch of you.”
“Is that so?” My breath catches as she drops kiss after kiss down my torso until she’s back at the end of the bed.
“Mhmm,” she says sweetly as she makes quick work of her clothes. “And I’m going to show you just how worthy of worship I think you are.” Laying on her stomach, Becca loops her arms under my thighs and brings her face to my center, but she stops just shy of burying her face in my cunt.
“That’s not very nice, getting me all worked up only to play with me.”
“I learned from the best.” She smiles up at me before sticking her tongue out and flicking it gently against my swollen cunt. That sight alone nearly undoes me as my pussy floods with arousal. I love this side of her, the playful one that tests me. A bit of push to my pull. Those blue-grey eyes flash with mischief as she gazes up at me and I clench with need as she skips right over my center to nip at my thigh.
Impatiently, I yank until one hand is free so I can lace my fingers through her soft strands, and I press her mouth against me. “Go on baby, let your tongue show me just how much you adore me. I’ve been waiting for a proper tribute.”
Like the teacher’s pet that she is, Becca sucks and licks with just the right amount of intensity at just the right pace—she’s learned my body so well in such a short time. Pride swells within me, my pussy clenching at the satisfying reminder that I’ve taught her everything she knows, that I’m the only woman she’s been with. I love the assurance that she’ll never devote herself to anyone else’s body like this. “That feels so good. You’re doing such a good job, Baby,” I mumble against her ear. “My perfect girl.”
“Say it again.”
“My perfect girl,” I repeat, and she whimpers helplessly in response. “Look at me.” With my fingers under her chin, I tilt her head up, capturing her full attention. “I want you to hear me when I say this.” She nods. “Even when they thought you were theirs, you were always mine. You were always mine and you were always loved. You were always mine and you were adored. Because to me, you were perfect. Every day, every moment.”
Becca nods, teary-eyed and swollen-lipped.
“Say it.”
“I was always yours,” she says as a tear trails down her cheek. I’m captivated as I watch the crystalline exorcism of all the years she never felt good enough, and make a vow to myself that I will spend my afterlife affirming her in every way she needs.
Instead of stating her appreciation with words, she shows me, doubling her efforts, proving something to both of us. I let her have her way with me, just happy to have that mouth on me. Hungry for me. Greedy for me. Eager to please me.
And she does, sending me headfirst into a mind-blowing orgasm that has me nearly tearing down the lights that she’s wound around me.
A girl could get used to this kind of treatment, and I intend to. We have so many years to make up for.