Page 16 of Warmer, Colder

I bite my lip, so I don’t gag when Nate’s thighs touch the back of mine.

The picture next to that one is of Nate and his dad standing in an office in front of the logo for Peters Group, Attorneys at Law. The older man has a hand on his son’s shoulder, the grip authoritative, his straight mouth cold.

Nate’s hand clamps around the back of my neck like I’m squirrely prey. A chill creeps down my spine reminding me that it’s time to go.

I’m eleven again. It smells like freshly mowed grass and sunblock. The sun shines in a blue sky and the breeze is refreshing on my skin. I separate paper cups while Ana, my best friend, fills them each three-quarters of the way with our homemade pink lemonade.

The scene glitches, a pair of thighs are pressing into my face and my throat is so full it hurts.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I find the lemonade stand again. Ana’s smashing strawberries that will be poured into the cups after each person pays. Her dark blond hair tangles around herwhile she attempts to remain focused, having to pause every few seconds to get it out of her eyes. After the fourth time, I move behind her and gather the flyaways in my hands. On autopilot, I divide her hair into two parts, then each part into three strands, crossing the pieces over one another until they’ve been wrangled into tidy braids. The style suits her round face; it’s my favorite. But I love the smile and the pink of her cheeks more.

The squeaking mattress and the claps of skin on skin interrupt the peaceful day.

Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen.I remind myself. I keep repeating it in my head until I’m with her again.

Ana pokes her finger through the plates of the braid. “Bex,” her voice is hesitant.

“Yeah?” I stop messing with the sign we have tied with twine to the front of the table.

“We’ll be friends forever, right?” She worries her lip between her teeth. Doesn’t she know they’re too pretty for that?

“Yes, forever.” I throw my arms around her shoulders. Hers wrap around my stomach, and I’ve never felt safer. “Best friends forever.”

“Becca,” Nate’s voice booms from behind me, shattering the memory. “Becca, get the hell up.”

Sitting back on my knees, I press my hands to my thighs, ignoring the wetness that transfers from my ass cheek to my calf. “S-sorry.” On autopilot, I quickly yank my underwear up, then grab my dress off the floor and pull it on over my heels. Without looking back, I exit the room and fly down the stairs, nearly twisting my ankle in the process. Going into the kitchen, I open the cabinet under the sink and snatch up the flannel I wore over to cover myself up on the way. I button the top, middle, and bottom buttons.

Flinging the front door open, I take a deep inhale. Two of the guys in the group just to the right of me look over, their eyes quickly losing interest. I don’t recognize anyone with them, so I keep moving, wiping at my face and combing my fingers through my hair hastily as I search for someone who might be able to give me a ride out of here.Now.

Thankfully, I recognize Brittany walking to her car and even though we’ve hardly spoken since my birthday, I dart after her. “I know things have been weird lately, but can you drop me off at home?Please.” I’m not above begging.

Her eyes flare wide. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”

“No. Y-yes.” I need to get my shit together. “Yes. I just drank too much.”

Brittany’s brow furrows as she studies me. In our four years of friendship, she’s probably seen me drunk twice, but she doesn’t call my bluff. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, I hug my arms around myself and point my knees toward the passenger door. My mind is a jittery mess, but I don’t want to raise an alarm. Brittany turns on the heater and my leg stops bouncing.

“Becca, you know I still care about you, right?” She scans my outfit. “If you’re going through something, we can talk.”

“I’m fine.”I’m not, but I’m not going to confess to her when we’ve barely said a handful of words to each other over the last few months. She was Meg’s friend first.It’s fine.I turn up the dial on her radio. The music becomes distant as I follow the lines on the road with my eyes.

That didn’t happen.

That didn’t happen.

That didn’t happen.

I shove the memories of tonight in a box of secrets and shame just like the other relics of my past that I refuse to take a harder look at. I toss it in a coffin and bury it six feet below the solidground I need to stand on. It’s a system that hasn’t failed me yet; I just hope that nobody ever goes digging it up because once those skeletons get out, there’s no going back.

Chapter 8

Stasi

2 Days till Death

Bad things happen when you don’t listen to your intuition.

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