Page 23 of Warmer, Colder

“Obviously. That’s why you’re going to figure out a way to cover it up.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“You garden, don’t you?” he jerks his head in the direction of the flower beds. I hate that he’s learned so much about me through my social media that he has way too much fun tearing apart.

“I don’t think a couple of flowers are going to cover this up,” I argue.

“Then I guess you better be creative and make a nice little surprise for mommy and daddy that they’re never going to want to tear up. I don’t give a shit what it is, but it better be done quickly.”

It’s an absurd plan, but the only one we’ve got.We.The fact that I’ve already accepted the fate that we’re in this together makes me want to toss myself in there with her. I might as well be dead if this is the level I’ve allowed myself to stoop to. I’m nearly as guilty as he is.

“Move.” Nate shoves me back and I stumble, falling onto my ass. The impact knocks the wind out of me temporarily, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy smoothing over the dirt and taking a picture. I’m not ready for it when he snatches me by the hair and drags me on my hands and knees over to the grave.

“Say cheese.” His pearly white smile is rotten as he snaps several incriminating photos. “Make sure you take care of this today. I want you to send me a picture when you’re done. I’ll let you know if it’s good enough.”

Without waiting for a response from me—which would be irrelevant to him anyways—he disappears into the night, leaving my world turned completely upside down once again.

37 Days till Death

Planting roses on no sleep is almost as hard as digging the grave that sits beneath my bare feet, even for a seasoned gardener like me. Before the store even opened, I was out there waiting. There wasn’t a second to waste. In my urgent, exhausted state, I hit a few curbs on my way, but I just wanted to get it over with. I need to put the paranoia to rest that she’s going to waltz out of this hole at any moment and seek her revenge.

I might not have really known her, but I feel connected to her through the intimacy we shared—that I wasn’t as successful at burying. It’s as if I can feel her rage pulsing up through the dirt,reaching for me as I attempt to create a space for new life to somehow balance out the death that’s now touched this house.

“I think you like roses. Well, I hope so, since you had them tattooed on you. I got the red ones to match and some pink since that seems like your favorite color,” I mumble to myself and the dead body beneath me. “It’s the least I could do, but I didn’t want your grave to be completely unmarked. And I—” My breath catches as I fight to suppress the tears that want to release. “I just figured it might be a nice homage. Might make things a little less morbid, you know.”

Of course, there’s no response, but I can imagine her disdain at my weak attempt at comfort. It was absurd, seeking some kind of solace, even an ounce of redemption from this small act of—I guess I can’t exactly call it kindness—but maybe thoughtfulness. I don’t know what else to do, though, I was backed into a corner where I had to choose me or her. And since she was already dead, it didn’t make sense to end up down there with her. Despite how I try to rationalize my way out from under it, the guilt of my actions sits heavily on my shoulders. My body is wracked with tension as I work, just waiting for a hand to shoot out of the dirt and latch onto me. If anyone was going to become a vengeful spirit, I could see it being her, so I continue trying to appease her.

“This is going to be beautiful, just like you. Not just like you, you were prettier, obviously, but it’ll keep a small part of you alive, at least.”

My arms are shaking by the time all the stones are laid, further disguising the rectangular hole in our otherwise undisturbed yard, but I still have so much more to go. Putting together the trellis is definitely supposed to be a two-person job, but I’d rather struggle all day than ask Nate for help, so I suffer through it. Next, I fill the bird bath that will sit on one side. The final touch is the bench that will sit under the vine-covered arch.

When I finally stand back to admire my handy work, it’s impossible to deny that it’s a little twisted to have it set up like a place of enjoyment, but having random rose bushes with nothing else around them looks way too suspicious. The only silver lining in all of this is that by some cosmic coincidence, it’s my parents’ anniversary weekend, and I’m going to play this off as an elaborately planned gift. They’ll never suspect a thing.

With everything finally in place, it’s like all of the energy and adrenaline that has been driving me simply evaporates from my body like the remaining water did hours ago. Instead of hydrating and going into the air conditioning, I lay down on the hard bench and close my eyes.

Wouldn’t it be nice if some vultures would come by and pluck my eyes out right now? Unfortunately, despite the random heatwave that seems to be summoned by spite, I’m nowhere near any starving avian creatures who would tear me apart like I deserve. With that lovely thought, I feel my consciousness slip away.

“Becca,” a little girl’s voice whispers in my ear, startling me awake. I sit up quickly, scanning the area around me, but there’s no one here.

“Hello?” I call out, but nobody answers. Straining my ears, I listen for the clumsy steps of small feet or mischievous laughter, but all I hear is the rustling of the trees in the breeze.

The temperature has dropped quite a bit, the cool air clinging to the sunburnt patches on my skin. Shuddering, I attempt to shake off the chill that’s seeping into my bones. I should really get inside. Moving as quickly as my sore muscles will allow, I go inside and close the sliding door behind me. My cramping fingers fumble to click the lock in place and I can’t help how my eyes dart around the yard. I don’t feel so alone here anymore, and I find myself hoping that my parents will return early from their trip.

Dirt and sweat cling to me just as heavy as the guilt, as I stand under the spray in an attempt to wash away my sins. Going through the motions, I lather up my soap, but when I look down, red seeps between my fingers, congealing and dripping like the blood did from her tattooed throat. With frenzied motions, I scrub my hands together desperate to get it off, but when I blink through the tears, there’s just foamy bubbles coating them.

No. I cannot afford to lose it. Finals are just a few weeks away.My teeth start to chatter, the perfectly aligned enamel clacking together at the same pace as my frantic heartbeat, despite the steaming water pounding down on me.

“Get your shit together,” I scold myself.

Black spots start to crowd around the edges of my vision, so I sink to the floor on unsteady legs and lie down. The last thing I need is to fall and crack my head while home alone.

I blink in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours, but there’s no amount of time that could cleanse the blood from my hands or the stains on my soul after everything I’ve done in the last twenty-four hours.

Regret drowns out all my other thoughts as I go through the motions—dragging the towel back and forth over my skin harshly, grinding the bristles of my toothbrush until blood turns the toothpaste pink, and tearing through the knots in my hair in a way that jerks my head to the side. The discomfort is hardly a distraction, my mind continuously turning back to the slash of Nate’s knife and the splitting of skin.

Opening the medicine cabinet, I search forsomething. My eyes stick on the orange prescription bottle for a few seconds too long before I grab the Benadryl, pouring two pink pills into my hand; this might just do the trick.

It doesn’t take long for darkness to close in, cool and comforting, around me. My thoughts finally slow, the serrated edge of all the stress dulling until I can completely ignore it.I roll over, getting cozy on my preferred side and I feel the familiar softness of my bed drift away into that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep—my only escape these days. But instead of floating in an abyss, packed earth presses against my hip and the stench of death is pungent in the air. When I try to launch myself from the impending nightmare, dirt falls into my mouth and over my eyes, rapidly weighing down my limbs. Bugs clamber up my legs, but the worst of it is the silky hands that grip my wrists, pinning me down.

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