Page 29 of Warmer, Colder

A command that sounds like “open” in that too-familiar voice has my fingers wrapping around the edge and pulling at the glass. Drawn upward, my eyes land on an orange bottle filled with white pills. Cautiously, I fit my fingers around it. A resounding “yes” echoes down to my bones. Cupping water in my palm, I take a few sips, wetting my raw throat, so they’re easier going down. A courtesy that hasn’t been extended by others.

Dumping a handful of the capsules into my palm, I take a deep breath, briefly pausing to watch as the coating turns milky in my hand, stripping the pills of their people-pleasing veneer. Something we have in common.

I hesitate, a flicker of sobriety that’s quickly overpowered.

“Swallow,” the girl’s voice in my ear eggs me on.

Tipping my head back, I swallow the meds. Peaceful assurance smooths over my shoulders, tender and calm. Beneath the alcohol, somewhere reason still resides, there’s a kick of dissent. But I remain steady.

Minutes trickle on as my reflection and I watch each other, waiting for signs of the booze and drugs coming to a head, but my eyes don’t bulge, and I don’t dramatically convulse then fall to the ground.

Great, I’ve fucked this up like everything else. Taking the lone pill that remains in the bottle, disappointment sits sour in the pit of my stomach.Another failure.

Sweat slicks my skin and my feet cross over one another as I slowly make my return to my bedroom with my hands pressed to either side of the wall. Once the safety of my closed bedroom door is behind me, I allow myself to sink to my knees. Right palm, left leg. Left palm right leg. Back and forth, back and forth, until I pull myself onto the bed.

In the far corner by my door is a black shape that I can’t quite make out; its edges ebbing and flowing with volatility.

If my heart was pounding before, it’s playing a drum solo now. Tangled hair clings to my forehead. The tips of my fingers are cold and tingling. There’s a war unfolding inside my chill-covered body; it shakes with effort. A thousand thoughts are vying for my attention, buzzing building in my skull like a swarm of flying insects, individually too quiet to hear but together, far too loud to ignore.

That’s probably why I don’t hear the door open. In waltzes the busty blond I buried in my backyard. A dreamlike haze clouds my vision as I blink through my disbelief.

Maybe I’m already dead.If I’m not, I’m sure I’ll be hoping I am if she gets her hands on me. This is quite literally my worst nightmare come true, but she looks like a dream. Platinum and pink hair falls around her, perfectly framing her gorgeous face and the swell of her breasts that spill out of her corset top.

Instead of recoiling and screaming in terror at the reanimated dead woman in my bedroom, my uncoordinated fingers stretch to caress the smooth expanse of her neck, which is notablymissing the deep wound Nate left. “Is this hell?” I slur, my lips and tongue swollen.

She cocks her head at me, eyes searching my face with curiosity instead of fury. “You can see me?” Her voice is crystal clear. Even though I’ve been plagued by paranoia for months, I’m struggling to completely dismiss this as some kind of hallucination.

“Yeah, but you’re—” I pant, trying to swallow back the foul taste that creeps up my throat. “You’re not real,” I whimper and weakly wrap my arms around my spasming stomach. “It’s just, it’s just a nightmare.” I slap my cheek with a shaking hand, trying to clear the vision. What should be a jarring reality check is the tickle of a feather. “Wake. Up,” I instruct myself as I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to dispel the vivid apparition that’s been conjured up by the combination of substances currently swimming through my system.

“I can assure you that I’m very much real. You can close your eyes all you want, but I’ll be here. You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

“Stop it.” My breathing is rapid. “You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately, that’s not the case.”

“You’re dead.”

“Warmer.” Her brow arches, face beaming with satisfaction.

“Are you a fucking zombie or something? A disorienting cramp riots within me.

“Mmm mmm, colder.” She clasps her hands behind her back, studying me.

“A—a ghost?”

Her smile widens. “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner.” Her enthusiasm is nauseating.

I pull my knees to my chest and begin rocking. “No this can’t be real.” I squeeze my eyes shut as she comes closer and closer. My stomach spasms again. “Go away.” It’s a struggle to speak, thewords breaking apart in short gasps in my arid mouth. “Please. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have a choice,” I explain. There’s no response, so I continue, hoping I can force the vision away and replace it with something better if I appease the guilt-laden part of my brain that’s trying to make me face this.

“Liar, liar,” she hisses back.

“Am I dead, too?” The absurd phrase is gummy in my mouth. Groaning, I clutch at myself. “Oh god, the pills, I—” Vomit rises hard and fast, splashing over the edge of my bed.

“Becca, what pills?” I flinch at her goading tone turned stern and the grip of her hand on my chin. Shock flashes through her eyes, but she pulls it away just in time for me to throw up again. “Becca, what fucking pills.”

“I thought they’d help. I thought it would be easy to just—” Vomit.

This time when she grips my chin, I don’t have a chance to flinch because she’s shoving her fingers down my throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants as she shoves them farther until I’m retching and making a mess on both of us. “Did you really just try to k—” Instead of finishing that question, she grunts in frustration. “This is why you need me. This is why you shouldn’t have fucking killed me.”

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