Page 39 of Warmer, Colder

Her hands drop away and the only thing her lips do is press into an unflattering flat line—she doesn’t kiss me or lick me or touch me at all.

“How about we start over? I mean we’re both dead, I guess the scales are even, don’t you think?”

“Sure, yeah. I guess that makes sense.”Does it? How can any of this be real?

“Stasi.” She holds out her hand, gripping mine firmly. “Nice to meet you.” The words themselves are pleasant enough but her smile doesn’t soften her eyes.

“Becca.” Reluctantly, I return the bizarrely formal handshake, fingers twitching with the need to be free. “Nice to officially meet you, too.”

“I mean it would be, I guess. . .” Fire stokes in her eyes, the viper within them turning back to me, reconsidering the threat I pose. “If you weren’t the reason we’re both here.” There it is, the strike. The attack leaves me reeling for a minute as the venom hits my blood stream.

“That’s not fair,” I retort defensively. Echoes of old instincts encourage me to get out of this situation, but I can’t pull myself from the magnetizing draw of her. Instead, the marionette strings of my awkwardness bring my hand to my ear where I fiddle with the piercings that line the entire shell and avoid eye contact.

“So interesting that you bring that up. What is fair? Hmm?” Stasi paces in front of me. “Is it having your throat slit and your murder covered up?” The mocking tone keeps me quiet. “No. No, I don’t think that’s fair at all. But me, calling you out on your bullshit. I’d say that is, actually.” Facing me with a mocking smile, Stasi points one of those eternally perfect pink and black nails right at me. “But you’re not the type to take accountability, are you?”

“How can you be so quick to blame me?” Her insinuation digs its way under my skin, immediately irritating and uncomfortable. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Her fingers steeple, inviting me to plead my case. “Please, I’d love to have heard you try to talk your way out of this when I saw you. When I felt your hands on me as you carried my body.” Her cutting laugh causes me to jump. “You know, I never thought that the first time you really touched me would be to drop me in a grave. I knew you were going to be a selfish lover at the start, but that really takes the fucking cake.”

Spine straightening, I take a step toward her. “I’m not going to just stand here and be shamed by someone who looks like a bimbo-goth Barbie. You don’t even know me.”

“Wow. Nice insult,” she scoffs. “But unfortunately for you, I do know you. So much better than you could ever guess. So how about this, why don’t you grow the fuck up and be honest with yourself for once.”

I allow a long silence to drag out in defiance. I’m not going to bend to her bullshit. I didn’t survive years in the miserable company of Chleo and her friends just to be bullied by someone I’ve known for five minutes.

“So, we’re still playing pretend then? Are you really going to keep up the sad charade that you’re little miss perfect?” Mutual vexation is a catching flame between us, stifling heat rising in the too-small space for our stubbornly inflating egos. “I thought dying would have at least made you a little more interesting but you’re so fucking predictable.”

“And you’re a self-important bitch. No wonder no one came looking for you. I bet—” I stop myself before going too far.

“Ah.” She claps. “There she is.” Stasi points that annoyingly accusatory finger at me again and smiles knowingly. “Don’t stop yourself on my account; things are finally getting interesting.” We’re practically nose to nose, our rage a powerful magnet. “Go ahead, finish that thought.” The brush of her lips is a taunt that I refuse to acknowledge. I grind my teeth, holding back the words despite her goading.

Her sigh caresses my skin like her smooth words. “You can keep up the charade for as long as you want, but I see right through you.” Fingers walk up my sternum, tickling over my throat, then tap my nose. “I wish you’d give it a rest already. I’m tired of this. Aren’tyou? Aren’t you tired of being the perfect little victim?” The well-aimed arrow finds its mark, and I stagger back.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Reeling, my filter becomes faulty. “Who are you to talk? You’re so fucking arrogant. I’ve met you twice and you think you know everything.”

“Your needy little body told me more than enough. I know what that sweet tongue tastes like. I know how your lips molded to mine so, so easily. I know how wet you got with my thighbetween your legs.” A coy smile plays on her lips. “You know what all of that told me?”

“Whatever illusions of grandeur you’re building up in that fucked-up mind of yours are wrong.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. If I’m needy, so are you. I wasn’t the one sending love poems, after all.” Satisfaction surges in me at that smile being wiped from her face. “Talk about desperate.”

“Took you long enough to notice. But are you going to pretend like you didn’t feel the connection between us too? For someone who ‘doesn’t like women’, you sure seemed to like it when I worked that sweet little cunt.” She runs her tongue along her teeth. “Is that why you were so easily convinced to help get rid of me? Were you afraid that people were going to find out just how much you liked every second of my attention?”

I’m shaking with anger, but my tongue is stuck to the top of my mouth.

“I saw the way your face lit up when you got my letters, even found one beneath your pillow. So, don’t even try to tell me that it meant nothing. It could have beensomething.”

“I didn’t know they were from you.” It’s true, or it was until I put two and two together when Nate told me about their confrontation. “If I had, I wouldn’t have kept them. I guess that’s the unfortunate part of remaining asecretadmirer. You’re bound to get your feelings hurt.”

The laugh that earns is barbed and sharp. “It’s impressive, you know…how easily lying comes to you. Doesn’t really fit that wholesome image you like to keep up, does it?” Leaning against the back of the couch, she mimics deep thought, while I tell myself that I don’t need to inventory the tattoos on her legs that are on full display. “How about we try some honesty on for size? Tell me, Becca.” She’s too observant, dragging her hands up her thighs and hitching the hem up further. “Did you touch yourselfthat night when you got home? How long did you obsess over all the things we could have done if we’d left together?” Her thighs part, giving me a glimpse of her pink panties. “I bet it kept you up at night, the idea of my tongue between your legs, my fingers deep in your pussy. I think you’ve spent so many nights dreaming of me even while I lay dead in your backyard.”

“No, I didn’t,” I insist, pushing away the memories that I’ve been running from of that night. But with her in my face, it proves more difficult than I’d hoped.

“How many times were you knuckles deep inside yourself wishing that you didn’t help Nate get rid of me just so you could feel some kind of pleasure for once in your life?”

“You’re sick.”

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