Page 42 of Warmer, Colder

“Because, Crybaby, there’s nothing you could say that would change the facts. Your perspective doesn’t matter to me.” I lean back in the chair holding her gaze as I infuse my words with moral superiority. “You’ll do mental gymnastics to maintain the illusion that you did what you had to do, but that’s all it is, a performance that benefits you.”

Instead of responding, Becca exaggeratedly angles her body away as she sits in the lounger next to me. She has the audacity to act like she’s disgusted by the mere thought of being near me. While hypocritical, her insistent denial only makes this more fun. I will snatch away that security blanket, but for now, I’ll have some fun tugging on it until she’s ready to explode with frustration.

“Tell me something. If you’re so innocent, why are you wandering the house all night? Could it be that you’re growing desperate for any kind of distraction because if you’re alone with your thoughts for too long, all those pitiful excuses you’ve made for your mistakes will unravel themselves?” I tap one of my perpetually perfect nails against my chin. “Or is it because when you’re left to your own devices, I’m all you can think about?” While I wait for her answer, I toy with the thin string of my underwear that digs into my full hip. Her eyes follow.Too easy.

Rather than admit I’m right, a weak defense falls from her lips. “I can only spend so many hours occupying myself. Obviously, you can relate if you’re just lurking at the window like a goddamned stalker all night.”

If only she knew how much lurking I’d really done when we were alive. When I was still under the illusion that Becca was the one who got away. Lurking has turned into observing. Know thine enemy, and all that. “Like you said, there’s nothing better to do.”

“Exactly and unfortunately, you’re all I’ve got to keep myself busy.”

“Lucky me,” I sigh and stretch my arms over my head. “If you’re as bored as I am of arguing, there areotherthings that we could do to keep busy.” I antagonize her further. Usually a girl like Becca—lost, insecure, curious—would be so much fun to mold into my perfect little fucktoy. The ones who resist the most give in so beautifully. All that pent-up need makes themso malleable. It’s too bad she had to go and ruin everything.The plans I had for us.All I want to mold her into now is a tangle of emotions and a destroyed little mess so that she’ll never be able to get me out of her head once I’m done with her. I’ll only be satisfied when I know she lies awake at night roaming those halls wondering how she ever let herself fall for me.

“Only in your dreams.” We have a ways to go I guess, but right now I’m thankful for all the disdain I hold for her because the hissed rejection only faintly stings.

I shrug. “Whatever you say, Crybaby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Maybe when you stop acting like one, I will.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Mhmm. The absolute worst.” She stands and flips me off, encouraging me to yell after her. “Don’t forget to call me that when you’re begging me to touch you; it kind of turns me on.”

Chapter 20

Becca

28 Days Dead

My argument with Stasi that’s been replaying in my head all day is interrupted by the clattering of silverware. “I can’t live in this tomb anymore or I’ll die right along with her,” my brother says abruptly interrupting my parents’ silent dinner as he carries a box to the entryway. The statement reaches across the veil and throttles me.As if I haven’t had enough devastating changes lately.The tiny island of stability I’ve found rocks beneath me at the realization that he’s willing to leave everything he knows, including the parents who have always supported him despite his antics and nurtured his interests, even when other kids tried to beat the different out of him. My gaze turns to the chair across from me that’s perfectly worn to his body from countless family dinners and endless hours playing games—cards, dominoes, and board classics—as a family. Will I ever find him sitting there first thing in the morning, with messy hair and a smile on his face while mom bakes his favorite blueberry muffins again?

He’s leaving a lifetime behind. I did that. Ripped out the rug of our lives from beneath our feet. His knees are bruised, but far worse, something in his soul shattered. The priceless vase that got knocked over in the final struggle of my life.

Of course he doesn’t want to be here where there’s a constant reminder of the worst day of his life—and I do hope it remainsthat way, and that nothing worse ever happens to him. Even though it’ll break me further, I hope it gives him the chance to start putting himself back together. It’ll do him good to put some space between us, or the memory of me. He’s become a shell of the lively, lovable person he used to be. Aiden deserves to find his way to himself. But the undeniable fact that he’s leaving me behind, running from my presence, makes me realize how empty I am without him. Who am I without my twin when I’ve already lost everything else? It’s selfish and unfair to think of him as my only source of comfort, but having him to watch after, seeing him miss me, is soothing.

I follow Aiden out as he loads two large boxes into his car with a grunt.

“I’m dropping these at the post office, then I’ll be back, but I leave on the first flight out Friday.” Knives sink into the tender meat of my heart.He’ll be gone so soon.Determined to spend the little time he has left here together in whatever way I can, I sneak into the passenger’s seat as he closes the trunk.

My plans are quickly scattered to the wind when we pull out of the driveway. As soon as the tires roll onto the street my head and stomach pulse with agony that sends my thoughts spinning and nausea whirling in my empty gut. I steady myself against the walls of the shower as I find myself transported to our bathroom. Bewildered, I run to the front window and catch sight of the back of the car as he turns left and continues on his way without the slightest idea of what just happened. Blissfully unaware.

Didn’t I want that for him?

Shame and longing ache in equal measure.I have to let him go.

As I stand, I can feel the chasm opening inside me. My feet spur me forward but my mind is stuck back in Aiden’s car. I’m forcing a door open, unseeing, but everything abruptly comes into focus with a single moan.

Instead of turning away, I find myself rooted in the most blatant display of pleasure I’ve ever seen. Not that that’s saying much—of the sex I’ve had, most of it’s been fine, some of it painful and cruel. But this, this is something different altogether. The strumming of fingers and the rolling of lush hips makes masturbation look like a goddamn art form. I’m hypnotized by quaking thighs spread on top of the counter, sharpness carving into softness.

“Fuck, yes.” Stasi’s groaned words are a powerful spell that pulls me forward.

I’m transfixed by the show unfolding before me. The way she’s losing herself in her own touch is a spectacle. But what really captures my attention is the silver that catches the light. She has her clit pierced. I never even considered someone might do that . . . there. My stomach doesn’t turn in disgust, it flips with a nervous energy. My eyes gravitate to the full breasts I did my best not to ogle at the other day. Those tempting silver bars press against the tight black shirt as if to say ‘touch me here’. The clasps down the center of her top strain as she arches into her own palm.

Look away.I urge myself. Instead, I’m engrossed by the flashes of ecstasy that cross Stasi’s face, the glistening wetness between her thighs, and the quivering of her legs when she inserts a finger—all of it.

“Are you going to participate, or are you just going to watch?”

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