Page 66 of Warmer, Colder

“Play with your clit and don’t let up.” My fingers circle it viciously, eager to show how badly I want her. The combined stimulation has my legs shaking. But just like every other time, the climax I feel myself approaching recedes, just as fast as it built. Once again, my orgasm falls away into the abyss.

“Fuck,” I groan and remove my fingers.

“It’s okay, Becca. You need to learn to trust your body again.” Stasi stays leaning over me, her long hair falling around our faces, making it impossible to think about anything but her as I rapidly come down from the high I was chasing. “We just need to be patient. But I’m not worried, we’ll get you there.”

I only have the energy to nod and wave Stasi off when she extends a hand. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around everything that just did anddidn’thappen.

I need distance from her if I have any hopes of having a conversation with any substance, so I sit on my desk chair that I haven’t used in months. I sit facing her with my head resting on the high back of the chair, arms folded beneath my head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why not?”

“How did you become so,” I search for words that won’t seem judgmental, “comfortable with your body? With sex?”

“Well, the alternative was hating it, I guess.” Her eyes flick up to the ceiling as she lays on her back. “I learned very early on that if I didn’t define myself, other people would, and they’d do it in a much harsher way. So, I took ownership of all the parts of my identity that could either be turned into weapons or shields. If Ishaped my sexuality, my womanhood, my fatness, then nobody else could make them into things that would hurt me.”

“Who made you feel like you had to do that in the first place?”

Stasi’s knuckles turn white as she grips my comforter, but she doesn’t speak for what feels like forever. “People like me, fat, queer girls, we learn very early on that the world wants us to be anything but what we are. A lot of people tried to mold me to their liking. The thing about me, though, is I didn’t melt under their torches. I hardened into something stronger—something they couldn’t destroy with all the different tools in their arsenal.” She clears her throat. “And they did try. With chisels that tried to shape my body into something slender and toned. And then with saws that attempted to cut away the parts that they didn’t like. They did their best to nail me down and keep me in my place.” Her black and pink acrylics trace the matching bow on one of her thighs. “The thing they didn’t know is that heartbreak, the kind that I suffered, the kind that requires you to cut that bloody organ out, it’ll turn you into the walking dead. It turned me into a fucking zombie for years. I didn’t feel anything, they couldn’t hurt me.”

“That sounds brutal.” My weak words hang limply between us, but I don’t know what else to say in the face of such honesty. I’ve never been that truthful with anyone in my life, not even myself.

“She was.”

My heart aches for her. With all those arrows she’s shot at me—her insults and the constant whiplash of her shifting from lust and disdain, creating so many little holes—she somehow opened up a space in my heart that is just big enough to feel sorry that she’s been forced to live life on the defense. Where there’s sympathy, there’s also envy. While the world made me weak—afraid, conforming, and submissive—it made her strong and commanding. Stasi is brave and forward, and most importantly,herself. She’s a woman who knows her mind, something I’ll apparently never learn to be.

“Anyway,” she sighs. “Your turn.”

I snort a laugh. She says it like we’re trading cards or pogs, not fundamental pieces of ourselves.

My throat grows tight, like truthfulness is vomit instead of a deep breath that could settle something inside me. I push through it, the acid burning my throat. “I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my sexuality. I think part of it is my need to be accepted. I saw what my brother went through, always been different, being—” I swallow thickly, “queer. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be liked. I wanted life to be easy.”

“Living with everything locked up inside was easy?” The question isn’t accusatory, but it’s challenging.

“Well, that’s the thing, I didn’t really know I was suppressing anything. I didn’t realize that I was forcing myself to fit into any kind of mold until it was too late. It didn’t click until I became aware that I was being smothered. I panicked once I realized that I might be suffocating, but that only seemed to bring it on quicker, the end. I didn’t have the opportunity to sort through it all.”

“Sounds isolating.” There’s something like understanding in the melancholy of her voice.

“It was, I guess. For so long I didn’t mind conforming though. I saw the expectations modeled for me, and I fell in line pretty easily. When I was a kid, it was easy for me to fit in. Other people always liked me. I’ve always been pretty amiable. I tried to be kind; there were a few times I failed, big. I wasn’t too opinionated. I was always willing to go with the flow. I kept good grades, excellent grades even. I performed well at everything I put my mind to. But the last few months, I’m realizing that maybe that’s all it was, one long performance.”

“Isn’t that what we all do? Create versions of ourselves that help us retain the love of others?”

“Isn’t that sad that we’re expected to?”

“Unfortunately, that’s just how the world works.” Stasi runs a hand through her long hair that partially dangles off the bed. “I don’t know whether I pity or envy you that you’re just recently coming to terms with it.”

“Well, what I do know is that I don’t want to do it anymore. You were right. I’m tired of trying so hard to be everything to everyone. I’m tired of hiding from myself.”

Chapter 29

Stasi

86 Days Dead

This is my chance to get closer to her, while she has her guard down. It’s an opportunity to show her that I can be there for her, to slip my way into her heart. Grabbing her hand, I tug her in front of the floor-length mirror. “Tell me; what do you see when you look at yourself?”

Becca meets her own gray-blue gaze in the reflection and her brow furrows. “Do you mean literally or figuratively?”

“Stop trying to figure out how to pass the test and just tell me the first thing that comes to mind. I promise, Becca, there’s no way to fail or pass this.”

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