Page 77 of Warmer, Colder

That will never happen.The defeated voice that’s recently taken up lease in my mind chimes in.

What I need is a distraction from this soul-sucking void that’s had me in a chokehold for the last few days.

But what do you do with yourself when your heart is broken and you’ve been left to suffer alone? It’s too bad they don’t have one of thoseHandbooks for the Recently Deceasedlike they did inBeetlejuice.

Unfortunately, all I have is a bunch of useless junk at my disposal—toys, games, crafts—that I’ve looked through a dozen times. But I guess like they say, beggars can’t be choosers, so I do the best I can with what I’ve got.

What I come up with is as pathetic as I expected, possibly more so. I pick up my old friend, the Magic 8 Ball. If I’d ever thought Iwas a loser before I met Becca, she’s made me into something so much more pathetic than I ever could have imagined.

“Is Becca going to forgive me soon?” I give the ball a shake and force myself to turn it over.Outlook not so good.

“Oh, come on.” I lay back on the floor and hold it firmly between both hands, then give it a harsh shake. “Will Becca ever forgive me?”

Ask again later.Cryptic. Lovely.

“What do you even know? You’re just a mass-manufactured piece of plastic. I roll it away from me and send it a glare when it hits the mirrored closet with a resounding thwack. I guess I should be glad it didn’t crack it. The last thing I need is a bout of bad luck.

Am I really going to let a Magic 8 Ball keep me from trying to fix things with her? No. No, I’m not. But I need to figure out a way to get her to give me a chance.

Chapter 34

Becca

61 Days Dead

Her secret was a slicing blow that I never could have prepared for.

It’s bled me out and left me limp. There’s nothing without her now that I know how it can be when she’s everything.

And just like that, the sliver of sunlight I’d found in the long night of the afterlife has been swallowed up, pitching me into a darkness that I thought I’d escaped. Finding myself back here, in the bleakness of a new loss is terrifying. The brutal betrayal of her lie shatters every bone. It tears open my skin and splatters my insides all over the damn place. She’s wrecked me. All the fragile bits she’d started to mend, have gone to pieces.

It’s not that I don’t understand her anger, it’s that I can’t comprehend keeping such a vital secret while being so intimate. Just the thought is violating all over again.

I hate her for it. Anastasia. I hate her for the sense of safety she lulled me into. I hate her for unlocking the hardest-to-reach places inside myself that were poisoning me from the inside-out. I hate that she’s made herself a comfort. Without her, this bed is large and empty. Without the heat of her gaze, this world is too damn cold.

I hate her most because I still want her. My skin burns with the need to feel her touch. To settle the way my hair stands onend in a lingering state of fear. To chase away the memories of unwanted touches that still grab and pull at me when my mind is left to its own devices.

Once again, I yearn for the dark and quiet of death that I was robbed of. I can’t keep hurting, and hurting, and hurting, and hurting.At what point will I know peace? It continues to evade me no matter what I do, no matter how perfect I try to be.

I’ve hit low points in my lifetime, been to the depths of hell the night of my birthday, was dragged across the coals with Nate, Rob, and Richard, and fell into an abyss of pain when I had to witness the aftermath of my suicide.

Despite everything I’ve been through, it’s Stasi’s betrayal that keeps me up night after night and steals all of my energy day after day. The fact that she kept such a big secret from me, that she lied to my face every single day, should deter me from wanting anything from her. And yet, she’s all I think about. Yes, with anger, and sadness. But also with a profound longing.

My entire life, I thought that being the best at everything, having my life together, appearing to be the smartest, and ensuring I was pleasant to be around, someone who is described aseasy, reliable, and independent, was what would fulfill me. Like once I was truly all of those things, once I reached some undetermined level of perfection, then I would be happy.

But the happiest I’ve ever been is lying next to her, having her hand in mine, letting her tongue and fingers inside me. The happiest I’ve ever been is being anything buteasy. Stasi is a lot of things and has done a lot of things, but she never expected or required me to be quiet, small, or docile. If anything, she encouraged me to take up space, to make my flaws and discontent known. She was the one patiently helping me stitch back together the mangled pieces and tattered parts of me. Her adoration flipped the switch that made me come alive again.

But she also lied to me. Her obsession with us being together clouded her judgment. She didn’t stop to think about how her actions would impact anyone else, how they couldrip me apart.

I was never whole to begin with though.

I’ve always been searching for something.You were always worthy. Her proclamation soothes the restless overachiever but provokes the romantic in me. How can she say that when she withheld so much? If she’d just given me half the trust I showed her, she would have realized that I have so many regrets about how things ended between us. I would have jumped at the chance to get my best friend back.

Would you?It’s Stasi’s—Anastasia’s—voice calling me out. She’s even inserted herself in my inner monologue.

With nothing but my own misery for company, I find myself facing more and more of those unpleasant childhood experiences. Like how I distanced myself from Ana. It started as a way to mitigate my own hurt and shame but developed into something so much more sinister. I didn’t just let our friendship fizzle out, I up and left her. Texts gone unanswered, calls left to ring through voicemail, logging off when she logged on instant messenger—not caring that she’d hear that slamming door—and then ignoring her at school. The worst of it though is something I’d refused to admit to myself for so long.

Aiden had done me another favor by giving me his yearbook, which he thought was a kindness. But while everyone thought I was the sweet one, he was really the twin with the better heart. He’d gifted me a piece of gossip that I was supposed to use as a bargaining chip to keep the popular girls off my back. It was meant to buy me some peace. Instead, I’d used it as a golden ticket—an escape from the worst of the torment—one that would secure me a spot in their circle while Ana was left to fend for herself. It was rotten, selfish, and an absolute fucking betrayal of everything we had. No wonder she’d wanted me to suffer.

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