Page 16 of Vying Girls
I let out a frustrated sigh. It’s not like I care for her, but she’s not exactly amenable for information in this state.
I inch over, recoiling when I meet her body. ‘Jesus. You’re like a corpse. It’s not that cold out.’
‘Always had temperature regulation problems,’ she says shakily.
‘Always? Don’t remember that.’
She moves to turn over but stops at the feel of my arm coming around her. So fucking cold…so naked. I swallow when I graze the underside of her boobs.
‘How are you so warm?’ she whispers. ‘Also, isn’t this like killing you?’
‘Shut up.’
I keep my eyes closed, my breathing shallow. I’m struggling to take in air, my extremities tingling with it. Gonna pass out if I don’t get it together.
‘Haz would beat your ass if she saw you doing this with me.’
‘I said shut up.’
‘Elly would probably just be happy. She really wants us to be friends.’ Tilda chuckles at the impossibility of that.
I watch the window over her shoulder. The streetlamp enlarges the raindrops on the window. They look sentient, wiggling across the glass. Like those squiggles you see when you close your eyes.
We’ve done this before, me and Tilda. Maybe not the cuddling, but the bed sharing. We did it a lot. Endless sleepovers in that tipi Dad made for us. She was a child of habit. Always wanting to do the same shit over and over again. Her little rituals and comforts. The talk of magic reminds me of something, a long-lost memory resurfacing.
‘Do you remember how many times you made us watchThe Secret Garden?’
I see it in my mind’s eye. She’d sit so close to the TV, remote control clasped in her hand. Fast-forwarding and rewinding, fast-forwarding and rewinding.
‘The bit where the kids did their spell. You were obsessed. You made us reenact it all the time.’
I hold my breath. Tilda’s still, too still. She cranes her head, drinking me in, her face a mask of confusion.
‘What?’
‘I think my favourite spell was to get rid of our parents.’ I smile at the memory, tightening my arm as Tilda fights my hold. ‘You wanted your mum’s jewellery, and I wanted Dad’s computer. You drew up a list of everything we were gonna do once they were gone. Guess that spell went a bit awry, hm?’
Tilda stares at me. It’s coming together, I can see it. She’s resisting, but it’s there.
‘Nic.’
‘Mm?’
‘What...?’ She shakes her head, mouth opening and closing like a fish. At least she’s warmer now. Adrenaline must be wracking her too.
She glances at the lamp but I don’t let her get it. I don’t want her looking at me. Would she still see a stranger? Or would she seeher,that brown-eyed quiet girl who basked in her shadow like she was the fucking sun?
‘Or what about that cat?’ I grin, remembering so clearly. ‘You stole it from next door for me. Said if I wanted to be a witch, aproperwitch, I needed a familiar like you had. Me. I was your familiar.’
‘Nic, you’re weirding me the fuck out.’
She tries pushing me away, but I squeeze harder. We’re chest to chest. She’s so cold, it’s like holding a cadaver.
‘And if it wasn’t for this’—taking her hand, I guide it to my leg—‘I wouldn’t have been allowed in your little witch club at all, would I?’
I graze her fingertips on my birthmark, the brown blemish a lot more stretched than it had been back then. But it’s still there, the two circles, one smaller, one bigger. The sun and moon, she used to say.
Her breath stutters. I remove my hand, letting her explore. Letting her remember.
