Page 148 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
My fingers rested against the edge of the card as I studied the image, a figure poised between two forces, not being carried but commanding. Their expression was focused and determined, eyes locked on the path ahead.
“This card is about control. Charging forward. The drive, momentum, and intention behind your actions.” I paused and scratched my temple. “I mean, this card is you in a nutshell. Or the version of you we know—the version that got us on this trip. The one who decided that Ellis and I were going to help, whether we liked it or not.”
Ellis let out a soft laugh beside me, and I could feel the warmth of her gaze on me.
“You’ve held the reins tightly on this one,” I said. “Clinging to a drive and a purpose—because if you don’t keep moving, thenwhat? It might all fall apart. You might be stuck here forever. You’ve come so far, driven by love or sheer desperation or fear that if you stop to feel any of it for even a second—if you loosen that grip—it might all disappear.”
Liv said nothing. And the silence that followed was thick. Any of the lightness we’d had before had vanished, as the energy around Liv seemed to pulse at my words. She bit her lip and reached out, tracing the card with a clouded look in her eyes, before she huffed.
“Next.”
I flipped the card without thinking, but my fingers stiffened as I dropped it onto the bed, eyeing the rusty stain that always caught me whenever this card fell from the deck. I paused.
Judgement.
Ellis shifted beside me, as if sensing the change, and Liv blinked rapidly, staring at the card before she got up, clambered off the bed, and stood beside it.
“Why the fuck does that card look so scary?” she demanded.
I glanced back at it—at the figures rising from their graves, arms stretched to the sky as if some higher power were calling to them.
“It feels weird,” Liv hissed, rubbing her arms. “In my chest.”
I blinked at her, unsure what to do with that information.
“I—well, this is your subconscious card,” I said, stumbling over the words. “Judgement is reckoning, but it’s more about truth. Facing what’s been buried deep and stepping out of denial. It’s clarity, and it’s about choosing to rise from it.”
Liv let out a loud growl and stomped her feet, startling me.
“It’s always me,” she snapped. “I’m always in denial. All these cards are saying is I’ve basically fucked up. That I’m a control freak who’s in denial. In denial about what exactly? I can’t even remember how I died—I only remember the events before… before I…”
She ran a hand through her pink hair and shot me a wild, frayed look.
“Glitter in my hair,” she choked. “Bri and me getting ready. My mom. The car. The club. People everywhere… running.”
Ellis clutched my hand.
Without another word, Liv turned on her heel and stormed out of the teepee, walking straight through the wall and into the night.
“We aren’t finished!” I called after her, my eyes dropping back to the card with the stain—the one Margaret always said was blood. “We weren’t done,” I muttered.
“She definitely was,” Ellis said beside me, squeezing my hand.
I sucked in a breath and scooped the cards up unceremoniously, tucking them back into the velvet pouch. Silence settled thick in the teepee, and I shot Ellis a weak smile. The desert wind howled softly outside, carrying sounds and thoughts I was sure only I could hear.
I glanced down at the pouch in my hands, which now felt a million times heavier than it ever had before.
ELLIS
Tip #23: Ziploc theology—it’s okay if closure comes in sandwich-bag portions.
The dry desert wind pressed against my shoulders, stirring the fine red dust that coated the trail skirting the rim of the crater. I wrinkled my nose at the faint trace of it on my white sneakers. I looked up from my feet and ahead, noting the way the trail stretched before us, then glanced into the crater itself—vast and hollow, a wound in the earth.
Liv had already floated off toward the center of the crater, now nothing more than a pink-haired speck in the distance.
Beside me as we walked, Dove’s fingers curled into mine. Her thumb occasionally brushed the back of my hand. The sun overhead contributed to the warmth in my body, but not entirely. Not like the warmth I’d felt that morning, wrapped in the cheap sheets of the Wigwam Motel—Dove’s legs tangled with mine, her hand on my waist, and her mouth… God, her mouth.
She kissed me in a way that made the world spin. Anytime her lips met mine, it was filled with this languid sort of heat, andthat morning it had been half sleepy, half claiming. Her body had pressed into mine as she cradled my face.
