Page 35 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
She’d fainted.
ELLIS
Tip #5: Denial should be the layover, not the whole itinerary.
The first thing I registered as my eyes flicked open was the smell—thick, earthy, and cloying. Burning incense. It curled through my nose, latched onto my soul, and dragged me back to consciousness.
Flickering candlelight met my eyes as they focused. It wasn’t fluorescent lights, not a hospital ceiling. Candles. Which meant I was still in that ridiculous room, or I’d died and been sentenced to some bizarre spiritual holding pen full of scented smoke and wicker furniture.
A groan escaped me before I even realized it, the room tilting slightly as I moved. Two figures swam into view.
My heart stuttered in my chest, just enough to remind me it was still someone else’s. And thatsomeone elsewas in this room with me now.
The shapes came into focus, and my eyes locked on a pretty face. Wary brown eyes and soft, coppery skin. Loose strands of hair had fallen from her space buns, making her look a little chaotic, her tie-dye shirt clashing with the haze in my vision.
Dove.
I wanted to groan again at myself. There was no point in finding her pretty, even if my traitorous brain insisted on it, having latched onto the idea the moment I first saw her in the store.
“Hey,” Dove said cautiously. “You okay?”
“No,” I croaked, leaning up on my elbows. “This isn’t real. None of this is real. I’m going to wake up in my bed any minute now.”
A snort came from the pink-haired figure now stepping into my line of sight.
“And she’s back, folks!”
She grinned down at me and had her arms out like she were a TV host.
Dove rolled her eyes discreetly before extending her hand toward me. “You fainted,” she said calmly.
I blinked at her hand, then up at her, my mind screaming with a thousand conflicting thoughts, my ears still ringing. Licking my dry lips, I slid my hand into hers. Her warm, steady grip jolted through me like a defibrillator to the chest.
She helped me up carefully, and I became acutely aware of the throbbing pain at the back of my head, likely from hitting the floor. The only small relief was the thick shag carpet beneath me, which had probably cushioned the fall. Still, I now had a potential concussion to add to my growing list of issues.
Dove gently lowered me into the chair I’d originally occupied. My eyes flicked once again to the ghost, who was now draped across the wicker chair as if she owned the place, wearing a look of smug satisfaction I already didn’t like.
Dove said nothing as she sat next to me in the second chair, as if too polite to tell the ghost to get out of hers.
A small silence stretched between the three of us, and I stared down at the table. The cards between us looked far tooinnocent. Not at all like something capable of summoning the dead…and yet…
“So,” Dove began gently, clearing her throat, “you had a heart transplant?”
“Oh, she did,” the girl cut in before I could find the strength to answer. She reclined, kicking her boots up onto the table. “I saw the whole thing. I watched them crack open her chest like a fucking crab shell and tuck my heart into place like it was a jigsaw puzzle piece.”
I blanched at the description, my head swimming as nausea rolled through me. The vivid image of myself lying open on a sterile table, chest empty, made my breathing go shallow.
“Stop,” I whispered. “P-please just stop.”
“Are you serious?” the girl said, her voice teetering on the edge of manic. “I’ve been stuck to you for months—basically screaming in your ear every day—and finally,finally, I’m being heard again! Like, I know I’m dead, but have you already forgotten basic manners? You haven’t even asked myname.”
Dove looked genuinely aghast, as if she were truly horrified she hadn’t thought to ask the rude ghost her name or exchange pleasantries, as though it went hand in hand with her tarot-loving nature.
“I’m so sorry,” Dove rushed out, clapping a hand to her forehead. “Wh-what is your name?”
The girl’s expression softened slightly as she turned to Dove.
“I’m Liv. Liv Browne.”
