Page 110 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“Well, what do you enjoy?” I asked, curiosity filling me. Had I ever asked before?
I felt her shift on her side before she spoke.
“I like the movies,” she whispered. “I like sitting in that huge dark room with a giant screen and surround sound, where all you focus on for an hour and a half is a story. I like buttery popcorn and cola. Going to the movies is one of my favorite things to do.”
“So you enjoyed the drive-in, then?” I asked.
“I did,” she murmured. “Not—not to the same effect, but it was still good.”
“What else?” I asked, after a beat had passed.
“Museums,” she said softly. “I love museums. I love reading the backstories to people or places. The history of why things happened and what led to that moment.” She was quiet for a moment, then went on. “I like mini golf. Pottery classes, but I’m not very good, and I only did it once. I really enjoyed it, but I destroyed someone’s clay pot and never went back.”
I snorted a laugh.
“I like things that don’t… I guess don’t overstimulate me or demand too much.”
“So, bars… parties…” I trailed off, grinning.
“I could live without them,” she said decidedly. “But at least now I know… I mean, I gave it a go.”
“You did.”
“I’m good at trivia, though,” she murmured smugly. “We won.”
The quiet once more settled in the room, and I found myself rolling onto my side, facing the pillow wall, allowing one finger to absently trace along the front of the closest pillow. The coarseness of the fabric sat beneath the pad of my finger. I heard the sounds of someone using the vending machine outside, and I frowned.
“Hey, Dove?” Ellis’s voice broke past the noise.
“Yeah?”
“What’s it… what’s it like?” she began nervously. “Being… you know… a psychic.”
I smirked again, unable to help myself. “Thought you didn’t believe in it.”
She huffed on the other side of the wall.
I gave her a break.
“Look, honestly,” I began, feeling a weakness in my voice, “I thought it skipped me. I—I never really felt or had what Margaret talked about. I mean, I grew up around it, and I understand the cards and how they work and what they mean and, you know, the lore, but I didn’t feel like I had… whatever you’re meant to have. But for some reason, Margaret thought I did.”
A low exhale left me, and I tapped the pillow once with a frown.
“But lately…” I swallowed and trailed off. “I mean, I don’t know. I feel like… I feel as if something is changing. I just—Isensemore, if that makes sense? Like, what’s under people’s words… there’s more. I’m seeing more. Feeling more. I don’t know if it’s this trip or if it’s Liv, or you. I’m at a loss… but whatever felt like it was missing… it just seems to be falling into place.”
The blankets rustled, and the bed moved, and I knew she had likely rolled onto her side, facing the pillow wall just as I was.
“W-what do you see… when you look at me?” Ellis uttered, and my heart thudded deeply, that familiar ache I felt from her echoing in my ribs.
“Do you want the truth?” I asked her, biting my lip.
“Always,” Ellis murmured. “Even when it’s ugly. I always want the truth. Never lie to protect my feelings, Dove.”
I splayed my palm flat against the pillow wall as her words rang in my ears, and I took a sobering breath, closing my eyes.
“You ache,” I whispered into the darkness. “Even when you’re smiling or laughing, or when you’re being a smart-ass, spouting out facts like some sort of encyclopedia, or waving your binder around. You just ache all the time. Guilt is stitched into your skin, as if it’s just a permanent layer. You’re scared and guarded, backed into some corner of your own making. You’re terrified to reach for more.”
Silence.
