The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,98
then you have to go.”
“I—but …” I glanced at her side, at the blood, and felt like I was going to throw up.
“Don’t worry. It’s how it’s supposed to be. I’ll be okay,” she said, linking her fingers with mine. “Tell me about when we met in kindergarten.”
So I told her the story of how I saw her playing by herself. How nobody else wanted to play with her, but I did. How she asked if I would be her friend and I said yes. I was at the part where I introduced her to Rachel and Gia when she said, “Don’t forget to put the dirt in my mouth.”
“I won’t.”
“I knew you’d help me,” she said. “Please be kind.”
“And rewind,” I said.
Her eyes fluttered shut and her grip loosened.
“Becca?”
The room was so quiet, it hurt my heart. So heavy it pushed my head forward. Still holding Becca’s hand, I tucked my knees to my chest. My pulse was thready, breath coming in little gasps. I wanted to disappear. Wanted to shatter into a million pieces and blow away.
But she’d told me I had to put dirt in her mouth, so I pinched a little bit from the bag, sprinkled it in her half-open mouth. Because I was shaking so bad, some got on her cheeks, too, the red dark against her skin. I wiped it away and tossed the bag near the knife, but I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave her alone. I wanted to be here when she got back.
I held her hand again; her fingers flopped against mine. “Becca, come back. You said she’d bring you back.”
The warmth left her body in slow degrees. I sat with her and waited. And waited.
I bent close to her ear. “You have to come back now. Please. Please come back.”
Then you have to go, she’d said. After the dirt, I was supposed to go. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t awake yet. I didn’t want to leave her, but I said, “Okay, I’ll go. But I’ll come back. I promise.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOW
I’m holding two bottles of wine—one red, one white—unable to decide which to take to Gia’s party. I don’t even really want to go. Last night I slept poorly, and my head’s still full of fading images of falling into a hole with Becca standing at the edge. There was another dream, too, of the two of us in a shadowy basement, but the less I think about that, the better.
With the bottles left on the kitchen counter, I pad upstairs, intent on removing my makeup and donning pajamas. Ryan will understand. I’ll tell him my wrist hurts. Or that I’m still upset about the altercation at Silverstone. Guilt twists in my gut. He knows there was a fight, but not my part in it. He doesn’t even know yet that I won’t be working there for the time being. At least not from me.
He isn’t in our room, but his office door is open a crack. I stand close.
“No,” he says. A pause, and, “It’s taking longer than expected.” Another pause. “By the end of the week.”
The door opens.
He looks down as he slips his phone into his pocket, and when he looks back, his lips are set into an easy smile. But worry nestles in his eyes.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Just work stuff,” he says, kissing my cheek. “You look beautiful.”
I’m wearing my new forest-green skinny jeans. A black V-neck. Suede peep-toe ankle boots. Crimson toenails. A ton of concealer to hide the dark circles.
The worry remains, though, and I feel an accusation building. Not that I have a reason or any idea of what to accuse him of, but tension gathers inside me like a storm. I might not want to go to the party, but I don’t want to stay home either. Not feeling like this. I’m tired of fighting with him. And with Lauren dead, Gia’s back on the suspect list, as ridiculous as that seems, so I can’t squander tonight’s opportunity.
“Should we take red or white?” I say.
“Red.”
We’re halfway to Gia’s house, Ryan driving us in his truck, when he says, “Can I get a hint?”
“A hint for what?”
“How quickly she forgets,” he says, pressing our linked fingers to his chest. “A movie hint, for the one you gave me?”
My mind goes blank. I know I came up with something, but … I run my tongue along my bottom teeth. It seems like something I said a lifetime ago. The movie comes back