Page 26
“Jesus, Attie. Can we please do something about my body? I can’t stand to look at myself any longer. Please? Look at me, I’m disgusting.”
How is a spirit supposed to get anything done around here when a whole ass body is stinking up the place? Recoiling from the sight and the stench, I plug my nose and waft the stink away.
Attie stands there with his arms crossed. He rolls his eyes and sways impatiently from side to side.
“Attie, please.” I whine.
I’m sure I sound annoying and like a petulant child, but I don’t mean to come off that way. I just need her—me—out of my face.
“I’m not exactly sure how to go about putting your body to rest yet, Lyr. Does this asshole ever leave? Because if not, I don’t know how we’re supposed to move you.”
He plops on the edge of the bed and gently nudges my skeletal arm further beneath it with the heel of his boot.
“Not that I couldn’t move you by myself, now that you’re mostly bones, because I’m sure I could. However, there’s no telling how this is gonna pan out, and we need to be prepared for anything. I need your help.”
I don’t know what Attie thinks I’m capable of or how I can help in this situation considering I can’t stop retching any time I get near myself, but I have to try. It is my body, after all.
“Jake. He leaves sometimes. When he runs out of booze.”
That’s the one thing about Jake—he’ll go without food, water, and a hot shower, but this coward won’t go a second without a drop of liquid courage. Instead of going to therapy, like I begged him a thousand times, he’d rather hide inside a golden bottle filled with a false sense of safety and security.
Meanwhile, he never cared about my being comfortable. My wants and needs were an inconvenience, just like he’s proving to be.
“Okay, cool. We can work with that. I’m guessing he leaves at night?” he pauses, “Or is he the first one at the counter as soon as the store opens up?”
Luckily for us, Jake is a creature of habit. So much so that the nearest liquor store knows us by name and always has his favorites bagged and ready to go behind the counter as soon as one or both of us walks in.
“Night. He likes to make sure he’s stocked up for the following day.”
Attie stands up and takes me by the hand. He tugs me toward him and guides me onto his lap.
“Attie, please. I’m not in the mood.”
I want to be close to him, but I wince at the thought of being too much—physically and mentally too heavy, too dramatic, too sensitive… too everything. He grips me tighter, the pads of his fingers pressing into the squishy parts of my belly.
“What are you not in the mood for, pretty girl? Not in the mood for… my kisses?”
He pecks me on the cheeks.
“Not in the mood for… my hugs?”
He squeezes me tightly and I cough.
“Too much.” I choke out.
Attie chuckles.
“Not in the mood for what? My support? My encouragement?”
He presses his nose to mine.
“Too bad. You’re getting all of it.”
He lowers his chin and raises a brow at me.
He smirks and my insides swarm with butterflies, a zap going straight to my clit. I hate that he affects me this way. The way Atticus makes me feel in the afterlife is something I never experienced when I was alive and never thought I’d get the chance to. It makes me question why it’s happening to me now—when nothing feels like it matters anymore.
A loud ringing comes from a cell phone that sits next to the microwave above the mini-fridge. Jake takes a swig of Jack Daniels before staggering over to the endless noise and punching the button on the screen.
