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“Yesh,” he slurs, leaning against the counter.
“No! She’s still fuck—” hiccup “—ing here.”
He picks at something crusted on the countertop while he eagerly taps his foot.
I hear my mother’s voice blare through the speaker, “For fuck’s sake, Jake! You were supposed to take care of her body immediately! The smell alone has got to be unbearable. Oh, my God. How has no one come banging on the door just to investigate the funk?”
Click.
“Fuck you, Kristine.” Jake ends the call with one hand and splinters a nail on the other with whatever he’s picking at. He mutters a few more obscenities before tossing the phone on the bed, and it bounces off into a pile of dirty laundry on the floor. The device rings in the standard sound as soon as it lands.
My mother.
She’s aware I’m dead, and the bitch is in on it.
I suddenly feel like I’m the drunkest I’ve ever been; how ironic. The room starts spinning and I feel hungry for air. The bile catches in my throat and I swallow it down, barely containing my nausea.
Atticus attempts to gain my attention, but I can’t focus on him. I’ve always had suspicions that my mom didn’t like me beyond her “I hate you” moments during manic episodes; her half-hearted apologies being overlooked when they became explanations for her horrible choice of words. The woman doesn’t just “not like” me; she fucking despises me and this is proof.
“Goddammit.”
Jake stomps over to the pile and angrily snatches up the phone. He doesn’t press it to his ear. This time, he puts my mother on speaker and walks to the bathroom. I follow him and watch as he slams the cell down on the back of the toilet and struggles to pull himself from his boxers, sprinkling piss as he nearly misses the bowl.
“Listen here, bitch. Killing your daughter wasn’t an accident, and your offering to help me cover it up wasn’t either. Don’t fucking criticize me.”
Kristine barks through the speakers, “Are you threatening me, asshole? Because you know what a crazy bitch my daughter was. Where do you think she got it from?”
She laughs mockingly into the phone.
Jake shakes his dick like he’s shaking a palm full of salt on an icy porch step and stuffs it back in his boxer briefs. He skips washing his hands and wipes the bit of piss off on the shower curtain. Grabbing the device, he leaves the room, slurring as he falters.
“Shut the fuck up, Kristine. Send me help. Oh, and I need—” hiccup “supplies.”
Atticus touches my wrist, and I shake him off. I don’t know why any of this surprises me.
Mother’s voice crackles through the phone, “I’ll send Cash tonight. Meet him at the liquor store at ten. The two of you can grab your drinks and take care of this mess. I didn’t want anything to do with this shit in the first place.”
Click.
CHAPTER 16
LYRIC
That bitch. Nothing my mother does should shock me anymore, but this is the icing on the cake. Everything she’s ever done to me resurfaces, and I smile knowing that I died before ever bringing a “whoopsie” into this fucked up world. I bet knowing that Jake took away her only opportunity to be a grandmother probably hurts her more than anything, and this realization makes my smile more sinister.
I scan the room for Attie and spin around to find him quietly observing from behind me. He approaches me slowly and tucks my curls behind my ears, away from my face. I close my eyes for just a minute. I can feel my spirit slowing down, regulating, relaxing into his touch.
I feel a tingle, and I open my eyes to Attie’s nose and forehead pressed against mine, his breath grazing my lips. An energy surges between us, and it’s not just something we feel—a bubbly, champagne-pink glow emerges and surrounds us in its wake. A soft hum fills the space, and instead of being overstimulated by it, I feel calm. Safe. Loved.
Until I don’t. Because God forbid I feel anything good for more than a second.
A cum-covered pillow goes flying right through us, and I’m startled by it and the screaming that ensues.
“Get the hell away from me, Demon!” Jake shrieks.
Demon? I look around quickly and back at Attie. He looks angry, his brows furrowed, his jaw tense.
“Your ex is an idiot. You know that, right?”