TRIGGER WARNING: Talking about her father, how he died and what she did with his body. To be honest, it kind freaks me out to write it.
Sorry, for the late update, ugh. Y'all just ever get a week where you're so fucking dead inside? It sucks. I'm like "stfu bitch" to anyone who tries with me, haha :) Thanks so much for the reviews, they're what keeps me writing to be honest.
"Ugh, my head," Stacie whispered.
"Dude, stop fucking yelling."
The two woke up around noon and could not wait for the sun to go down for the next round of sleep. Their heads felt like shit and all their body was sore from sleeping on the hard wooden floor. Before they could drift off again, Stacie barely audibly whispered, "I gotta go home tomorrow, Bec."
That woke the tiny brunette up enough to go light a match for some coffee. "You gonna catch a cab? 'Cause this kinda a lot for a cab."
"I guess I'm gonna have to," she pouted.
"Actually," a great idea plopped itself into Beca's hungover brain. "Aubrey has a car. I could ask her for a quick lift. I'll pay for gas money if you want."
"Nah, I can do that. But who's Aubrey again?" said Stacie, knowing her friend's financial state of being.
"Oh, she's Chloe's roommate. They're like, best friends or whatever. The ones who live downstairs," she sipped her cup. "What time's it- oh. OH. I don't think she's working today. Wanna come with to ask?"
"Ugh," she moaned lifting herself up toward the coffee. "I guess, but give a bit to fix myself up. You have a shower, right?"
Beca laughed. "Yeah, but it's fucking cold. Good luck!" Stacie headed to the bathroom, curious on how cold. She found her answers before she could yell "fuck" again. The tiny girl snickered at her friend, she was used to the temperature by now. In general, she was used to everything. Although, she sometimes got a feeling in her stomach when she saw Chloe. The feeling felt stronger when contact was made. It was like an acidic liquid spread all throughout her abdomen. It made her want to vomit, but at the same time keep it. She wasn't really sure why the awkward lump in her throat grew about ten times when the redhead was around. She brushed it off, thinking it had something to do with the fact that Chloe always seemed to be in her personal space. Occasionally, though, she would find herself breathing just fine when the other was in an invasive mood. It was all different, like her subconscious was trying to tell her something, but she's trying too hard to know what it's saying.
"Hey," said Stacie, coming out of the bathroom, lips purple. "I was thinking. Are you not going to your dad's? I mean, he doesn't do anything anymore right?" Beca's breath suddenly became quick. She tried to think of a suitable lie, but she took too long. "Bec?"
"I- he- um," she stuttered. "I can't. But no, he doesn't do that stuff anymore." Because he's dead, she added in her thoughts.
The taller girl saw the mix of emotions go the the shorter girl's face. She made them out to be either angry or upset, maybe a little bit of frustration. "How come?"
"He doesn't live there anymore." Technically, she hadn't lied through their entire conversation. It did bring up old feelings of hatred and disgust toward herself though. "He, uh, he moved." Bullshit.
Stacie wasn't convinced. She knew not to force it out of her friend, but she wasn't okay with being lied to. "Seriously? You don't think I don't know when you lie to me, right?" She saw the look of sickness on Beca's face. The tiny brunette ran away to the bathroom and threw up, over and over again. She used to get terrible flashbacks of the night. After two years of no flashes, one rose to the surface.
She was walking back to her house from school, the last day before winter break. Beca got to the front porch, took the hidden keys from under the flowerpot and unlocked the door, like every other day. As usual, she put her school bag down in the kitchen and made a sandwich, peanut butter to be specific. Her father was often in his room, sleeping or having a mental breakdown. She had learned to leave him alone. Harshly. But everyday he would call her name and ask her to bring him some food. This time, nothing. Beca didn't think much of it though. When a bullet went off upstair, she did think a lot of it. She didn't even need to think to know what had happen. The sandwich fell from her mouth as her eyes began to water. She knew Francis was depressed, she knew he wanted to die, because so did she. But never did she think he would commit to the idea. She crept up the stairs shaking. Her hand on the rail was tight, it slightly cracked beneath her grip. The girl let out a sob, "Dad?" Nothing. She was behind his closed door. She could only imagine what he looked like. The paper clip in her hands picked at the locked door. The shake in her hands was too much to even get it in the little hole. After what seemed like forever, it unlocked. Her sobs grew louder by the second, she hated herself for not helping him get over what he was going through. His body hanged from a rope and a bullet pierced through his head. The gun was on the floor, no more ammunition. Beca knew that if there was anything still in that gun, she would've crawled up on the floor and killed herself too. She cried and screamed at nothing. Knowing that the body would reek if she left it there, she went out to the backyard. Farther than their property was an open field where only a tree stood. She brought with her a shovel and a measuring tape.
"Oh my god, are you alright now?" Stacie sounded more worried than she should have been, thought Beca. Though the flashback made her fall on the ground, knocking her head on the side of the toilet in the meantime, she knew she was going to be alright.
The shock of the images that rushed through her mind made her shake. Her hands trembled as she spoke. "Yeah..." she notice she was a little out of breath. "Look, I..." she sighed and gave gave up on her sentence.
Stacie gave her a questioning look. They both hated that the taller of the two had to go the next day, but she had to be home for the holiday, she had promised her mother. She decided she would ask for her favorite friend to come with her. "Why don't you come with? I mean, my mom's probably got some space. If not, you can always sleep in my bed and I can take the floor or something." She paused to think of good ways to say what she was trying to say. "You can't have these... panic attacks-"
"They're not panic attacks," interjected Beca, now lightly sniffling.
"Okay, well you can't have these "not-panic-attacks-but-freaky-ass-things" without someone here with you. You know you passed out for a good half hour, right?" she challenged. Beca stayed quiet. She hadn't known that she was away from conscious for so long. "I was going to call 911 for you." Thank god you didn't. Without any insurance, that surely would've been a mess.
"But I gotta work," she replied softly. "I gotta pay bills. And I can't ask for a week because I have three jobs, remember? I doubt all three would let me go for so long. Would they?"
"Well, Beca," said Stacie in a "you're so dumb, but silly" type of voice. "That's why you ask!"
Beca scoffed. A sudden eruption through her body made her mind remember what there is for her in Maine. The pale, dead body. The cold skin, the fingernails a ghostly white. When she came back to the house, hole made, the eyes where creepily sunken in, the hands a blue-purple. She remembered the way the skin felt waxy in her hands. The fact that she had to carry her father's dead body at least half of a mile out to his barely marked grave was too much for her to handle. The trickling of tears burst through her eyes while she put the dirt back in the hole. The last she would see of him was easily the most traumatic. What child should have to bury their own parent? No child, that's for sure.
She threw up. Beca almost couldn't take it. "I have a disgusting secret," she took a large moment to recover from the recent vomit. "I think if I step a foot anywhere I know in-" her voice made a squeaky crack, making her eyes fill with water again. "-in Maine... I don't know what I'll do, but not something good." Stacie looked at her patiently, knowing that Beca would tell her if she wanted to. "But- I ca-n't say. I'm- sorry," she let out between choppy sobs.
"I'll ask Chloe, then, to keep an eye on you." Beca only complied with a nod. "You don't have to drive me, Bec." The girl simply nodded again. "C'mon. Help me go to this Aubrey girl to steal her car. Maybe I should purposely get a DUI in her car." They both let a shaky snicker out.
So, so very sorry about this super late update. Sports are just coming around the corner and I really just haven't been finding the time or patience to write everything out. That's really not a good excuse, I know, but it happened. Ugh, I'm just so mad at everyone and everything. Thanks for the read though!