by Amy Cross
Looking over at the top of the dresser, she grabs her curling iron. "There," she says, holding her hand against the device for a moment. "Nice and hot. It seems only fair that I should get to burn you. After all, you burned me all those years ago".
I stare at the curling iron and imagine it sizzling against my skin. Still a little short of breath, and with the pain in my ribs getting worse and worse, it's clear that I've got little chance of fighting her off. For someone who looks so dainty and cute, Samantha seems to have some surprising reserves of strength. Determined not to scream, I realize I might have to just let her do whatever she wants. After all, I guess I deserve this. She's right when she says she had to live with the consequences of what I did to her face. If she'd never met me, she'd have been able to live a long, happy, normal life, instead of festering like this and becoming some kind of monster.
"Don't worry," she says, kneeling next to me. "It'll be quick, and it won't be nearly as painful or as devastating as what you did to me. It'll hurt, sure; but after a while, the scars will fade". She holds the curling iron closer to my face. "Are you ready, bitch?"
"Do it," I whisper.
She smiles. "Is that your attempt at reverse psychology?"
"Do it," I say again. "You're right. I burned your face, and now it's time for you to do the same thing to me".
"Exactly," she replies, moving the curling iron even closer. "It's only fair. Think of it as some friendly reciprocation. I promise I won't go too deep. I'll just press the element down onto your skin and wait until I can smell your flesh burning. Doesn't that sound reasonable? You'll know what it's like, and then we'll finally have something in common".
I close my eyes waiting for her to make her move.
"Eyes open," she spits. "I want to see your expression".
Opening my eyes, I stare up at her. Somehow, this feels totally right. Why shouldn't I go through the same pain that she suffered? Why should Samantha have to live the rest of her life with horrific burns, while I get to walk away without any kind of injury at all? In some strange way, the pain is exciting. It's as if this is going to be the first real thing that I've felt for a very long time.
"Do it!" I hiss at her.
She smiles, and then she slams the curling iron down against my right cheek, the bridge of my nose, and my left eye.
Chapter Six
Eleven years ago
"We should go inside," says the voice of the imaginary normal girl in my head. "Normal people don't sit out in the rain".
"We should go inside," I say, turning to Samantha. "Normal people don't -" I pause, realizing there are some parts of my internal monologue that would be best left unspoken.
"In a minute," Samantha replies. "Don't you like being out here?"
We're sitting on the porch at the back of my father's house. A light rain is falling, accompanied by a cold, persistent wind. Although Samantha and I are under the cover of the porch, we've both got our legs dangling over the edge, and our knees are getting wet. If someone happened to walk past and see us, they'd probably think we're pretty weird, but it's actually kind of fun. I've never met anyone who likes doing this kind of thing before, and I'm hoping we can sit here for as long as possible before my father eventually tells us to go back inside.
"Normal people don't eat slugs," says the imaginary normal girl.
I smile.
"What's so funny?" Samantha asks.
"Nothing," I reply.
"Then why are you still smiling?"
I shrug. "It was weird with those slugs," I say eventually.
"You never done that before?"
I shake my head.
"I do stuff like that all the time," she says. "Normally I do it by myself, though. Most of my friends just want to play with dolls and watch videos. That's fun, I guess, but I like doing other stuff". She smiles. "I didn't think you liked weird stuff, Juliet".
"I do," I say eagerly.
"What other stuff do you like?"
I take a deep breath. "I like finding dead things and watching them rot".
"Cool".
"And I like keeping maggots as pets. I don't have one at the moment, but I'm planning to get one soon".
"Even cooler. Can I come and see it when it arrives?"
"Totally," I say. "You can even help me find it, if you like. We just need a dead animal, like a dead bird or something. Anything'll do. I'm pretty sure maggots turn up in all sorts of places". I pause for a moment. "His name was Harry".
"Whose name was Harry?"
"My maggot?"
She laughs. "That's a cool name for a maggot".
I laugh too. "I know". Glancing over my shoulder, I see the old barbecue sitting idly in the corner. "Have you ever had a barbecue in the rain?" I ask.
"No," she says. "Does it work?"
"I guess," I reply. "It's part electric, and it's under cover, so I guess we just plug it in and wait for it to get hot. Then we can get some burgers from my father".
"Cool".
We both get up and wander over to the barbecue. It takes me a few minutes to find the plug and put it into the socket, but eventually the red light is shining and I can feel the plate starting to heat up. "It's pretty amazing," I say. "It gets hot real fast, and then you can cook pretty much anything. Most people think you can only have a barbecue when the sun is shining, but I don't see why you can't do it when it's wet".
"Totally," Samantha says. "We can even barbecue a slug!" She laughs. "I was joking! You should see the look on your face!"
"I don't mind barbecuing a slug," I say, slightly defensively.
"Relax," she replies. "I'm not obsessed with slugs or anything like that. Anyway, the most fun thing you can do with a slug is cover it in salt". She pauses for a moment. "Is your finger okay?"
I nod.
"It hasn't turned inside out or anything?"
I shake my head.
"Good," she says. "I wouldn't want to do that to you". She steps closer and holds out her hand. "I think we should shake hands".
"Why?" I ask.
"That's what friends do. They shake hands when they decide they're going to be friends. It's like a way of saying that they're going to hang out". She smiles. "I mean, if you want to do that. You don't have to; I just thought -"
"It's fine," I say, shaking her hand.
"There!" she says. "We're friends now!"
I turn to look at the barbecue. "It shouldn't take much longer to get hot".
"I'm getting pretty hungry," she replies.
"Me too. I'll go and get some food in a minute, but I want to wait until the plate's as hot as it can get. Otherwise, my father might tell us to turn it off".
"Your father seems a bit weird sometimes," Samantha says.
I nod. "He thinks he's normal and that I'm weird, but I think it's the other way around". I pause for a moment. "Well, in some ways".
She smiles. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"
"The worst thing?"
"The absolute worst thing you've ever, ever done to anything. Or anyone".
I stare at her. Although we seem to be getting on pretty well, I'm not sure I'm ready to tell her about Martina yet. I mean, that's a pretty big secret, and it's the kind of thing you only tell someone when you're sure they can handle the truth. The last thing I need is for her to go running to her mother to blab. I guess I'd better keep the Martina story to myself for now, although I'm pretty sure I'll end up telling Samantha about it eventually. She's the only person in the world who might actually understand why I did what I did.
"I'll go first," she says suddenly. "I once used a match to burn my cat's whiskers. He started walking in circles. It was weird".
"I killed a cat," I say.
Her eyes widen. "Are you serious?"
I nod. "It was my father's girlfriend's cat. He was miserable anyway, so I felt like I was doing him a favor. I took a pair of scissors and I stabbed him in the head".
She stares at me.
"It was r
eally quick," I add, realizing that I might have gone too far. "He was kind of dead already," I say, backtracking slightly in case I've scared Samantha away.
"That's so cool," she says eventually, as a smile breaks out across her face. "I'd love to do something like that. How did it feel when you pushed the scissors through its skull?"
I shrug. "It didn't feel like much," I explain, as I reach out and hold my hand near the barbecue to check whether it's warm enough yet. "I just did it, and then I brought it home. That's where Harry the maggot came from".
"That's like the most awesome story I've ever heard," she says. "The biggest thing I've ever killed is a slug, and I thought that was pretty big". She stares at me. "You're like my hero, Juliet".
I smile. "It was nothing".
"It wasn't nothing!" she replies, clearly enthused. "You've, like, taken it a step up. You've got to a new extreme. Most people talk about doing weird stuff, and extreme stuff, but they don't actually go through with it". She drops down onto her knees and clasps her hands together. "I mean it, Juliet! You're my hero!"
I start laughing.
Getting back up, she turns and looks at the barbecue. "Is it ready yet?"
"I don't know," I reply. "Is it sizzling?"
She leans a little closer to the surface of the plate. "I don't hear anything".
I stare at her for a moment. "Maybe get a little closer," I say, suddenly feeling a strange mood pass through me. I like Samantha, but I feel like I need to show her another side of my personality. After all, it's one thing to be impressed that someone killed a cat, but she might not really understand everything about me. I need to make sure that we're on the same wavelength, and that she's okay with the darkness that's in my heart. Then, and only then, will I know that she's ready to hear the truth about Martina's death.
"Still nothing," she says, leaning so close that her ear's just a few inches from the plate.
I step closer. "Keep trying," I say.
She smiles as she leans in a little further. "I can feel it's hot".
"But is it sizzling?"
She shakes her head.
"Are you sure?" I start to raise my hand, ready to push her down onto the heat, but at the last moment I'm struck by an odd thought: what if I'm going too far? What if I'm about to ruin my first and only friend? Maybe I should just accept things as they are, rather than pushing her to an extreme and waiting to see if she truly understands me? I pause for a moment, and then I realize I'm being weak. I have to do this; it's the only way to find out if Samantha truly, honestly understands my darkness. I'll do it to her, and then she can do it to me. It'll be like a pact between us.
"Maybe," she says, starting to move away from the plate.
"Try again," I say, grabbing her head and forcing her face down against the barbecue.
Chapter Seven
Today
"It's cold," I whisper after a few seconds have passed.
She doesn't reply; she just stares at me, still pressing the curling iron against my face.
"It's cold," I say again. I was expecting to feel my skin burn, but there's nothing. Just cold metal pressed against the flesh.
"I know," she replies, pulling it away and tossing it across the room. "Of course it's cold. What kind of fucking monster do you think I am? I told you, Juliet. We're not alike. Maybe you could summon up the spite to burn someone on purpose, but I couldn't. I just wanted you to feel the fear". With that, she lets go of me and sits back. "I'm not gonna actually..." Her voice trails off.
"I should probably go," I say, still a little breathless.
She nods. It's as if she's suddenly been taken over by an overwhelming sense of sadness. I came here expecting anger, and for a moment it seemed as if that was exactly what I was seeing in her eyes; but now she just seems totally deflated.
"I just want to be by myself," she says quietly.
"Will you -"
"Scott's coming over later," she mutters, getting to her feet and sitting back on the stool by her dresser. "I need to re-apply my make-up".
"He's seen the scar, right?" I ask, still sitting on the floor.
"Of course he's seen the fucking scar," she says, opening a tub of concealer. "He says he doesn't mind it".
"Do you believe him?"
She turns to me, and for a moment there's anger in her eyes again. "He loves me," she says eventually. "I guess you don't understand, but when someone loves you, they don't care about your flaws. They just love you for who you are". She pauses for a moment. "It's like if someone could see past the fact that you're an evil bitch, Juliet, and decided that for some insane reason they actually gave a shit about you".
I take a deep breath. She's right. It's one thing to ignore someone's scar and love them for their personality, but it's quite another to see past the evil that exists in a person's heart. I guess one of the reasons I've never even thought about having a proper relationship with a guy is that I know there's only one type of person who'd ever be attracted to me; only someone who has the same kind of darkness in their soul could ever want to get close to me, and I'm scared of what might happen in that kind of situation.
"Don't worry about me," Samantha continues, turning to look at herself in the mirror while she starts applying her make-up. "If you think I'm gonna do something stupid like kill myself, you're wrong. If I was gonna do that, I'd have done it years ago. As long as I don't have to see your ugly face, I'm fine. Just do me a favor, okay? If, at some point during the rest of your life, you get another urge to come and see me, to apologize or whatever, just ignore it. The only way you can make anything up to me is by keeping the fuck away. Got it?"
"Yeah," I say quietly. It's weird, but although I haven't seen Samantha for eleven years, and although we were only really friends for a few hours all that time ago, I've always thought that I'd come back and see her one day. Now that I've done it, and now that I realize it won't happen again, I realize I'm going to miss her in some crazy way. I know she wasn't really my friend, but whenever my father complained about the fact that I've never really had friends, I've always thought that maybe Samantha was the closest I'd ever managed to get; now I see that this was all just a delusion, and that this is goodbye.
"Can you do one thing for me?" she continues. "When you go downstairs, before you leave, can you take the gift back? I don't want to have to open anything that you gave me".
"Are you sure?" I ask, getting to my feet. "It's a -"
"Take it," she says firmly.
I nod, before turning and walking to the door. As I'm about to leave, I feel a burning pain in my ribs. I think I really might have some fractured bones.
"Juliet," Samantha calls out.
I turn to her.
"I'm sorry I hit you".
"It's okay," I say.
"I just..." She stares at me. "Well, that's my apology. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but you can have it anyway". She pauses. "Is there anything you want to say to me, before you go?"
"Not really".
She sighs and continues with her make-up.
Once I've walked out of her room, along the landing and down the stairs, I realize that maybe she was waiting for me to apologize for what I did to her face. I mean, I might have muttered the word 'sorry' a few times, but I've never given her a genuine apology. I suppose I could go back upstairs and say something, but I get the feeling she wouldn't want to see me again. I've got what I came for, so why push things any further?
"So let me get this straight," says Jennifer Mathis, her voice whispering in my ear, "you killed Lizzie, and then you killed Piotr Cymbalista because you found him annoying, but you're not going to kill Samantha?"
"I didn't come here to kill her," I say quietly, under my breath.
"But still," she continues, "you could. You know I'd help you".
"It's not why I came".
She laughs. "I know that, silly. You came because you wanted to experience an emotional release, just like the one you experienced when you first
came to the abandoned ward. Well if that's what your heart desires, just come and see me. You know I can give it to you".
Hurrying through to the front room, I immediately find that the other guests are sitting mostly in silence. Some awkward glances are directed at me, and it becomes pretty clear that they heard the fight I had with Samantha. Without saying anything, I walk quickly over to the table of gifts and grab the box I brought earlier, and then I head back out and make my way to the front door. As I slip my shoes back on and hurry outside, I allow myself to briefly think that I'm going to get away without my father asking what happened; as I'm walking toward the sidewalk, however, I hear the door open behind me.
"Juliet!" he calls out. "What the hell happened up there?"
"Nothing," I say, not looking back.
"Nothing?" He runs up behind me and grabs my shoulder, spinning me around to face him. "What do you mean? We all heard you arguing. It sounded like a wrestling match up there!"
"It was nothing," I say again, staring at him.
He sighs. "So you haven't seen the girl for eleven years, and within an hour of walking through the door, you're engaged in some kind of fist fight?"
"I can't help noticing that no-one came up to help," I point out.
"We were all too shocked," he replies. "Juliet, if you can't even stay calm and polite for an hour in the company of other people, how the hell are you going to manage when you go to college?"
"Maybe I won't have to," I say. "Maybe I'm not going to college".
He stares at me with that kind of cold-eyed intensity that means he's really pissed off.
"So what are you going to do instead?" he asks. "Sit around here on your ass for the rest of your life?"
"I can work," I say quietly.
"Are you scared of college?" he continues. "Are you scared of going and having to interact with all those people?"
I shrug. This is definitely not the kind of conversation I want to be having right now.
"We're going to talk about this later," he says. "You worry me, Juliet. Sometimes I think you're slipping back into your old habits. Every time you take a step forward, you end up taking two or three back again. I thought things had changed, but you're right back where you started". He looks down at the gift in my hands. "You can't take that away with you".