“You’re in love with her,” Sabrina said.
“Excuse me?” But she did want, more than anything, to break open Charity’s ribcage and know her insides in that metaphorical way she’d always assumed meant love. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sabrina yawned. “Charity’s a good match for you. Better than Tristan, anyway.”
In the silence that followed, Linda heard Tristan’s faint moaning down the hall.
“He’s not a good match for anyone right now,” Linda said.
The wind whistled outside the room’s lone window, and the moon washed through the glass, unencumbered by the shadows of trees. Someone had ensured there were no trees within fifty feet of the property, a wise decision from an architectural standpoint, or so Linda understood from growing up in a house with foundation problems. But even without the influence of tree roots, the floors creaked all night—or maybe that was the walls. Tristan moaned again.
“He’s not going to make it,” Sabrina whispered, her voice catching in her throat.
“He might.” Linda rolled back and wrapped her hand in Sabrina’s.
Someone walked by the closed door—Deja, searching for that elusive cell signal.
“If they don’t get in touch with someone soon…” Sabrina whimpered a little, and Linda realized her friend was crying.
“Hey.” Linda wrapped her arms around Sabrina. Sabrina burrowed herself into Linda’s chest and sobbed. As Linda’s shirt grew damper, Linda knew she should be crying, too. Down the hall, a man was dying, a man she kissed not twenty-four hours ago. She swallowed. Maybe, like her mom had said to her before going into the institution, Linda was as deformed inside as that possum had been on the outside. She stroked her friend’s hair. “You’re going to be fine.”
• • •
By the time Charity entered the bedroom, only a few fevered hours had passed. No medical professionals had arrived. It was still dark outside.
Linda’s eyes fluttered open as she beamed at the woman in the half-light.
Sabrina shot up in bed. “How is he?”
“Not good,” Charity said softly. “Why don’t you go check on him?”
Sabrina wasted no time crawling free of the blankets and stumbling against her sleep out the door. Charity climbed beside Linda, the bed shifting to accommodate her.
“We’re alone,” Linda said, her palms already sweating.
“No shit.” Charity groaned as she leaned into her pillow. “My back is trying to murder me.” Charity glanced over at Linda. Linda shifted in the blankets. “I’m running on four hours of sleep here.”
“I better get up.” Linda said, staying put. She wanted something, anything, to happen. After two months of buildup with Tristan, then the terrible deaths, then the terrible thing that happened last night, then the shocked realization in the night, she teetered at the precipice of an elusive moment. The moment that would resurrect her.
“You’re going to have to drag Marion to bed kicking and screaming,” Charity said. “She’s tired as fuck, but she’s refusing to leave Tristan’s side.”
Tristan. He was dying, and here she was hoping for— What? Sex? She challenged her heart to hurt for the man. She challenged herself to fear for him and not for the possibility that she might never again touch Charity’s mouth with her own.
“Wrestling Marion? That sounds like a job for Sabrina. Or Deja.” And sure enough, down the hallway, Sabrina’s pitch climbed. “Sounds like someone’s trying their hand at it.”
Charity sunk down further into the bed. “The man’s in a bad way.”
“I know.” Linda risked a touch, her hand moving to rest on Charity’s thigh.
Charity jumped and tried to move away, but the bed was too small for her to go far.
“You don’t know me,” Charity whispered. “You shouldn’t get too attached.”
“What? But we—” Linda chuckled nervously.
“I shouldn’t have come onto you like that.” Charity stretched until her back joints popped. “It was weakness. You won’t like me when you get to know me. Women never do.”
Linda had felt something more than a quaking orgasm in that bathroom. She had felt a splintering that extended from her neck to her feet and exposed her organs. It had been years since she fought for something, but she would kill for another touch from Charity’s hands.
“We all have secrets. We all have terrible things in our pasts.”
“I’m an actor,” Charity said, sighing.
“You mentioned that,” Linda said. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t understand. Deja hired me to be here. To drum up drama. I don’t work in a brunch place. I wait tables in a strip club, and the producers found me there. They wanted a lap dance from me, but I wasn’t a stripper, and they asked me if I acted, which of course I do when I can get the work. I’d done a little in commercials and things—it was LA, after all—and so they offered me the job for a lap dance.”
“Your dark secret is that you’re an actor. That’s nothing.”
Charity huffed. “My dark secret is that women always think I’m lying to them, because I’ve gotten paid for lying. I go to a lot of parties that I can’t take my girlfriends to, and they think I’m cheating on them. It’s easier if I don’t get involved with people.” She frowned. “I hated Tristan, but you better believe I kissed him. I made out with him. I was going to meet his parents if it meant another paycheck.”
Linda smiled as her stomach calmed. She understood what it was like to be thought of as the kind of awful person who could do horrible things. She’d lived as that person under her mother’s distant watch.
“Everyone’s acting at least part of the time,” Linda said. “That doesn’t mean nothing they do is genuine.” She thought of her new friend, Sabrina, and herself, the half-true lines she recited to the camera. “Besides, we’re stuck in a fucked-up house where some fucked-up stuff has gone on. We’re not promising one another forever.” She mustered the courage to ask for what she wanted. “Just get over here and cuddle me.”
Like a sped-up video, Charity scooted as close as she could get and wrapped her arms around Linda’s waist, placing her head against her chest. Linda pulled Charity into her. She smelled like orange peel, and as Linda rubbed her hand up and down her arm, she prickled with goosebumps.
“Were you so unaware of me before we came here?” Charity said into the soft night as she took Linda’s hand. “I caught myself staring at you all the time.”
