Carissa Ann Lynch - Like, Follow, Kill

Hannah was staring across the room. I followed her gaze to my computer screen and the mess of cans and crud on the floor around my desk space.

The manuscript I was supposed to be working on was pulled up on the home screen (thankfully, I’d minimized Valerie’s profile).

“I’m glad you’re working and getting back in the swing of things. But what have you been doing for fun? You need to get out more. They miss you at the buffet.”

The Pink Buffet was an old-timey restaurant that I’d worked at for nearly six years, before the accident. I’d used to go in early to set up prep for the buffet, and sometimes waitress in the evenings. I didn’t miss it; and I didn’t believe for a second that they missed me there either. The other girls were probably thrilled to have my extra hours.

I realized then that Hannah was still talking, although my mind was somewhere else. “Huh?”

“I was saying that we should do something together … go catch a movie, or better yet, have one of those girls’ nights at my place, where we stay up all night watching movies and …”

“And drinking wine,” I finished for her.

Wine. She can’t even say it. Because she knows my drinking is what caused the accident in the first place.

Say it, Hannah. Look me in the face, for once, and say what you and everyone else is thinking: How could you be so reckless, Camilla?! How could you be a drunken fool, like Dad?

“What have you been doing for entertainment in this stuffy place?” Hannah pressed, breaking through my guilt-ridden thoughts.

What do I do for entertainment? I imagined myself telling her the truth: I spend all day checking up on a girl I barely know, consumed by other people’s lives while I watch my own shrivel up and disappear. How is that for fun, big sis?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I’d forgotten how to speak to her … how to relate with anyone, for that matter.

How long has it been since I’ve spoken out loud to another person?

“I-I need to finish this. It’s due tomorrow,” I said hurriedly, pointing over at my screen. My couch was less of a couch, and more like a love seat, and the two squishy, smelly cushions were making me uncomfortable.

Too close. Hannah’s sitting too close to me.

I stood up, suddenly, mindlessly rubbing the incision sites on my thighs.

“Thanks for checking up on me, though …”

Hannah nodded, squeezing her lips together in a way that made me feel like she was disappointed in me.

You’re not the only one, sis.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing then,” Hannah said, reluctantly rising from the couch. “Can I use your bathroom first? I’ve been holding it for hours.”

“Sure. It’s …”

“I know where the bathroom is, Camilla.” She gave me a strange look, her hazel eyes finally rising to meet mine. We stared each other down, a thick knot forming in my chest and throat.

We used to be so comfortable together, finishing each other’s sentences, plucking thoughts straight from each other’s brains and trying to guess what the other might say next …

But those days are long gone. It’s like we’re strangers now.

Don’t cry, Camilla. Please don’t cry …

If you cry about missing your sister, then you’ll cry about Chris. And if you cry about him … well, you’re liable to never stop. You’ll die of dehydration from all those tears …

It looked like I wasn’t the only one fighting back tears. “Be right back,” Hannah gulped, blinking rapidly as she turned down the short hallway.

I watched her disappear into the bathroom and moments later, I heard the water running. I paced back and forth in the living room, waiting for her to come back out. Minutes passed, and finally, I crept over to the computer. I bent down slightly, clicking the mouse to minimize the current document, before glancing over my shoulder to make sure Hannah was still in the bathroom. I could hear her opening and closing drawers— is she snooping?

I refreshed Valerie’s page.

A new post!

Impulsively, I pulled my computer chair out and sat down, scooting in close to the screen.

My heartbeat echoed in my head as I quickly scanned the caption beneath the newly posted image. It was a sleepy-looking Valerie, nursing a cup of what looked like hot tea. Her hair was braided on one side, but carelessly loose, and she was wearing an oversized sweater that looked like something a grandma would knit.

What a long night and day … sorry guys, I hope you weren’t worried. I have the worst stomach bug of my life, but I’m finally feeling better … going to nurse myself back to health because guess where I’m going tomorrow?! New Orleans! Look out Bourbon Street, here I come … #Nola #imnotfeelingwell #instasick

I breathed a sigh of relief. Why didn’t it occur to me that she might simply be under the weather?

After all, perfect people get sick too.

She had responded to my messages, too! My eyes scanned quickly: Thanks for asking. I’m fine, just a bit under the weather.

I stared at the smiley face, the corners of my own lips turning …

“Who’s that?”

Startled to find Hannah standing behind me, I clumsily tried to close out the screen.

“Valerie, right?”

Too late.

I swallowed back the scream in my throat.

“Oh, yeah … I remember her. You guys were in the same grade, weren’t you?” Hannah was so close; I could feel her minty hot breath on the back of my neck. I shivered.

“Yeah, Valerie Hutchens. I don’t really know her though. I was just scrolling through old classmates a few days ago and forgot to close out the screen.” I shrugged, minimizing the page and spinning around and around in my computer chair.

Hannah clucked her tongue. “Yeah, wasn’t she the one you were always jealous of? I never could understand what everybody saw in that girl. Especially you, Camilla.”

I whipped around in my seat, turning so fast that my still-stiff neck from the accident roared with pain. “I wasn’t jealous of her!”

But I could hear the defensive spike in my voice. “I wasn’t,” I mumbled.

I’m just lonely. And lost, I wanted to add. And having someone to chat with, someone to pretend I’m friends with … well, it helps a little. Maybe even a lot.

“Okay, okay … no offense. I think it would be good for you to reconnect with old friends, but …”

“But what?” I thought about the sounds in the bathroom, her shuffling through my closet and drawers …

“Are you taking your medication as prescribed?”

Ah, there it is. The real reason for her visit.

My eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Of course I am. Why?”

Hannah held up her hands, defensively. “I’m just asking. Just worried about you, that’s all … and you’re not drinking, are you?”

“For fuck’s sake, Hannah! No, I’m not drinking. What about you, huh? Still going out for Thirsty Thursdays with Mike?” I spat.

Hannah’s face hardened and she didn’t answer my question. Her eyes were traveling the room again … She doesn’t fucking believe me, does she? I realized.

“Look, Hannah, I appreciate you coming by, but I need to get back to work. Time for you to go.” I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for her to take a hint and leave. “No offense.”

Hannah frowned, her eyes zeroing in on mine once more. “I guess I’ll see you later then,” she huffed, scooping up her purse and seeing herself out.