Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 19: SLEAZEBAG ETHAN MAKES SOME GOOD POINTS (NOT REALLY)

After the revelation of everything to do with Blanche, I found myself standing in the aisles of shelves of the bunker, staring at boxes and old supplies that I didn't know what to do with.

Was this it? Was this all that had become of us? All that we could be? Was I doomed to work with her? To be terrorized by Blanche's mistakes and by my own?

My malcontent made me confused. Why was I upset? These weren't my mistakes. I wasn't the one who had to live with them. This didn't concern me.

But didn't it? I died because of her. I died because of her mistakes. And I died because someone else (some puppetmaster behind the scenes) was able to capitalize on those mistakes and turn them into a weapon clad in dirty old pink lingerie and crudely-harvested teenage girl organs.

All of this was weird and complicated and I didn't want to think about it. I turned my attention back to the boxes in front of me and tried to read the faded labels. I couldn't. They had been here for decades, decaying into dust.

Out of all the people who could have come to stand with me, it was Ethan who eventually did.

I sighed as he walked up to me. "What? What do you want?"

He was standing right next to me, looking at an empty spot on the shelves. "Nothing."

"No, there is something. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

"You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?" Ethan looked at me. His eyes were surprisingly blue. I guess you don't notice things like that when you're desperately trying to avoid eye contact with someone like I have been for as long as I've been aware of who, exactly, Ethan is.

"And you're a creep. What's your point?" I snapped.

"I mean... I don't know what your home life is like or anything, but... you really pushed people away while you were alive, you know? To the point that nobody really wanted to talk to you. I mean, I didn't mind. I like a difficult woman. And you're a bitch in a cool way because it wasn't like you were protecting someone or trying to be above it all. You were just mean. Don't get me wrong-- again, I like that in a woman. It makes the pursuit more fun. And don't get me wrong, you've definitely gotten a little softer. Death really looks good on you and whatever. You're just still really mean."

I nodded. I got where he was coming from; I just hated the way he was going about saying it. I didn't know how to broach that topic, though. The truth was, I had gotten mean, especially in the past year or so. I had taken out my aggression on anyone who tried to talk to me. I was never sure why, just that I couldn't stop myself from doing that. It was something I fell back on.

And I guessed that there was something to be said about surly young women getting what was going to them in the form of being brutally murdered. You're not nice enough, you get the ax.

"You're not wrong," I said, looking just above his eyes. Eye contact was hard. "I have been a bitch. I was. I still am. Maybe I've gotten a little meeker-- new situations and all-- but I'm still who I was. The bitchiness is still there. It never left. I'm not sure if it can leave."

"I mean, it's not exactly a turn-off." He raised an eyebrow at me.

"You know I'm aroace, right? Aromantic? Asexual? Un-straight?" The fact that this was the first time I had told this to someone who wasn't my brother wasn't lost on me. It just kind of slipped out. But it was the truth, and who am I to deny the truth?  

"Really? I think I can change that."

I couldn't tell if that was a joke or not, but I very quickly remembered why I hated talking to this guy. No amount of surviving together was going to change that. I replied, a little too quickly, "No you can't."

"No, no, I know-- Eve, I know." He certainly didn't act like it. "I was trying to be nice. Sorry."

He very clearly wasn't sorry. It wasn't very nice, but I felt like I had no option other than to let it slide. "Okay. So, what are you doing over here? What was the point of this little visit? Did you just want to dump that and go, or...?"

"You're not as bad as Blanche. At least you don't seem to do what you do on purpose. She does."

"She's good at what she does, too."

Good enough to get a girl to kill herself."

"And then that girl killed me."

"And Claire."

"And Claire," I agreed. I was tired of standing, so I found a sturdy part of the shelf, wrapped my fingers around the metal, and leaned back into it. "How are you holding up about that?"

"As well as I can." He did what I was doing on the opposite shelf. Because it was empty, it creaked and moved just a little. All of his weird, sleazy jokes were suddenly gone as if they had never been there in the first place. "It's weird, stumbling into a dead body by accident. Getting blood all over you. And your favorite ancient tome."

"You get used to it," I lied. I did not get used to it. I hadn't had the chance to. I wasn't even used to the fact that I was dead, or that I was now constantly surrounded by other dead people.

I was not used to the fact that I was dead. It was easy to forget, sure, but there was a constant nagging there. It was like I was being eaten by maggots from the inside out.

I had a sudden urge to lift my shirt and check for maggots, to look for the little white larvae that flies love to leave behind in corpses like me, but I didn't want to. Not with Ethan around. Not with anyone around. Call me crazy, but I just don't think they would get it. I also didn't want Ethan to look at me with more fascination than he already was, either. That would be hellish. That would be mortifying.

At the end of the day, I knew that I was better off trusting Ethan than not. I could keep him at an arm's length; I could keep myself from truly opening up to this jackass and revealing all the fucked-up goop I have buried deep inside of me. I could trust him for the time being, but not entirely. I hated him so much, but I felt like I had no alternative. 

And his words were so stupid. They were so stupid. But I had nothing else. I'm ashamed to admit it, but something about him trying to be frank with me made me feel better. 

"That's not what I came over here for," Ethan said, like he had gotten distracted and was only just remembering. "I wanted to tell you-- we can probably leave now. Morning is nearing. Blanche is monitoring the door to make sure it's gone, but it's probably safe to go up and get Sandy home."

I nodded. "Let's do that, then. Let's get it done."

I stood up all the way and gently punched him in the arm on the way out. My hand came away covered in dirt, blood, and sleaze.