Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 9: I CORNER WILLA IN THE PISS BATHROOM (THE BEST PLACE TO TALK)

Eventually, I came to my senses and decided to look for Willa. It didn't take long to find her; she was in the piss bathroom, standing at the broken sink with her chin tilted upward as though she was trying not to cry; her cheeks seemed to be full of red-hot anger, and no tears were falling. The water was running, though. 

I found myself feeling guilty at (and because of) her outrage. Sure, she made me screw things up horribly, but I'm a huge bitch anyway and she was entitled to her feelings. I was familiar with guilt. There was the ever-present kind, which loomed over my head like a Texas-sized crucifix, derived from the fact that I didn't really like the religion my parents were a part of. There was the smaller kind, which I still beat myself black and blue over (if my parents didn't do it first), torn from slights and insults and general bitchiness. This felt like it was somewhere in the middle. Rather than self-flagellate, I figured that it would be better to apologize. 

God, I didn't want to do this. I didn't think it would make sense to her (or to me, for that matter), but I knew that I needed her help. I had been dead for a while. I was out of the loop on so many things. She was the only one who had been able to see me so far, and I was desperate for both information and attention. 

I leaned against the wall with just one shoulder touching the cool tile, trying to be nonchalant. "Willa, I need your help." 

She swiped a finger under her eye to catch a tear before it could run down and ruin the black eyeliner-and-greasepaint whiskers on her brown cheeks. She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a damp paper towel folded into squares. "Go away, Eve."

"I don't know what's going on around here anymore," I admitted. "I need your help. And I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. If you had asked before rushing in--" 

"Don't blame me. Don't you dare blame me. You know I was just trying to help you." 

"Right. Sorry. I'm--" 

"Don't apologize; just do better. And get away from me, Jesus Christ, you smell like blood." 

"Do I? Weird." I didn't move. "So, anyway, I need your help." 

"You can't just gloss over all of the weirdness here. You can't gloss over the way that you treat people either, Eve. You need to do better. And you also need to explain."

"I know that," I said, referring to the middle section of what she said. I didn't want to touch the endcaps. "That's the whole reason I'm in this mess. I was such a bitch in my life that I have to prove my goodness... or something." 

"Well, you're not the only one who's seen it." 

"I know that." 

"Good." 

"I was in the Cemetery. I know you saw it and everything." 

"Good." 

"Good." 

"I still need your help." 

"And I still need to wrap my head around the fact that monsters are real and you're... you're alive?" She looked at me through the mirror.

Seeing my reflection was disconcerting, but I met her eyes there. "Not alive." 

"Then what?" 

"I'm dead." 

"Oh. But how are you--" 

"Un-dead. Undead." 

"Oh. Okay." 

"Yeah." I looked up at the corner, then back at her. "So, about you helping me..." 

"With what?"