When I opened my door, I heard a voice. Dan leaving a message.

“Pick up, you can make it… Run, Princess,” he encouraged me, like a little kid, putting a smile on my face. “Bex, the outside camera caught your car entering the building a half hour ago. You swiped the elevator key five minutes ago. I timed my call… Answer. And I think your cell ran out of battery again. Come on, babe.”

He made me grind my teeth, with the nickname. “Don’t call me babe,” I growled, when I picked up the receiver. “You make me sound like one of your cheap dates.”

“No, you’re not a cheap date, baby. Bet you’re close to perfection on a date.”

Snorting, I answered truthfully, “I wouldn’t know, Dan. Just don’t call me that, please.” I cut the conversation and pushed him to get to the point. He dated tall willowy models, not average Suzy with brown hair, brown eyes and a foot shorter than his almost six four.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Bex. But you picked up the phone. Why weren’t you home? It’s Sunday.”

I vaguely explained my journal-book expedition, with Connor’s encounter excluded. I lied by omission, but I hated worrying him. For the past few years, he’d been my best and only true friend. We’d become each other’s family. When he traveled—which was often—I missed him every moment.

He asked me to grab my iPad so we could Skype. I declined because I didn’t want him to see me on the verge of a break down. “I forgot to charge it yesterday, after our long conversation.” Hunger wasn’t excuse enough to terminate our call. He insisted on keeping me company over the phone while I prepared a sandwich and pulled out some chocolate cookies. My fake yawns finally caught his attention, and we said our goodbyes. We didn’t lie to each other, in theory. Dan knew me so well that the truth of how crappy I felt would eventually come out.

“Good luck with your journal.” Dan’s reminder made me want to cry; he wouldn’t be here if the nightmares came back. “Are you sure you don’t want to connect? We can talk until you fall asleep.”

“Goodnight, Dan.”

*

Dear Lisa,

Where shall I start? We never talked, yet I’m expected to communicate with you through a piece of paper and some ink. Will a simple letter give me closure? You ruined me.

Funny thing, I saw Connor today. Remember him? He has a son, Ryan, who called me Aunt Becca. Cute little boy. You would’ve made sure to inform the boy we weren’t related, wouldn’t you? Destroying my life was always your favorite hobby. I should’ve told everyone about your life. I wish for so many things, but there isn’t a magic lamp, a wishing well, or a genie around to fix everything. It’s too late.

I have so many wishes, but perhaps I could undo the curse you cast over me with only one: I wish your father never met my mother. Or if he did, that he’d dumped her, like my Dad did. Then he wouldn’t have brought you with him. Your brother wasn’t a problem, until your little finale. His few appearances were manageable―except the last one. Actually, he hated your father, and couldn’t handle you. Wonder why?

You didn’t like Mom, yet within months of the wedding you became the daughter she’d always dreamt of. The one she took to the spa, went shopping with, and did all those other MAD activities. The first summer was endurable, but after you took over the entire school, living with you became unbearable. You were the bombshell that hit Highlander High School by surprise. No one stood a chance, not even him.

In the beginning, Ian understood me, but slowly you took over, and by the time I noticed, you’d infected him. Why did you snatch my life… my happy ending? I’m glad the martyr act dropped when your condition came to light. Mom might not talk to me, but everyone knew the real you by the end.

Are you and Satan best friends yet?

Rebecca Trent