Faster We Burn

we could always push her down the stairs,” she said, looking up from her homework. I was busy writing a paper, so I didn’t hear her right away.
    “Push who down the stairs?”
    “Ric,” she said, closing her book with a snap. “You know, just to scare her a little.”
    “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’d get arrested for that, and I’d rather not, thank you.”
    “It was just a suggestion.”
    “Why do you care so much?”
    She made a sound as if I was being a moron for not being able to read her mind.
    “Because I don’t want evil to triumph over good, and Ric is pure evil.”
    “I wouldn’t go that far, Trish. I think you’re being a little overdramatic.”
    “I don’t think I am. Can you imagine how much it’s going to hurt Katie right now if she finds out? She’s my friend. My concern for her can never be dramatic enough.”
    Trish didn’t make friends easily, she never had. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever seen her get so close with someone before. Her pattern was to push people away with sarcasm and rudeness before they could push her away. But somehow Lottie and Katie and the rest of them had gotten through to her, and now Trish’s fierceness was going in a different direction.
    “I know, I know. I have to tell her, but not now. Not like this.”
    “We, my brother, you are in a pickle because of your pickle.”
    “Jesus, Trish.” I threw a pencil at her and she ducked. “You don’t have to be in this with me.”
    “Yeah, I do. You’re all I’ve got.” She said it casually, but we both knew it was true. We’d clung to each other since we were very young. We’d been through a lot, and that bonds two people, even more so when they’re blood.
    “Lucky me,” I said, throwing an empty soda can at her.
    “Screw you.”
    My phone buzzed. A message from Katie.
    Want to come hang out, friend? My place?
    The tiniest part of me wanted to say that I was busy. That I couldn’t. It had been hard enough being around her this afternoon, and that was only for a few minutes. Being in her cramped dorm room, surrounded by her? Astronomically more difficult.
    But it was only a tiny part.
    When?
     
    ***
     
    She was wearing an old frumpy t-shirt and shorts when I opened the door, and she wasn’t wearing her contacts again. Of course. The universe was setting me up for pure torture.
    She looked like the girl who had wrapped her legs around me and kissed me and then fucked me. Only the difference was that this time, I didn’t want to fuck her. I wanted to kiss her and touch her stomach and her fingertips and the backs of her knees and everywhere in between. I wanted to memorize every inch of her, every freckle. I wanted to know the map of her body, what made her sigh in pleasure, what she liked, what made her beg for more. I wanted taste her.
    With all that running through my mind, I didn’t notice that her wall was covered in white sheets of paper. Extra large sheets, like teachers used to draw gigantic letters on for kids to teach them how to read.
    “What happened to the pictures?” I assumed they’d met their demise like the others from her room. She’d already gotten rid of a lot of them after Zack had attacked her, but this time she’d cleared them all.
    She pointed to the trash can and then held something out to me. A marker.
    “I think my wall needs a little decorating, don’t you? It’s all yours.” She flopped onto her bed as if she were waiting for me to get to work.
    “You aren’t going to help?”
    “I’d rather watch you. Did you know that you do this thing with your mouth when you draw?” She demonstrated by biting the side of her bottom lip. It probably wasn’t nearly as sexy when I did it.
    “Is that so?”
    “It is.”
    Fuck, I wanted to kiss her so bad.
    “So you thought you could play the friend card and I’d just come and decorate your wall for you without getting anything in return? You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart.”
    “Do you want another turkey dinner?”
    “God, I’m still dealing with the leftovers from the last one.”
    “Yeah, I think you should probably throw those out.”
    “Some of it did grow legs and start forming an army to plot my death, so you’re probably right.” She even made talking about leftovers into something sexy. Or maybe that was just me.
    She laughed and there was a beat of silence that stretched longer and longer. I finally took my eyes off her and put them on the blank wall.
    “Get to work, Picasso,” she