Lost in Hollywood

No Chick Flick Moments

"Kat–!" Sky gasped, her eyes widening. "Am I— am I dead?"

It seemed like the only explanation. She had died, her heart had finally given up after all the sorrow and the grief, she had died in her sleep and Kat was the angel of death, here to take her to the afterlife.

Finally. Sky was ready to go, had been for a long, long time.

But Kat let out a husky laugh and pushed her hands into the pockets of her skinny, black jeans.

"No. But you stink like a corpse. When's the last time you showered?"

"I— I don't know. I'm not sure. What— what day is it?"

Kat rolled her eyes. "You're asking me? I'm dead. I don't even know what year it is."

Meant as a joke, but the way Kat said those words hit Sky like a wrecking ball.

Kat looked exactly the same as she had the last time they'd seen each other. So young. It was now almost two years since Kat had died and suddenly Sky felt the unrelenting flow of time in her bones. She was now seventeen, but Kat was still fifteen. Kat would always be fifteen, she would always look the same, she would always wear those black jeans and the Slipknot T-shirt, the same outfit she had died in. No matter how much time passed, no matter how old Sky grew, Kat would always stay the same.

That thought was an arrow through her heart. The plans they'd had for the future - college, travel, drugs, laughter, booze, boyfriends, girlfriends, careers, kids - were nothing more than dust and shadows.

Kat flashed her a grin that revealed all her sharp, a bit wolfish teeth. Either she didn't notice Sky's sudden emotion, or she pretended she didn't. Sky suspected the latter - Kat had never been good at talking about feelings.

Sky swallowed hard, still trying to find her voice that felt weird and raspy on her tongue. "Is this— Is this a dream?"

"Well, it must be," Kat shrugged and flipped her shiny, black hair behind her shoulder, as she took a seat on the bed. "I am dead and you are not."

"Right."

"You look awful. Wanna talk about it?"

Sky really didn't. She wished Kat had brought weed and they could instead escape her room, climb to the roof, and smoke and talk shit all night— but somehow she knew that wasn't what Kat had come for.

"Is that why you're here?" She asked. "Cause you're worried about my looks?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just missed you."

The room was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight that entered through the windows, and Kat was a black and white painting, her sharp angular face illuminated with moving silvery highlights. Sky could still hear Dad's uninterrupted, steady breathing from where he slept on the mattress near the door, and somewhere outside a dog was barking, she heard the windchime in the garden, the sounds of the highway some distance away. Napoleon was sitting on the bed still as a statue, only his tail moving in slow, lazy circles. His narrowed eyes took in everything and revealed nothing as Kat reached a hand and rubbed him behind the ear.

"Ahhh the little black furball of menace," Kat chuckled. "How's life?"

Napoleon began purring loudly, leaned toward Kat's touch, and somehow the normalcy of that sight cut through Sky's thoughts like a knife.

She couldn't help but wonder if she would really notice all these details if this was a dream. If she would really notice the way Napoleon's eyes reflected the pale moonlight, the way Dad snored softly, the way the clock on the wall ticked slowly, eating time, and Kat's scent that was so familiar that it made her chest ache. It was a scent rich with cinnamon and coffee, salt and wind—