An alternate story based on the Netflix series "You". After the incident in Central Park, Peach Salinger and Guinevere Beck are at the Salinger estate to recover from the ordeal. Beck has just learned of Peach's obsession with her and an intimate...
(Author's note: I binged "You" over Christmas break and loved it! I really enjoyed the relationship dynamic between Peach and Beck and didn't want their story to end. Here is my alternate take of what happened during the time they were at the Salinger estate. Please comment and let me know your thoughts, I will make a part 2 if there is interest :)
Beck, Beck, Beck...what are you doing here? You wake up wrapped up in an unfamiliar bed in a room that looks like it's from the 50s. There's no clock in here but sunlight is pouring in from the east-facing window. The bright blue wallpaper and white vanity reflects the sun and it is blinding. You cover your eyes. The Salinger estate is expensive and clean and feels like it was built to be displayed, not lived in. You check your phone, scrolling through Lynn and Annika's insta to catch up on what they were up to last night.
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They were drinking twenty-dollar cocktails at Attaboy and you don't recognize the guys that have their arms possessively around them. It's eight fifteen in the morning and they won't be up for another few hours. You lay back on the bed and hide your toes in the duvet. Their night looked fun and you're a bit jealous, though honestly your wallet is thanking you for not participating last night. It's so quiet here, though acres and acres of private property will do that to a place. You hear noise downstairs while you're sifting through school e-mails. Peach is up and you reluctantly get out of your blanket cocoon and head downstairs.
Whoa. What is going on here? Peach is already in full makeup and a black button up sweater and black pants, her jet-black hair straightened and shiny. She's sitting in the dining room eating breakfast. "Morning, Beckalissima!" She says cheerfully, probably still coasting on her runner's high.
"What are you doing?" You ask.
"Just eating breakfast. I was starving!" she exclaims.
"You don't eat any of this..." you say, incredulously. Peach says something about the memory of this house and how her aunt used to always make an enormous spread and you just can't stop staring at.all.the.food. Waffles, orange juice, bacon, scrambled eggs...made by a girl whose regular breakfast is a single whole wheat pancake or an egg white fajita? She starts going over the day's itinerary. She's being so weird right now, and why is the day jam packed with events when the whole point was to get away from it all?
"You haven't shopped retail since the Steve Madden incident freshman year." You say with a frown. It's confusing and you're thinking about your pages of poetry that were due and it's like Peach senses your attention wavering because she's rubbing her temple where she was hit. She was attacked in the park, by a stalker, and here you are thinking about writing. You are such a dick.
You feel even worse when she lovingly puts a waffle onto your plate.
"I've been a lot to handle lately, and I want to make it up to you."
