REND

“Deen is a weirdo, Deen is a weirdo,” I sang as I chose a carton of milk from the many brands on the shelf. It was for Mom; she mixed milk with her coffee. As for me, I drank tea, sometimes adding honey as a sweetener. After chucking the milk box into my grocery cart, I ticked it off the list on my phone. “Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo.”

“Can you stop that?” Deen irritably snapped—an unusual tone for her.

We had planned to go grocery shopping to stock my condo’s pantry—we would stay here in Vegas for some time, and Mom would be delighted that I was being responsible—but I wasn’t sure if Deen would still want to continue after… all that. I could’ve just left her. But still, I tried inviting her.

Surprisingly, she broke out of her moping mold—curled up like an egg on the sofa—to accompany me. She was very grumpy, however.

Or pretending to be.

I bet she didn’t want to show that she liked what I did to her, resorting to this childishness. Understandable. It’d be awkward as fuck to admit that to one’s best friend. I had gotten the wrong read on Deen a few times, but I was mostly confident she wasn’t as mad as she projected. Otherwise, she would’ve just stayed at the condo or gone elsewhere.

And she started this whole thing—she didn’t have the right to be mad.

“Stop singing in general or calling you a weirdo?” I pushed the cart to the next aisle.

“Stop calling me a weirdo.”

“Deen is a pervert,” I sang, slightly louder than before. “Deen is a—"

“Erind!” Deen hissed.

A passing mother with her kids in tow gave us a suspicious glance before ushering her children away.

“Great, now people think we really are weirdos,” I said. “And why are you so worked up? When you bullied me, I didn’t get mad at you. Now that it’s my turn, you act like this?”

“That wasn’t bullying,” Deen said, mellowing her tone. “I remember you got mad too when I not-bullied you.”

“No, I didn’t,” I automatically replied.

“Wait…”

“Hmm?” I scrolled through my phone to check the next item.

“You just said I was bullying you, and it’s your turn now.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Impliedly, you are admitting you are bullying me.”

I looked up from my phone and gave her a grin. “Yes.”

Deen frowned. “You’re a self-confessed meanie.”

“Calling me a meanie? What are you, twelve?” I leaned closer to her. “And would a meanie make you feel good?” I said in hushed tones, eyeing the guy who had just rounded the corner of the shelf to look at the pouches of coffee.

“Shush, you!” Deen furiously whispered back, taking care not to get overheard. She unconsciously rubbed her neck where I had licked it.

It’s the little things—making Deen feel embarrassed, humiliating her, a bit of bullying here and there. Those were nothing compared to killing people, eating people, and scheming to do both. But I missed the little things. Plus, I had a newfound hobby of asserting control over Deen by making her feel good. Fascinating how fast she’d let her guard down when turned on.

Memories of interesting animal behavior I learned from the Animal Channel came to mind. I enjoyed watching that as a kid. And I was kinda—very kinda—interested in how far I could push Deen.

“Hand me that bag over there,” I said.

“This one?” Deen pointed to a red pouch on the top shelf.

“The blue one next to it. That’s Mom’s favorite coffee brand.”

Deen was about to grab it but stopped. She had an impish smirk. “I’m not sure which one you want.”

I raised a brow. “There’s only one brand in a blue bag on the top shelf. What are you up to?”

“How about I raise you, and you can get it yourself?”

I groaned at her immature nonsense. “No, thanks. I’m not a child.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, reaching for me. “It’ll be quick. Let me hold you.”

I pushed the cart, bumping her to get her out of the way. “I’m going to find someone who’ll help me.” Jumping or climbing to get the bag of coffee was easy enough. But there was a hint of evil in Deen’s eyes. I might get my ass poked or something stupid while clambering over the shelves.

Hands clasped my hips. Deen was behind me.

“Deen! Let go of me!”

A sudden whiff of cold air brushed my flanks as Deen lifted me, bunching my shirt up. My instinct was to kick back at her, but the man at the end of the aisle was looking at us. We must’ve been noisy. I quickly grabbed the coffee bag.

“I got it, Deen,” I said through clenched jaws, waving the bag. “Put me down.”

“Good job,” she cheerily replied, following me as I hastily exited the aisle. When we passed by the man staring at us, she offhandedly explained, “Just helping my little sister.”

“You just had to add ‘little,’ don’t you?” I swerved into the bread aisle, carefully driving the grocery cart because a few people were there.

“At a glance, people would assume I’m the older sister.”

“At a glance, no one will buy we’re related.”

“Sure, they will.” Deen linked arms with me.

I stopped the cart and glared at her, trying to pull my arm. She wouldn’t let go. With my other hand, I pointed at my face and then at hers. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” She winked at me. “You’re the not-pretty one in the family.”

I pulled out a loaf of bread from the shelf and booped Deen’s head with it—she didn’t evade—before throwing it with the rest of our groceries. “Now, I have to buy squished bread.” I checked my phone for the next item.

“Just kidding, Erind,” Deen said, peering over my head to see the grocery list. “You’re plenty cute.”

“If I’m the not-pretty one,” I said, “then you’re the family weirdo, enjoying your sister licking your neck.”

A man a few feet ahead of us looked over his shoulder.

“Cereals!” Deen loudly said. She pinched my skin hard, using super strength. “You got the milk. Let’s get cornflakes to go with it.” She pushed me along, past the man eyeing us, mostly her.

“But I don’t eat breakfast cereals,” I said.

Rubbing the part of my arm she had pinched, Deen leaned down and whispered with deathly seriousness, “I’m going to stuff your mouth with cornflakes if you keep being scandalous in public.”

That shocked me for a moment. “Woah, where did that come from?” I had seen the unexpectedly brutal part of Deen when she dispatched some of the frat guys without hesitation. But this seemed to be a different side.

“Oh my gosh!” She covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Erind. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It sounded like you did.”

“I promise I didn’t. It’s just… just that my mother used to get angry at my sister and me whenever we’d do something in public that might embarrass the family. Like majorly angry. She’d say things like—um, never mind. That doesn’t happen anymore. My parents rarely check up on me.”

Yeah, I don’t care. “Let’s get some cookies next,” I said, changing the topic because I was such a considerate best friend. “It’s not on the list, but I just want them.”

“You and your sweet tooth,” Deen fondly said, clearly grateful I stopped her from wallowing in her pool of childhood trauma. “But let’s stop drawing attention to ourselves, okay?”

“Sure, Mom,” I said.

Deen pinched me again, lightly this time. “You’re so lively,” she said. “I thought you were timid, but you’re clearly not, cheerleading in high school and that sort of stuff. And you also showed me pictures of you on the debating team in college and joined a bunch of contests. You’re like a reverse butterfly going into law school.”

“Oh, it’s just that I want to take it slow. Don’t want the pressure, not that Mom is pressuring me.”

“I’m excited to meet her. She sounds nice.”

“She’s a very relaxed person all around,” I said. That reminded me that I’d be sleeping with Deen later.

After Mom returned to Europe for work, I could dump Deen in Mom’s room. But until then, I’d have to put up with an uncomfortable situation. No way Mom would allow me to sleep on the couch; that’d also be suspicious. And if I slept on the floor of my room, Deen wouldn’t let me have peace. I should figure out how to build a wall dividing my bed.

“Why do you look so serious?” Deen said.

“Just thinking of ways of embarrassing you in public.”

“But you promised you wouldn’t—”

“I never said anything like that.”

Deen pouted. “I’m your guest. You shouldn’t—hyaahh!” She let out a high-pitched squeal. I poked the side of her left breast that she was rubbing against my arm.

Several people looked at us.

“Your Guardian Angel didn’t warn—?” I began to say.

Deen loudly said, “Sorry! My sister’s being very noisy,” as she pulled me to hide in an unpopulated aisle.