Chapter Text
The room is dark save for the light from the TV, and Tara covers her eyes and the disgusting squelching and sawing sounds only get louder. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, burying her face in a pillow.
Amber spares her a quick glance, small smile on her face before turning back to the TV, watching as Art the Clown saws a naked woman in half, right from the folds of her vagina until he gets stuck on her skull, laughing all the way. The practical effects are a marvel of the genre, especially for a low-budget film like this one; they must have saved up for this. This is their showstopper, the big hit, the one that will earn them that Hollywood-money sequel a few years down the line, inevitably. “Don’t be a pussy,” Amber says. “It’s cool. Like, how the fuck does it look so real?”
Tara scoffs. “Of course I don’t want to be a pussy after what just happened to hers! Jesus, the guy who made this much be such a fucking creep.”
Amber furrows her brows, turning to Tara incredulously once the scene is over. “What? What are you talking about?”
Tara meets Amber’s gaze, unimpressed. “No non-misogynistic person looks at a woman and thinks about cutting her in half vagina-downward—or, upward, I guess? Whatever—after he already wrote her to act like the stereotypical bimbo slut through the rest of the movie. It’s, like, textbook indie-horror sexism.”
“Well, Art the Clown is supposed to be evil incarnate, or whatever, so it’s not like they’re portraying misogyny as a good thing. He’s evil, therefore misogyny is evil.”
“Yes, because I really needed to learn that misogyny is evil by watching him carve ‘slut’ into a woman’s arm and then cut another woman’s pussy open. Thank you for that lesson, Mr… What’s his name?”
“Damien Leone.” Somewhere in the background, Art seems to be getting comforted now, sucking his thumb like an infant: Is there kindness in you? Somewhere in your heart? Have you ever felt a mother’s touch? Can you show no mercy? The Freud-complex-bullshit seems to get on Tara’s nerves even more.
“Yeah. Thanks for that lesson, Mr. Damien Leone.” Tara says, sarcastic, before her expression melts into something half-confused, half-concerned. She looks so upset, and over what? A movie pick? It shouldn’t be this big of a deal, Amber thinks. “Why did you pick this movie? I know you like slashers, but I don’t know. I feel like it’s too much even for you.”
Amber shrugs, feeling a bit put on the spot. “Well, I mean, I know it’s gross, but it’s like.. A masterclass in practical effects: the blood, the guts, even the sound effects! It’s gruesome, and everyone on the Stab subreddit thinks that Art is going to go down in history as a modern horror icon.”
Tara sighs. “That’s exactly what I meant when I told you that Reddit is full of gross, sexist old men. They just miss seeing women objectified and cut up the whole time and try to pretend they’re not misogynistic by making, like, final girl tier lists, while completely ignoring the fact that final girls are almost always written by men to be androgynous characters that are basically as un-feminine as possible to appeal to the male audience! Virgins with boxy clothes who just don’t fit in with their other female friends. All the while, they’re acting like it's not misogyny that the almost offensively feminine best friend is always the half-naked one being chopped to pieces! Like, they’re not fooling anyone!”
“Damn,” Amber grumbles. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Tara deflates a bit at Amber’s response, disheartened and still more than a little confused. “I don’t mean to insult your pick, Amber, but you just- you never used to pick movies like this. I’m not the biggest slasher fan, sure, but you used to pick cool ones, like…” She pauses a moment, thinking. “The first couple Stabs, or Fear Street. I guess I just don’t want you to lose your own taste because of those shitheads online.”
Amber’s mood doesn’t lighten up at all. Her shoulders slump a bit, and she rolls her eyes, letting her head rest against the back of the couch. Richie had recommended this movie on call last night, and the scene that had sent Tara off on some social-justice rant about feminism in horror had been the very one that had sold her on giving it a watch. She’s never seen gore like that: so real, so personal, so crude and grotesque. It almost makes her feel proud, excited, grown-up, that she can look at this thing and think that it’s awesome rather than automatically turning away in fear or puritanical disgust. “Whatever, Tara. We don’t need to finish it. I should probably go, anyway, if I want to walk home before it gets dark.”
As Amber stands to grab her things, Tara grabs her wrist, with that same soft, gentle, unassuming touch she always uses. It’s ridiculous: if Amber didn’t give a shit about her feelings, it wouldn’t do anything to stop her. There’s no point to it. Tara should’ve grabbed her wrist harder if she wanted her to stay, tight enough to leave marks when she lets go. “Wait, I thought you were going to stay over tonight so Chad and Mindy could drive us both to school tomorrow. I have some of your clothes in my drawer, remember?”
“I actually forgot that I have a bunch of homework I need to do, so.” Not true. She’s probably going to go home and call Richie to rant about this. She’s not exactly sure how to combat Tara’s cries of misogyny, but she’s sure he’ll know what to say. He’ll validate her. Maybe he was right when he said that Tara just doesn’t understand her anymore.
“You can do your homework here.” Tara insists. Her voice falls over itself, like she’s rushing to get the words out. Like she’s desperate. “I’ll- You can work on it, and I’ll make some food for us. I even bought the stuff for that pasta you like, with the tomatoes and cheese? You don’t even have to help me make it; I remember the recipe. I’ll just- I’ll just work on that, and you can stay, and I won’t bother you.”
“I don’t know. I think I should go.”
“Please, Amber. You’ve skipped out on every sleepover we’ve tried to have in the last month, you keep leaving movie night early, and you never want to study with me anymore even though we’re in all the same classes, and you don’t respond when I send you videos on Instagram. Did I do something wrong?”
Amber blinks, shocked by Tara’s outburst. Tara looks up at her almost pathetically now, eyes wide and glassy like how a kitten looks at you when you try to regain its trust after accidentally stepping on its tail. “No, uh, you didn’t do anything, Tara. I’ve just been busy, is all.”
Tara looks towards the ceiling as if to will tears away, turning her body away from Amber as if this answer upset her more than anything else Amber could have said. “Busy,” she echoes.
“Yeah.” Amber shuffles. “There’s been a lot of stuff coming up, you know.”
“Amber, why don’t you want to see me anymore?” Tara asks. The words spill out like they’re overflowing, like Tara had not necessarily wanted to confront her about this here and now, but she just couldn’t help it, like she didn’t have it in her to watch Amber walk away one more time. “You’re not- You’re not busy, okay? We’re in all the same classes and all the same clubs. If you’re- If you’re doing something else instead of hanging out with me, it’s because you want to be doing something else, and that’s okay, I want you to be happy, but we used to do everything together, and I don’t know where it went wrong. I don’t know where I went wrong. Is it because of the movies? The slashers? I’m sorry if I wasn’t giving them—giving you—the attention you deserved. I didn’t mean to minimize them. I just thought you liked when we discussed them and had debates like we always do. I never meant to hurt your feelings, I swear.”
Tara’s words cut deeper than Amber expected them to. It’s like Richie had tried to put a band-aid over the gaping wound that was her fading friendship with Tara with sweet nothings— she doesn’t understand you, not like I do, she’ll never understand you, she’s too naive —but that could never really work. They had been friends for years. Amber wants Tara to understand her, to look into her eyes and recognize her like she used to. “It just feels like we don’t have anything in common anymore.” She says eventually, begrudgingly, and Tara, sensitive as ever, immediately has to fight back another wave of tears.
“Because- because of the slashers? Amber, we- you are so much more than movies.”
“But those movies mean everything to me.”
“More than I mean to you?” Tara asks: the brutal question. The one Richie always told her was coming: she’s going to make you choose, Amber. She’s not going to understand, and she’s going to make you choose. I’ll never make you choose. You can have both. You can have everything . But then, Tara’s face is scrunching up in regret. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I love that you have something you’re so passionate about. It’s really cool to see someone as passionate as you. I’ve never been that goal-oriented, or motivated, so to see you chasing your dream like that is awesome, really. I just meant that this doesn’t need to tear us apart. We can still gossip about our friends, or study together, or go to the park and draw each other pictures again, or even make fun of some stupid rom-com for being terrible! I just want to spend time with you. You’re my best friend.”
Tara continues to shock her, continues to act with such innocent love. Richie had wanted her to pull away, distance herself, for her own good, but she can’t do it. “You’re my best friend, too.”
Tara walks over to Amber and throws her arms around her, hugging her tightly and burying her face into Amber’s neck. It’s wet with tears, and Amber feels a stab of something in her stomach that she hasn’t felt in a long time—guilt. She hugs Tara back, pressing her cheek to her hair. Something odd stirs in her chest, something warm, and it lights her whole body up. It’s not the thrill of seeing a good kill, but it’s softer, like the brush of fingers on her neck when Tara clasps her necklace for her, or the lightness in her stomach when Tara giggles at her after they throw themselves under the heated blanket Amber had gotten for Christmas in the middle of the January freeze. Amber thinks she likes it.
Tara is the first to pull away, but her hands linger on Amber’s waist, pleasant and gentle. “How about this: we make your pasta, and then we take it up to my room and rewatch one of those Criminal Psych videos while we eat? And then we can work together on our homework afterwards. Would that be okay?”
Aside from Richie, no one has really made an effort for her like Tara has. “Yeah. Okay.”
The pasta tastes good as it always does, and Tara tells Amber that if the pasta is ready, it will stick to the ceiling, so they throw it up there until it does. Tara leans into Amber’s side when they watch YouTube videos and falls asleep almost immediately when they fall into her bed (just big enough for two), but Amber has a call she’s been ignoring, and incessant text notifications she had put on silent. She quietly, slowly sneaks out of bed, heading down to Tara’s living room—her parents aren’t home, never home. She turns off ‘do not disturb’ and, predictably enough, receives an onslaught of messages from Richie: “ where are you ” and “ answer the phone!!! ” to “ don’t be such a bitch, you know we had plans tonight ” to “ i’m worried about you, just shoot me a text when you can .”
Amber hits call, and he picks up on the first ring. “ Amber? Where the fuck have you been? ”
She gulps, nerves gathering in her throat. She knew that staying with Tara would make Richie upset, but Tara’s her friend. She should be able to spend the night with her friend, right? “I told you I was spending the night at Tara’s. We were watching movies. We watched Terrifier , actually. It was just as good as you said it would be. The practical effects were insane.”
Richie scoffs. “ Oh, you did, did you? And what did she think about that one? ” He sounds smug, and he might be right, but for some reason it doesn't feel right to admit it.
“She didn’t like it.”
Richie laughs. “ Why not? Couldn’t stand the gore? ”
Amber chuckles a bit, but there is a strange discomfort in her gut that isn’t normally there when she talks to Richie. “She thought it was, like, sexist. Because Art killed everyone, like, brutally, but he didn’t cut a guy’s dick off or anything. If he cut a guy’s dick off, I bet she would've loved it.”
“ Sexist? That’s crazy! ” Richie exclaims, voice staticky through the phone. It sounds like he’s driving, probably going home from work. “ Art the Clown is supposed to be the epitome of evil, so if he does misogynistic things, then- ”
“-Misogyny is evil. That’s what I said.”
“ And that wasn’t enough for her? ”
“...No.”
“ Damn. People are so sensitive nowadays. She probably didn’t even care about the sexism or whatever she said it was. The gore was just too much for her to handle, and she needed an excuse to turn it off. Those puritanical pussies love to feel morally superior. ” Richie spits out, voice full of disdain. He’s passionate, just like Amber is, driven by his feelings. Tara loves that in Amber, so it makes sense that Amber should love it in Richie. “ It’s the same kind of people who call us weird or- or freaks or psychopaths for liking slashers. This is how it starts .”
“I don’t know, she seemed to know a lot about it. She was talking about this, like, book that she wants me to read: Men, Women, and Chain Saws ?”
“ That’s bullshit feminist propaganda. She’s been indoctrinated, Amber. She doesn’t know more than you about these movies, and she especially doesn’t know more than me. I’ve talked to Damien Leone. We met at a convention a few years ago .”
“Really? That’s so fucking cool. Did you get a picture or anything?”
“ Yeah. I have a signed poster in my room and everything. I’ll have to show you when you come over here. ” Come over here. They’ve been talking about it for a while. Richie apparently has a ton of super rare Stab merchandise that he’s been bragging about, and, while he’s been sending her a lot of dick pics and sexting with her, they’ve never been able to meet in person, when they can finally take it to the next level. “ Speaking of: I was thinking we should change our plans .”
“What? Why?” Amber asks, holding the phone closer to her face, concerned.
“ I was thinking: I know we had talked about reviving the Stab franchise with a new location, new cast, new everything: fresh, but wouldn’t it be so much better if we brought it all back to where it started? You said you live in Stu Macher’s house, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be so fucking awesome to bring it all back to that house- the very room where it all began? ”
“Wait, yeah. That would be awesome, especially if we could get some of the legacy cast back, right? I’m sure we could. The right kills in the right places would totally lure them back.”
“ Yeah, exactly, and I have a great idea that would bring the whole thing together. ”
“What is it?” Amber’s excited now: killing some of her random classmates will suck, but it will make a much better movie than the random adults in Richie’s town, and if they can get Dewey and Gale, and, god, maybe even Sidney back in Woodsboro, that would make for the requel of the century!
“ Well, we need an excuse for me to go into Woodsboro, and I’ve gotten pretty close with Sam Carpenter recently. ”
“Sam?” Amber asks, surprised. “Tara’s absentee sister, Sam?”
“ Yeah. I think we’re close enough that if Sam went back to Woodsboro, I could go with her. ”
Amber hesitates, confused. “Okay, but what could lure her back to Woodsboro?”
“ That brings in my new idea for an opening kill. Someone lovable, someone helpless: there won’t even be a good chase, but none of the fans will care because the bloodbath will be so wonderful, ” Richie says, voice crazed. After a moment of dramatic pause, he says: “ Tara .”
Tara, with her gentle hands, and loving smile, opinionated rants and perfect pasta? Tara, who always listens, who is lying all pretty and small in bed right now, probably waiting for Amber to come back given her tendency to drop to sub-zero temperatures when she sleeps? That Tara? “...What?”
“ It would be perfect. She’s all alone in that empty house. You know how her security works so you can get in and out undetected, and Sam would definitely come back to identify her and plan the funeral ,” He says, like it’s no big deal, like it makes perfect sense, and, honestly, it does. It does for the movie, it would be perfect, except-
“But Tara’s my friend.” Amber’s throat feels tight. She knows this is right, right for the movie, right for Richie, but… “I don’t…”
“ Yeah, she’s your friend, and that’s why she gets the biggest, bloodiest kill of the whole movie. She’ll go down in history. She’s the one who likes making the storyboards and things, right? She’ll get the kind of movie fame she only could have dreamed of before. She’ll be grateful. Think about it. Remember Eyes of Laura Mars , the closest thing to giallo in American horror? She loved him. He took her photos and he elevated them, just like you’re going to do for her. ”
“Will she really like it?” Amber asks. Laura Mars is a good point, but what about all the other slashers where the people feel betrayed? “I don’t know.”
“ Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she will. You’re immortalizing her in your life’s work. That’s the most beautiful thing you can do for someone, isn’t it? ”
“Yeah, yeah, it is. She always made me promise that I would somehow reference her name if I ever made a movie, and I guess this is way better,” Amber says, beginning to turn around on this idea. Richie knows what he’s talking about. This is the way to make the movie as good as it can be, and nothing matters more than the movie. Right?
“ Perfect. So how do we feel about tomorrow night? Getting this in gear? ”
Tomorrow. She and Tara don’t have any plans tomorrow, so all she has to do is say there’s a movie event on the Reddit and use it as an excuse not to come over, and it will all be okay, because Tara will die happy, knowing that she and Amber have worked out their differences tonight and have a great future in store. Yeah. That’s perfect. It’s perfect. Isn’t it? “Yeah. Yes. Tomorrow.”
“ You have the knife and suit I sent you, right? ”
“Yeah.”
“ It will be perfect, baby. I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay? ”
“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“ Good night. Love you! ”
“Love you-” The phone beeps; the call is over. “...Too.”
Amber sighs, taking a moment to breathe before heading back upstairs. She’s going to make this kill legendary, worthy of Tara. It will be the best kill Amber ever conceived, one that will make such a good movie moment, but Tara had never cared about movie moments like that. Today was proof enough. Tara fidgets under the covers when Amber walks back in the room, and she blinks her eyes open, drowsy. “Amber? What’re you doin’ up?” Her voice is slurred. Soft. Always soft. Like a kitten, or a teddy bear, or any other precious thing. If Amber really takes a moment to think about it, Tara is the last non-movie thing still in her life, the only thing keeping Amber from being nothing but a one-dimensional character.
Amber realizes with a heavy heart that she can’t kill her. She won’t be able to do it. “Just had to go to the bathroom,” she says. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“Doesn’t matter. Cuddle with me.” Tara opens her arms wide, and Amber can’t control the small smile on her face as she buries herself under the covers and wraps her arms around her. Against her chest, she can hear the beating of Tara’s heart.
“I really do love you, Tara,” she murmurs, burying her nose into Tara’s hair and inhaling deeply. She holds Tara closer, tighter. It’s been so long. She was supposed to give it up, but this is the only time she ever really feels human. What was she supposed to do?
Tara hums. “Love you.”
Amber doesn’t sleep through the night. She just holds Tara close, rubbing circles into her back, taking in her warmth for as long as she can, until the next morning, when she wakes bleary-eyed. She had gotten maybe an hour of sleep before Tara’s alarm had gone off, and yeah, it was completely her fault for staying up all night to hold her, but really, who could blame her? Tara is walking around her room, gathering clothes, before she shoves a pile of them onto Amber’s face. “You need to get up! Chad and Mindy are going to be here in 15 minutes. I’ve let you sleep long enough.”
“Noooo,” Amber whines, shoving the clothes off of her face. She’s not sure what happens to them, whether they end up on the bed or the floor. It doesn’t really matter. She has no plans of wearing them. “Longer. Skip. Stay here with me.”
Tara’s face lights up with a grin, amused by Amber’s sleepy antics. “We can’t. We have a vocab quiz in English today, remember?”
“Yeah. A vocab quiz. We can make that up in like, five minutes. Come back to bed.” Amber reaches her hands out blindly, shutting her eyes, planning on falling back asleep. As soon as she is able to grab a bit of the fabric of Tara’s shirt, she yanks her back into bed, pulling her against her chest and curling around her like a koala so she can’t leave. If she can’t leave, they’ll have more time together, more time before whatever ends up happening tonight. Maybe if she just confides in Tara, they can think up a plan—no, Tara wouldn’t understand. Tara would call the police, and, honestly, she would be justified. Amber would probably call the police too if someone walked up to her and asked: hey, how can I not kill you tonight? I really don’t want to do it, but it’s looking like I have to.
Tara struggles a bit under Amber’s hold for a moment before letting herself fall limp. It’s been so long. Tara doesn’t need to say it aloud for Amber to know how much she has missed this. “Fine,” Tara grumbles into Amber’s chest. “But you have to tell Chad and Mindy. And make breakfast when we get up.”
“Easiest deal I’ve ever taken. No cons.” Amber says, offering Tara a winning smile before reaching for Tara’s phone from the bedside table. Tara frowns upon seeing it.
“Why are you using mine? Where’s yours?”
Amber shrugs. “I dunno. Can’t find it. It’s probably in your comforters somewhere. I can’t be bothered to look for it now. Don’t worry; I’m not going to send anything dumb as you.”
In the group text with herself, Tara, Chad, and Mindy, Amber sends: “ Hey guys so funny story it turns out that we don’t need that ride today ;) ”
Tara narrows her eyes in suspicion before sneaking a glance at the phone screen. Upon seeing what Amber typed, she yanks the phone away, giving Amber her best dirty look, which is not a very good one, especially since the two of them are still all wrapped around each other like octopi. “You’re such an idiot,” she says, lighthearted. “They’re going to know that was you.”
“Eh,” Amber says, teasing, laughing when Tara glares up at her. “I don’t think they will.”
“ ooohhh so you and the bitchy goth are staying home together probably all curled up comfy in bed, so warm, buried in each other’s arms😍 just bestie things🌈 ” Mindy responds, confirming Amber’s statement and sending a blush to both girls’ faces.
“Tell her that Amber said to shut the fuck up.”
“ Amber lost her phone but she says: stfu. ” Tara sends, dutifully, before putting her phone down. “They’re so dumb.”
“Yeah, but we can’t tell them that or they won’t give us rides anymore. My bike is fast, but since the seasons don’t exist anymore, it’s basically summer heat and I’d be sweating my ass off,” Amber reminds her.
“That’s because you wear the most out of season clothes imaginable. You’ve got all the tights and crop tops in winter when you’re going to get, like, hypothermia, but in the summer, you’re always layering up like an insane person. That’s your fault, not your bike’s. Jennifer is innocent.”
Amber scoffs out a laugh. “Jennifer? You named my bike?”
“Yep,” Tara answers, a proud little smile on her face, like she’s bragging. “Based on that character from Stab 3 that you liked.”
“Jennifer’s fun, yeah, but I don’t know if I’d want to ride her,” Amber teases, and Tara’s face immediately flushes red again. “Maybe when she was younger, before she got the Gale haircut.”
“Fair enough.” Tara says. She rolls off of Amber so she can get back under the covers before curling back up into her side. “So, what do you want to do today?”
Amber shrugs. “I have this, like, movie night thing with some of my online friends after school—or, I guess when school would have been—so maybe we can just hang out and binge-watch the I Know What You Did Last Summer show remake thing ‘til I have to go?”
Tara furrows her eyebrows. “I thought you said your Reddit friends said it sucked.”
Amber offers her a small smile. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see it for myself. Worst comes to worst, it’s awful and we make fun of it. And I mean, I heard there were lesbians in it, so how bad could it be?”
This seems to be the right answer because Tara’s face goes all gooey and warm, the way it does whenever Amber jokingly kisses her on the cheek or presses their thighs together in the back of Chad’s car. There’s something so strange about it, that Amber can’t really put her finger on; it almost makes her chest feel like it’s melting, like she was frozen cold until Tara’s stupid smile showed up to thaw her out. If it was love, she would surely feel the same way for Richie, so she’s not sure what it is. She just knows that she likes it, and she won’t get rid of it by killing her. “That sounds perfect, Amber.” Tara murmurs, grabbing her laptop from her nightstand, pushing it into Amber’s lap, and resting her head on Amber’s shoulder. “I’m really glad that you stayed last night.”
Tara is soft against her, warm, fuzzy sweater on her shoulders pressing into the cold skin of Amber’s arm, and no matter what it takes, Amber will not lose her. “Me too.”