The Outlier

FOUR

I heard a low painful buzzing in my head as I slowly regained consciousness, effectively reminding me of my hangover. I expected to wake up in a hospital bed, hooked to numerous devices with nurses all around me, cuts and bruises covering every inch of my body; reasonably, my mental image of being in a hospital bed wasn't too improbable considering how one of the culprits to my car crash said "let's call the ambulance and leave" if I remembered correctly. 

However, I wasn't prepared to wake up on cold hardwood floors with the sound of light and steady drumming outside, feeling ... fine? Other than my throbbing head- a consequence of my irresponsible alcoholic intake- I felt fine. I was wearing the same jeans, t-shirt and jumper I had worn- but all in one piece. I could've sworn that my clothes were tattered and shredded. 

Groggily, I got up and examined where I lay. I looked to my right and saw a dark mahogany table with two worn-out yellow chairs, behind the table I saw a kitchen counter, stove, and cabinets. Glanced to my left after finishing observing my right side and found a leather couch to my left with bits of it peeling, across sat an old and faulty-looking television playing the sports channel. A coffee table sat in the distance between the television and the sofa, matching the dark mahogany colour of the dining table I had seen. 

I got up and decided to wander around aimlessly, not even stopping to consider what I would do if I ran into the potential owners of this house. I made my way up the stairs and found a restroom and an attic room. I walked into the restroom first, and as I sat relieving myself, I noticed that the products on the bathroom shelf were all hair and skin products. Let me reiterate: my products. As I pulled my pants and trousers up, moving to the sink to wash my hands, I noticed another odd detail. I've used the same exact amount of product at home as I saw in the products before me. 

I stepped out of the restroom and walked downstairs quietly with hopes of finding the exit, after deciding against exploring what I guessed to be a bedroom realising I'd be invading the house owner's privacy even more than I already was. Roaming around the communal spaces of a house like a kitchen and living room is one thing but walking into someone's bedroom is a boundary I do not fancy breaking. 

That's when an interesting wall decoration caught my eye. A calendar for the month of January. I chuckled aloud, it was April of 2018- nowhere near winter. I assumed the house-owner wanted to have a habit of crossing days out with a calendar but eventually stopped trying. Then suddenly, I noticed the inscription on the top right corner of the calendar, the calendar isn't for January of 2018... it's for January of 2004. I shook off the thought of how odd it was someone in 2018 was using a calendar for January 2004. 

Maybe they're on a budget and have to make do with what they have, I thought to myself- decently plausible. The first three days on the calendar had already been crossed out with vibrant red marker ink. I saw a circle on a date- January 5th- with a note above it 'FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!' written aggressively in all capital letters. How sweet. 

I hopped downstairs to the familiar living room/kitchen area when I noticed an object I hadn't seen before sitting on the shiny marble counter. A beige file folder sat on the kitchen counter begging for me to open it and explore what it contained, the kind that contained legal documents that you'd see in detective films. I knew it was wrong of me to be rummaging around in a stranger's personal papers, but my curiosity gets the better of me sometimes. 

Kai Armin. 

Forks, WA.

A British and American passport. 

Emancipation papers. 

Transfer files.

11th grade. 

One-year lease. 

Admission letter to high school expecting me to start on...

 January 5th, 2004?!

Forks? Like in Washington? 

I was right, this house did belong to mystery personnel but it was also leased to me for a year. I almost dropped to the floor right then and there but I managed to have my feet carry me to the sofa before allowing myself to collapse. 

Bloody hell, what is going on? I thought to myself. 

I tried to recollect the events of the day and yesterday exasperatedly. 

First, I'm getting ready to go to a party. Then, I got to the party- I started drinking and dancing. I fell and hit my head against a literal mailbox. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks...

I got hit by a car.

Everything seemed completely reasonable till the car part. How does someone get hit by a car and then proceed to wake up completely fine? 

I ran up the stairs and barged into the attic room completely disregarding my logic for not going in earlier. I scanned my surroundings, unsettled by how similarly the room was furnished to my room in London. Posters from all my favourite bands were plastered on all the places where I would've put them, succulents on the windowsill, and tapestries where I would've felt like the walls would be too empty.

 I shook off the uneasiness I had felt earlier. I wanted something— anything— to remind me that night was real. Thankfully, I found a floor-length mirror. I took a close look at my face only to notice a faded scar. I touched it gingerly and it all came back crashing: that's where I hit my head. Hurriedly, I peeled off my t-shirt to further examine my body. No cuts, no bruises. I quickly turned to the side only to be met with the sight of a fully-healed four-inch long scar running down my bicep. 

My head felt like it was going a hundred miles per hour. First the party, then the 2004 calendar, and now fully healed scars from a car crash— which, might I add, happened yesterday. I laid down on the bed that I assumed had already been made for me. Tears welled up in my eyes before a single tear made its grand escape. That single tear gave way for more to cascade down the sides of my face. Before I knew it I was a whimpering, snotty-nosed mess. 

Why am I getting the short end of the stick with this whole fate thing? I cried till my eyes were red and stung when I'd blink, till my nose was so stuffy I felt like I'd never have clear sinuses ever again, till I'd wailed so much my voice hurt if I so much as sighed.

I sat up intending to go back downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee to help with the hangover when a peculiar sight caught my eye. A familiar picture printed on a worn-out book cover captivated me and I couldn't help it when my eyes bulged out in shock. The very same image of the ghostly-white hands holding the deep crimson apple from the night of my car crash but the only different thing was... it had a title. 'Twilight' was written above the image in its renowned font.

That's when it all clicked. I closed my eyes to think for a moment as I imagined my new reality.