Who You Are

Chapter 1

(This is the SPINOFF story to my "Out of the Ordinary" series, which I would highly recommend reading before starting this one, but it probably isn't completely necessary either. I'll leave it up to you.)

There was nothing quite like exertion to burn through a cloud of loneliness. Pain. Sheer emotion. Officially winded, I sat and took in my progress. The room felt familiar but entirely foreign at the same time—not exactly what I was going for.

Well... I didn't really know what I was going for.

Sweat dripped down my back where I sat propped up against the couch, which had only minutes ago been against the far wall, and frustration filled me as quickly as water poured into a glass.

At no point did I know what I was hoping to achieve with this. I was only hoping to forget, and so far, it wasn't working.

The ache returned, beating like a broken heart through me. Full force. Debilitating enough to feel like physical pain. I doubled over my knees. Breathing. That was all I could do. And that hurt, too. The air was filled with cleaning products from my hours spent scrubbing the entire apartment, and the smell burned my nose.

My head pounded. My nose hurt. My eyes burned. My heart ached.

The couch on this side of the room wasn't helping, and neither was the coffee table where it sat against the far wall.

Sniffling, clearing the tears from my eyes, I dragged my body, heavy and tired, off the floor and stood still, surveying the room, thinking that maybe the couch would be better by the window.

The movement was the only thing that drew away some of the sting, little by little, until my mind went blank, too focused on the burn of my muscles and the shifting of the furniture to give any attention to everything else going on inside.

I couldn't be sure how long I'd been at it when I heard my name.

Maddie. She was home. Staring at me.

"Hey," I said. And it was only when I stopped—the couch once again near the far wall after deciding that it didn't work by the window either—that I realized I was winded again. But I wasn't done. So with what felt like the last of my energy, I pushed the sofa all the way against the wall and only stopped when I felt a hand on my arm.

"What?" I snapped, immediately regretting it.

But rather than react, her eyes shifted around the room, landing on each piece of furniture. She looked nothing but concerned. And there it was again. That ache. Threatening to split me in half.

I braced my hands on my hips like that might make me look normal. Like that might make me feel normal. Like that might make any of this normal.

"You realize it's almost ten at night?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. Casually. Then even more casually returned my attention to the couch. "I already cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom and your room, but I still had a lot of energy so I thought I'd just rearrange a little bit."

It was funny. Because right before she walked in, my body felt like it might not make it another minute before collapsing. But I wasn't lying to her. All of a sudden, it felt like I had a second wind. So I pushed the couch over a bit more. Closer to the window. Maybe that was what the room was missing. The couch just wasn't at the right angle.

I felt her looking at me. Waiting for me to crack. And I could feel it starting again. I'd been able to halt the fissure shooting down my heart when I'd started cleaning and rearranging. But now, with her concerned eyes on me, I could feel it starting to split again, cracking through.