Identity [ON HIATUS]

15 Diagnosis By Google

Co-consciousness; that's what Google had called it.

You can never use Google as your primary source for up to the minute research, but when you start hallucinating about your dead twin, you need answers, you need them now.

One minute she was there, and the next minute, she was gone. The IPod still played as if I'd done it myself, as if I'd walked up to it, turned the dial, and spoken to myself. I couldn't remember, couldn't remember anything. I was lost inside my own mind.

I wasn't prepared to diagnose myself, and I certainly wasn't going to my parents, who were still grieving, forever grieving. Whereas I, I couldn't get rid of her.

Two weeks passed and I still struggled with the feeling of Rose trying to push to the forefront of my mind, to take over. It's not like I could control her, but I could feel her presence; sat in the corner of my art room, watching me paint. Nowadays I painted everything, from what I saw to what I couldn't. One time, Rose had even painted, and I woke sat at a stool, with a canvas full of black writing and black painting covering my hands.

The words had read let me out.

I was beginning to fear that Rose could see what I could see, even when I was completely myself. She could see my interactions with Sarah as we studied Math in the kitchen together, feel the temperature in my cheeks rise whenever Liam Litnicky walked past and gave me a cute smile.

"I don't like him." She told me one day while I read on my bed, my bed, while she preened and pruned at herself in the bathroom. I couldn't see her, only her reflection in the mirror.

"Who?"

"Liam Lit...loser."

I sighed. "You know his name. If I do, then you do."

She shrugged, and looked back at her reflection. "He's a slime ball. He doesn't talk to you properly throughout school and then bam, your sister dies and he's all over you."

I smirked. "Maybe he was just afraid of you to come near me?"

Rose left the bathroom and sat on the edge of my bed, playing with a loose thread on the sheet. "He should be afraid of you too. Just because I'm not here anymore, doesn't mean you're an open target."

"But you are still here."

...

That night I woke up in Charlie's apartment once again, wrapped in a blanket on his sofa. Charlie sat in the same place in the armchair opposite, leaning forward, smoke curling from the cigarette resting in the ash tray on the coffee table between us.

It was a classic picture for me now, him staring intently at me, trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"I googled it."

"You what?"

I sat up, feeling the heavy makeup over my eyes, and the tight leather pants around my thighs; the spitting image of my sister once again.

"Dissociative Identity, Multiple Personality..." I trailed off, hugging myself tightly from the cold in Charlie's apartment. Either he doesn't feel it, or he can't afford hot water.

Charlie rubbed his eyes and took a puff of his cigarette, before putting it out.

"Come on," He started, and threw me one of his hoodies. "Let's go get some breakfast."

Thank you so much for reading once again! As of today, I will be taking part in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) and so won't be updating Identity until December. I appreciate your comments and feedback so much so please don't hesitate to leave some, and I'll see you all next month!

Wish me luck x