Identity

5

I have been working at Greta's bake shop for about a week now. I come in a lot earlier than she asks of me and leave at closing time. That way, I can avoid Katy as much as possible.

She leaves me be in the morning and doesn't disturb me once I get home. I feel the smallest ounce of guilt for rejecting her friendship, but once I open my eyes and look at myself in the mirror, all that guilt washed away. It is for the best for everyone involved that I remain isolated.

I remember feeling her rejection soak through my bones once my words registered in her. I looked into the depths of her mind and found her intentions nothing but genuine. I can feel her good heart and know that her offer for friendship was her way of waving the white flag, but it doesn't change anything.

She is still a cop. The cop that is being paid to watch me and keep me in check. Her job description is nothing more than babysitting and a few drives to the doctor's office twice a week. How can a warden and a prisoner become friends?

As for Greta, she allows my long hours, saying that it shows character. I haven't received my first pay check yet, but I plan to save every dime I make for when this prison sentence is over.

Luckily the pigs are very thorough with their jobs, giving 'Adeline Briggs' enough information to be legally put on a payroll. Asking Katy for my new social security card and driver's license didn't exactly bury any hatchets. In fact, it sparked a few more fires.

I didn't mind working long hours at the shop. It helped keep my busy mind occupied. It's hard to think about what's hurting you when you are busy working with numbers. I got use to the register rather quickly and the long lines didn't bother me. I don't know how Greta was able to bake enough goods and breads for the shop and was able to deal with all the people at the same time.

The people.

Some of these customers were obviously regulars, and I can tell by how their eyes burn holes into my flesh and their curiosity screams in my ears. That is another reason I enjoy the constant numbers and distractions; it keeps the voices at bay.

I've been able to keep the voices under control for maybe years, but sometimes when I don't pay attentions, they slip through my walls and start screaming in my head until I fight them away. They are always different. They are either people's fears, or their lies, but almost always are their thoughts in that present moment. Imagine what growing up was like when you're able to hear everyone's darkest secrets without asking for them, and never being able to stop it. I can tell you from experience, it isn't fun.

I learned to control the voices at a young age, when I started to feel my sanity slowly slip away from me day after day. I would start to claw at my own flesh, fighting for some quiet in my own mind. I have scars from those days. They are faded and can only be visible if you are purposefully looking for them. Little did I know that the darkness I slipped into back then was child's play compared to the shit storm I got myself into now.

Speaking of loud and annoying noises in my head, I kept hearing the comments of what Andrews said bounce around the walls of my mind. It kept the flame inside me burning and alive. Every time I picture that cocky smirk on his face and the sensual suggestions he spurt out I felt that control slip away and the burning rage explode inside me.

He didn't come back to the shop all week, which was a good idea on his end because I'm not sure if I would be able to keep my anger on a tight leash if he came around again.

It is now Friday and I've been avoiding Katy like the plague because I am extremely over due on my scheduled physicals. I know they are mandatory but the outcome is worthless. I have been to the doctors many times before just like anyone else and no doctor has found anything to suggest I'm less than human. The doctors want to know what makes me tick, and the only answer I have as to why I'm like this is I just... am.

I'm me. I've been like this since before I could remember. It was less noticeable to others when I was younger, because I was only able to do small things like turn my lights off or move something a little bit. Over time I was able to perfect the skill and be able to move things a human being could never be able to move. The voices were always there too. It wasn't like I woke up one morning and started to hear everyone's thoughts. That was always a part of me.

And that is how I was able to hear Greta's scream even though I was still a block away from the shop. It was short and sharp, but was still enough to make my feet pick up its pace until I started sprinting to the front doors.

My mind was racing. Did they find me? Were they questioning Greta? Were they torturing her? Just to get to me?

I felt a small sweat break on the back of my neck as I ran through the doors. I ran towards the back room where she must have been baking before something horrible happened. I busted through the doors and scanned the kitchen quickly before my eyes landed on her.

She was crouched down on the floor with a town around one hand. The other hand was slowly picking up cream puffs that were scattered around in a massacred mess of cream and dough. She looked up after the door closed behind me. She then proceeded to look at the clock behind her head then back at the cream puffs, "Well of course you're early. I wouldn't have expected much else." I just stood there completely silent. I think I was in shock, or maybe it was relief. I just stood there and stared at her until I was finally able to find my words, "What happened?"

She slowly got to her feet with the help of leaning against the table, "Silly me, I burned myself on this pan. I accidently left it near a stove top and it got hot without me knowing. So when I picked it up I dropped it everywhere." She gestured to the mess in front of her and the towel around her hand. I started to walk towards her, "Let me see that."

"Oh no, Addy, I'll be fine." She went to put her hand behind her back but I grabbed her wrist before she could. I took the towel that was around her hand off and saw the dark red line running down the center of her palm. It was fresh and looked very painful. I looked at this small old women and was conflicted.