Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 5

All the fans you could live for, and you chose me.

General relationship overview: Alec Warrensword, Esmae Faix, and I are friends from school, you write, Esmae and I attended the same college while Alec didn't, and we have not been in contact with him since graduating from high school.

Pausing there, you put down your pen for a moment to take a highlighter. You highlight the word "friends".

Next, you write: Esmae and I were never in a romantic relationship, and I never intended to or had plans to court her.

☆☆☆

Surprisingly, Esmae slowly but surely became friends with you and Alec after the concert. You found that she began to contact the both of you more frequently, and sometimes even joined you at the lunch table—which was certainly no easy feat, even if it wasn't impossible, given how Alec often rotated between you, his athletic circles, and other random students that wanted to sit with him. You often sat by yourself when he wasn't with you, not because you had no other options but because you liked to. You didn't want to be reminded of how much you were hiding from the rest in an attempt to look normal.

At first, you found Esmae's involvement with the two of you rather odd. Popular as she was, she had no shortage of friends—of both sexes and all genders—and barely had time to speak with each group. Nonetheless, when you ate alone, initially, she would wave everyone else goodbye and sit with you. When she did, you talked, but not very much. You were aware of how difficult you were to strike a conversation with, but you were much too preoccupied in your bewilderment to try to add another performance on top of the constant one you were already giving. She never seemed to mind, instead taking the initiative to converse. Over time, you came to know more about her than she did about you.

Once, as you and Esmae sat together during lunch, a commotion started nearby. The both of you turned in that direction to see that it was just Alec joking around with his basketball friends. Naturally, they were the loudest of groups. You didn't hear the joke, as that table only caught your attention when the boys erupted in carefree laughter.

...Carefree laughter.

Curious, Esmae turned back to you. "Why do you never join them? Don't you all know one another?" she asked.

You tore your gaze from the group to answer her. "Does it look like I would fit in with that bunch?"

She gave a giggle, then glanced at the group again before turning her attention back to you. "But you and Alec get along just fine."

"Alec gets along with everyone just fine. That's his thing."

"True."

☆☆☆

Memories of the past, once carefully sealed away, rush back to you with every word that you write. Your pen freezes on the paper. You are gripping the pen so hard that your knuckles have turned white. Taking a deep breath in, you put the writing utensil down and then pick it up again in order to adjust its position a little. Then, you continue writing.

The incident. Time: around 21:30. Events...Alec rang the doorbell. Esmae and I each had a glass of wine in hand and we were sitting in the living room by the coffee table. We had barely begun drinking. I answered the door. Esmae and I were both surprised to see him there. Alec seemed to be in a frenzy, I saw it in his eyes.

Before I could say anything, he had stormed in and closed the door behind him. Esmae went to give him a hug but he shoved her away before she could reach him. He pulled out a pistol from his black bag and pointed it at her, asking if she had forsaken him and if she didn't love him anymore. She said they had only ever been friends, just as she was with me. He shot at her.

I stepped back instinctively, shocked, in the process knocking over the glasses on the coffee table. He immediately shot at me next.

That is all I remember.

Finally, you have written down all the most important parts of your lie. You leave it as is, even though there are many pages left in the notebook. Although you cannot think of anything else to add just yet, you are quite convinced that this lie will only build up each time you have to explain it—and you are equally certain that there will be many more instances where you will have to explain yourself.

Closing the notebook, you lean back into your chair. A second later, your brows crease, and you look all around you.

You cannot shake off the feeling that someone is in this room with you—someone, or some presence that you cannot see. Your mind wanders back to that day in the hospital when you first woke.

...what business does the devil have with the likes of me? you wonder.

There is no verbal answer, but the photograph on your desk begins to fall off the table on its own. Without thinking, your hands dive to save it from reaching the floor. You catch it perfectly, and just as you are about to put it back on the desk, you notice that the picture inside has slightly shifted, revealing the corner of another photograph hidden behind it.

Is this what you are reminding me of? you think to yourself again—but now, you are virtually in the mindset of speaking to the devil who for some reason would not let you die. Don't worry, I could never forget anyway.