Me & Her

Me

For the next two days, everything is quiet.

Alyssa barely talks, only to make fun of Light at breakfast, or to pass on rude comments about some of the teachers at school. She misses Mr. Dark – or whoever he is. I haven't had the chance to find a computer to search for a name. Alyssa said he'd want it to be something meaningful, something profound. A little difficult given that I only met him once, during which he scared me half to death.

Dr. Light – Bo – doesn't talk to me much either, except in our scheduled lying – sorry Therapy – sessions. The only people I can talk to are my mother and Emma and Noah.

Noah's sister's classmates are signing a petition to help raise awareness at her school. Noah asked Emma and I to sign it yesterday. It makes me want to scream; the way people deny others of being who they are. I should know. But then I don't who I am. I don't think I ever have, even before the coma when I lost most of my memories.

'Do you always have to be so dramatic? Honestly, you're just too much for a Thursday morning,' groans Alyssa.

We're standing in the parking lot, waving at Mum as she drives away. She helped me with my History last night, reading flashcards out to test my knowledge on the French Revolution. It was a mess, that's what we decided.

The Academy is swarming with students, all carrying boulders on their backs, hauling folders from room to room like fraying coats of arms. The glassy structure used to be so imposing, almost as if it a Sultan had been reincarnated in the beams that shoulder the doorway. Now I'm sure not what it is. Not to me.

P.E. has been especially difficult since Miss Kirby, or Miranda Kellan. Since we were forced to walk into the gym and listen to a supply teacher choking out a lie that Miss Kirby had been called away on urgent business.

A lump rises in our throat, but Alyssa shoves it back. She keeps telling me Miranda was a bad person, she threatened us, she joined an organisation that had us tortured for years. All the same, her words can't stop the guilt. She had a daughter and no amount of truth will change the fact that I still feel like a monster for letting her die.

I tried to tell Alyssa that it wasn't her fault, because it was mine. I should have been there. Should have done something.

As I walk into the hallway, teeming with lockers, I almost choke a laugh. Done something. I can't do anything. Alyssa is the power. I'm just the psychological lodger who sits around, brooding. Always in a dressing gown because I know it's not worth going outside. Into a world where I'm a label in a Doctor's surgery.

I'm the body double in a magic show, the nameless, faceless twin.

It's been this way for so long I'm not sure if I exist anymore.

If I have anymore right to be here than Alyssa does.

Shaking my head, as if I force the thoughts from my ears, I spot Emma in the hall. She's laughing, trying to rally younger students to participate in German Club. They seem as enthralled by her smile and her energy as I am. When she catches my eye, she jumps up, waving frantically. Part of me hesitates. I don't deserve to be her friend. I don't deserve any of this.

As my feet plant themselves in the floor, Emma darts over to me instead. Decides, for some unknown reason, that I'm worthy.

"Hey, what's up?" she asks. I'm about to reply, to tell her the truth. To tell her everything. In the end, my conscience retreats and I'm left smiling with rubber lips.

"Nothing. Just tired. The French Revolution really kept me up last night," I say.

"Ah yes. Very noisy, that guillotine". We smile and head to Math class, swept away by the river of students as they chat and gossip. This time, my smile finally feels real. This is my life now. I'm going to school, I'm doing the subjects I love with people I admire. I have a life. I am alive at last.