Twice Over

Chapter Ninety One - Reboot

reboot
noun
1. an act of booting a computer system again
2. something, especially a series of films or television programmes, that has been restarted or revived

Mum gave me a lot to think about. I didn't want to think about it really, but it really looked like Eyva had lost her memory and now I needed to treat her like a new person, not the Eyva from the distant nor recent past. Because this new Eyva was so different. So... normal. Gone was the stuck up entitled heiress. Gone were the green-tea witch tendencies. Her words were whole, not partial at all. She meant what she said with no hidden meaning. She was even nice to be around.

I did my step sister duties and stayed with her a few hours, until someone was able to come and relieve me. Before I left, that first day, she stopped me and asked me a very honest and pointed question.

"You don't like me, do you Lily?" She was in the new bedroom robe I'd designed and given her. The peaches and oranges suited her complexion really well. She still had bandages around her head, part of the hair on the left side of her head had been shaved for the medical team to suture a gash on her scalp. Under the bandages, her hair was a horrible lopsided mess. When she noticed me staring it for a long time, she raised a hand and covered it self-consciously.

"I don't like you. Or rather, I didn't like who you were." I held onto the door knob and carefully answered her. She was still sick in a hospital bed and it would be terribly uncouth of me to upset her unnecessarily.

"What was I like? Truthfully?" She asked a question that difficult to answer nicely.

"Truthfully? You really sure you want to hear this from me?" I asked, giving her a chance to back out of it. She paused a moment, searching my face, then slowly nodded.

"I don't think I'm the best person to answer this kind of question. We do not have a good history together." I shook my head and repositioned my crutch so I could balance easier. Letting go of the door handle, I turned back to her.

"Truthfully, you were a very powerful, vindictive person. You got what you wanted, when you wanted it and didn't care who you had to go over to get it. You had a posse of groupies who followed you everywhere, but I highly doubted you had any real friends. Everyone wanted to suck up to the great and powerful Eyva. Because of who your father is, every one of them were probably directed by their own families to become your friend, hoping they would gain something from you or maybe your powerful dad.

"Gifts, meals, jewellery, services. You didn't have to lift a finger to get anything done. I'm not sure how real your school grades are. I don't know if you were voted onto all those committees with honest means. I'm not sure you actually do any real work in your leadership roles, or if someone else does it all for you, making you look perfect. I'm don't know who your current boyfriend is because you change them like you change your Victoria Secret underwear. I don't even know if you own your own car because you're in a different model every time I see you. Chances are you own them all.

"You've never worked a day in your life. You are the quintessential second generation daughter, spending daddy's money, branding his name about. You've never thanked anyone for anything that didn't somehow boost your pure, generous perfect little Overmeyer Heiress image. You take the estate staff for granted. You treat your little brother like a pet animal. You make demands of your amazing father left, right and centre, and your step mum?" I shrug. I don't really know about their relationship.

"The last two and only real conversations we've ever had, you slapped me across the face and called me a slut, multiple times. But that isn't the worse you've done. Do you want me to continue?" The look on her face fell ever so slowly, that by the time I finished my little tirade, she looked like she was going to burst into tears, and I felt awful, like I'd just dropped kicked a puppy off a ten storey building.

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking down at the plush carpeted floor. "That was mean. I'm sorry. Its just hard to get over the whole you've lost your memory thing. I'll keep out of your hair in the future, if that's what you want." Speaking of hair, I think she will need a whole new look.

I left the hospital and had an estate car drive me home. On the way back, all I could do is stare out the car window and think about everything. She'd lost her memory. I now had no where to push my blame and I didn't believe it was honourable, or the right thing to do by placing all my angst onto the new and improved Eyva 2.0. Because that would make me the bitch. And it would damage more relationships around me than I could cope with. And Wallace would probably kick my arse.

Sigh. Sucks to be me.

By the time I got home I had decided to try something, to give a little in my relationship with the new Eyva. If I could come along side her and help direct her in some way, steer her from becoming Eyva 1.0 all over again, then maybe we could make this whole step sisters thing work. Maybe. Dunno.

Then I remembered the gash on her scalp that needed stitches and her shaved head. Eyva 1.0 would have been mortified and died a thousand times over when waking up to find her perfect blond hair had been grossly mutilated. She would have rather risked major brain infection and blood poisoning than have her head shaved. I smile a vindictive smile, imagining myself laughing my arse off at Eyva 1.0 as she screams her mortification. I shook my head, trying to dispel those thoughts. Eyva 1.0 may as well have been buried. And that gave me another idea. Entering the house, I parked myself on the lounger near the kitchen.

I search up on line, photos of models with gorgeous half-shaved hair styles, funky cuts and curls, wavey long locks and short bob cuts that are edgy and fresh. I mean, these styles are so totally NOT Eyva 1.0's style, completely far from it. But maybe, for Eyva 2.0 to grow up out of Eyva 1.0's ashes – maybe a new hair style and wardrobe is exactly what she may need.

I send her a quick email.

[Dear Eyva 2.0. I think your new hair cut sux. Try these styles for size. If one fits your new personality, let me know and I'll smuggle you out for a new haircut. Love your step blister, Lills.] Then I sent her a dozen or so images I'd found on the net.

I got a reply back after a moment.

[Dear Blister Lills. I laughed so hard I cried and got you into trouble with Dad. Sorry, not sorry. Love you, from Steppy Eyva 2.0. P.S Yes please.] I giggled at her smart arse reply. Yes, I think I could get to like this new step sister. If she learns not to take herself so seriously, I think we would get on swell together.