Page 11 of Redemption
“Mi Alma, we need to—”
“No.” I shake my head emphatically, ripping my hand from his and pointing a finger at his chest as I force him to stop and listen tomethis time. “It’s time for you to listen to me,fucker. If you are in fact Darius, my ass-hat of an ex-fiancé, you lost your right to call methatname the minute you left me. That includes the real you, the dead you, and this imaginary version of you.” I raise and lower my hand at him, making sure he knows that all of him has done fucked up. It must work because he throws his hands up, surrendering.
“Of course it works. He’s a figment of our imagination!”
My inner-outer voice chimes in, the voice echoing....
Louder than usual...
...Now wait just a damn second.
Everything around me pauses, frozen in time and mental acumen, as I realize with a jolt that it’s not just a voice in my head this time.Thatvoice came from overthere...
Reluctantly, I turn my wide gaze to the side and see there’s another person beside me, facing Darius and holding the same stance I am. Only... it’s not just any person. It’s...me.
Aduplicateme.
She gives me a wide grin before she starts bouncing eagerly on her toes, her hair flouncing around her face in ridiculous pigtails. An outer manifestation of my inner self.
Oh, holy fuck nuggets. There’s my proof, right there. It’s official. I’ve gone bonkers.
If I could scream, I would, but instead, I do the only thing I can think of at the moment, which is shutting my eyes as tightly as I can once again—closing off the evolving hallucination—and humming the song “I’m Not Crazy,” by Matchbox Twenty.
Come on, Rob Thomas, bring me back to that normal, old-fashioned, millennial goodness. This is all too much toprocess. Too much... Much too much. I’m done. Cooked. Brain officially fried.
My fists clench and unclench at my sides, trying to reign in my psychosis.
Thisisn’thappening.Thisisn’t happening.
“It’s totally happening, bitch!!!! I’m alive!!!!!”
Um... Mr. Freud? Mr. Jung? Little help, please? Fuck’s sake, Cole’s going to have a field day with this new development...
Me-number-twostarts prancing around the garden as if it was her first time out from the loony bin, while I just stand there, consumed in my hysterical fate while sighing in mental exhaustion and utter bewilderment.
These are the days of my life...
“And I’m living the dream, baby!!!”
Unfortunately, I can’t think too hard on it at the moment because I have another shitstorm to deal with in the form of a dead/undead ex-fiancé.
Fuck, my brain hurts...
My Ego-Personified whimsically dances over to Darius, inspecting his face with extreme thoroughness.“Oof, Marine Corps training does the body good.”She raises her hands, gesturing to my (our?) ex. “Just look at him! All that caramelly skin. And you know how much we like caramel. Amiright?”
Ok. That’s enough out of you.
But she doesn’t listen to me. At all.“All yummy and delectable. I just.... Can we lick him? Yes? Oooooh, just think of all the places we can taste....”She sticks out her tongueand leans in. Millimeter after millimeter, she closes the distance until—
“Ok. Fine, then,” he interrupts... whatever the fuckthisis. “What the hellwouldyou prefer me to call you?” I can tell his level of frustration with me has reached a new all-time high as he grits the words through his teeth. But fuck him and his superiority complex. I’m going through some shit here, so he’s just either going to have to deal with it or get the hell out of my way.
“Uh, durr. My fucking name, ass hat! You do remember my fucking name, yes?”
“Of course, I remember your name; how the hell could I forget it?” He rolls his eyes while looking at me like I have two heads and am trying to figure out which one I want to use to eat an ice cream cone. Which... at this point... tracks.
“Wonderful, you’re not an imbecile. You may also refer to me as Your Highness, Goddess Divine, or, if you really wanna go back in time and pay homage to the amazing Paul Simon, you can call me Al.”
Frustrated beyond belief at my overzealous assertiveness, he slaps his palms against his very muscular, denim-encased thighs, instantly drawing my eyes towards his legs and, inadvertently, everything else he’s packing down there.
