Chapter Four: Hopefully

The walk home hurts, my stomach is getting queasy with each step, and the heat is pounding at the top of my head. What makes it really bad is that I have no one to walk home with. So most of my way its quiet, except for the occasional noise of a car squealing it’s tires or a dog barking at me from behind a gate.

Home is approximately seven e blocks away from school, which I’m glad that it’s not any more than that. I want to pass out on the sidewalk and cry.

But I don’t cry out in the public. I’d be pitied upon, and I don’t like it when I get that sort of attention. Plus, with a girl like me who happens to be pretty and nice and so and so, crying is going to add to the fact that I sound like a normal everyday girl.

My house is a rich white, and looks the neatest in the neighborhood. The lawn is tailored and the grass is cut in a nice even layer. There is a stone path that leads from the mailbox, the driveway and to the front door and the porch and it’s swing and hanging plants that are overflowing with color.

I open the door and a nice cool breeze pushes at my face. I look over to my left, no one’s in the kitchen, like I’m expecting someone like my mother to be in there. Ahead of me is the living room with it’s laminated flooring and dark blue couch and loveseat. The fireplace is filled with nothing but a charcoaled piece of wood and ash from last night.

The coffee table has few papers scattered across it’s dark wood, along with a few water stains. I sit down, the mattresses are cold and haven’t been used lately.

Both of my parents are at work, which is usual. Mom’s always working at one of the office buildings close to school. She said that, before I went to school on my first day, that she would always be close by and would come over as often as she could.

Never has she once showed up to see me.

Dad is always down at the publication office, he’s a journalist and is always looking to find some new juicy story that will work his column and get him more reads.

If I told him that I shared a conscience with someone, then of course, that’d be on the front page. But if I do mention that, I’ll get taken in by some sort of group of mad  scientists to be tested upon. I’m good for not being a guinea pig.

He could do a thing on Millet’s campaign at school today. But he wasn’t there, and if I even tried to describe it, there wouldn’t be enough for me to explain to make a column in any paper.

I fall back into the couch and look up at the ceiling. The fan hangs high, and I’m almost waiting for it to fall on top of me and crush me like a bug. I think it would solve a lot of my problems, but it would really just create more.

I can’t sit out here in the silence, it’s going to kill me. My room is the only safe haven for me to relax in. I walk down the hallway, where only a few family pictures hang. There’s one with the entire family, one of Grandmother, a few distant cousins of mine that I can’t even recall their names, and just one with Demetrius and myself.

My rooms at the end of the hallway. I open the door, and it's even colder than the living room. My walls are a light blue, and my bed takes up most of the space in my room. A bookshelf is completely stuffed with books, and a few textbooks that I never bothered to return to the school.

Everything has a rusty white to it. The frame of my bed looks old and so do my curtains, and... basically everything in my room.

When the door closes tightly behind me, I fall back against it, sinking down to the floor. I pull my knees up to my head.

I’m known for crying when I get sick. That’s usually the extent of me ever being teary. Despite how much I want to cry, I can’t. It’s like I have a plug holding back everything that I got.

I’m too relaxed. Demetrius and his words, they’ve gotten to me. That’s a good thing though, that means, hopefully, I won’t go and lose my focus.

Who knows if Millet will become President. Who knows if Millet will even use this whole equality thing. He’d have to fight for his seat, and he’ll have to get it passed at Office, but who knows.

“Why am I thinking about him right now?” I ask myself. I guess it’s the fact that the bitter smell of gel is still on my sleeve.

I mean, tonight’s the Presidential Ceremony. Tomorrow, I’ll go to school and see everyone that looks like everyone else. It’s only the fact that I probably won’t be there. Or at least, who I really am won’t be there.

For some reason, Demetrius is dead or is just not there. But I can see his body in a pool of his own blood. A gory mess in front of me.

“Stop.” I tell myself out loud, everything is becoming too vivid. “Don’t go and scare yourself.” I’m beginning to talk to myself aloud. Luckily, no one’s home. Add to the fact that I’m petrified about what’s going to happen to myself, then you have your very own lunatic.

I want Demetrius with me, but at the same time, I want him gone. He’ll try to comfort me, but he’ll only tell me: “Don’t panic.” And it’s already getting me irritated. It’s repeating in my head like a film.

My eyes are becoming heavy, sleep wants to be my best friend now. I want it to be as well. I want to dream something that is complete fiction. Something that will never happen. A dream where I’ll wake up wrinkled and beaten like worn leather, and none of this ridiculous equality and perfection falls into place. I like Pacis just the way it is.

There are three knocks on the door and each ring in my ears for a long second.

I pull my head up, drool tries to escape from the corner of my mouth.

I swipe my tongue across my teeth. Morning breath is in my mouth and my stomach feels almost fine and only a bit tender.

“Seline?” I hear Demetrius’ voice from the other side of the door. I use the wall as support as I get up. Brushing my hair down with my fingers, I open the door. He holds my bag on his other shoulder, and almost looks symmetrical if you split him in half. “How are you feeling?”

It takes me a moment to think of an answer, which I find dumb. “Fine. I feel like crying, but you know,” I say grouchily.

“What did Millet want?”

I shake my head, it feels like a distant memory.”Um... He just, wanted to talk to me.” I let out a long yawn that’s covered by my hand. I don’t need to go and poison him.

He sighs, “Was I being too harsh? About not panicking?” If we were about the same size and he tilted his head down, he would be staring at me with pitiful eyes.

“No... Just a little bit.” I can’t keep it quiet.

“I’m only doing it to protect us,” he hands me my bag. I grab it by it’s leather strap then haul it over to the opposite wall, underneath my window.

The air conditioner comes on and cool air strikes my back and makes the hairs on my neck raise.

“It’s really sucked for me today, and honestly, I’m scared about what’s going to happen. I mean, what’s going to happen if they discover who we are? What we can do?”

He leans against the wall next to my door, “Don’t worry, I’ll know what it feels like in a day or two. By then, I’ll think of something.”

I pull my head up. Something about what he just said is wrong to me.

My eyes zone out into the blinds, creating strange uneven lines. “You shouldn’t have to have the conscience to know what it feels like.”

He goes quiet.

It’s a weird to have to explain this to him, he’s usually so smart.

“It doesn’t look like it, but I’m doing what I can to keep myself stable.” I turn around and lean against my low windowsill. “You should feel the same way as I do. Terrified that somethings going to occur that can result in a life or death situation between us. Also, for you to constantly tell me to not panic, make’s me want to panic some more. I know that there’s going to be a day when someone finds out about us.”

I’m not expecting much from him. He’s usually emotionless, he’ll only smile at me occasionally. But that seems like that’s it.

I turn back around and fix my blinds.

“That’s really the only thing that I can say. You don’t seem to realize that I am trying to help you.” He looks over at my bookshelf overstuffed with books. “I feel like he’s already in control of half the population.”  

I can’t disagree with him on that, he looks like he’s got everyone wrapped around his finger.

I don’t like it when Demetrius’ right.

“I get what you mean. You’re playing it safe.”

He nods his head, and straightens himself. “Tonight, we should really be careful, and like, extra careful if you’re going to the Presidential Ceremony.”

I turn to look at him. He looks around the room, like there are going to be any cameras sitting around. He sees my computer, and looks at the webcam for a moment. He pulls it’s plug out of the monitor in a quick manner.

“Prepare for the worst. I feel like Millets going to win this, but not for what he’s really saying.” He says, dropping the cord onto my desk. It drops down on the table awkwardly. “I’ll see you tonight. Or tomorrow.” There is another word that is supposed to come out of his mouth, but he closes it. He turns and walks away.

I stand there, until I hear him close the front door.

I replay the image of his lips in my head. I’m no professional at lip reading or body language or anything like that, but I know what he was going to say.

My shoulders drop, and I look over at the pulled wire. “Hopefully.”

It’s a good job he didn’t say it. Because I can’t really imagine a world without the other half.

By myself.

It’s because of him that I truly am here today. At first, when I noticed the strange fizzy picture of a person in front of me that is actually my Conscience, there was a small rabbit in the road. For the moment I stood there, there was a tingling burning in my head, but nothing too extreme.

The static person ran ahead, and went in to collect it in it’s arms but really, it looked like a vision. A thing of the future.

There weren’t any cars around, so I didn’t see the issue in doing so. I went ahead and got it. But here I am, 15 years later, and things have gotten more dangerous. Like this morning, that was a life or death situation for myself. And in the elevator, that couldn’t have been helped.

As long as there is something dangerous happening, it’ll stop at nothing to get what it wants or to make us feel the worst of pain.

Demetrius and I both noticed that if we did nothing to try and help, we feel pain. Nothing physical of course, but it’s all mental pain that feels physical. We can both see the static person when there’s a problem.

And he saw past me this morning. I really did want to help, but that moment when I winced in pain, that showed that I was going to do nothing about it. Just the thought of standing there and watching will begin to trigger pain.

But I don’t like feeling pain, so I went ahead and did it. Really, for the sake of my own good.

I look up at the ceiling, “I’m a bad friend.”

***

Mom and Dad arrive home late, nothing too surprising. Dinner is always something that I have to make, only because they find them too tired to really just stand up from the dinner table when they sit down. It’s not an issue though, the sizzling of oil keeps me occupied and sane.

Mom has straight blonde hair, a gold waterfall of pure beauty. She has brown eyes that are like mine, and are almost fully black with the pupil. She is thin, and you can see her bony ball and socket joints. She is one part of the equation to my height.

She’s too motherly for me, but I can put up with the constant hugging and kisses on the forehead and cheek.

Dad on the other side, has dark hair and brown eyes, and I’m basically his genes. He’s tall and is a bit muscular, but nothing too extreme. Even though he looks tough as nails, he’s a rather gentle person and nothing too vicious. He is the other half of me being tall.

I can get along with them rather well, but there will be times in which a door will be slammed by someone. I try to keep myself from being that person.

“How was school?” Mom asks me, flipping her hair back.

“Oh, fine.” I say. They like it when I say more than “fine,” but I don’t really want to explain to them how I have a Conscience controlling most of my life and how it will be affecting me for the rest of it.

“Hm, and what about you Hun?” She asks Dad, my life isn’t interesting enough for her. I’m okay with that.

“Well, I’ve been nosing around the city and at the corporate buildings for something. But nothing good has shown up for me.” He stops, like an idea sprung. “I was told that there was an assembly at your school for the campaign of Alwin Millet.” He looks over at me, holding his fork floppily in his hand.

“Oh, yeah, there was an assembly too.” I say flatly as I spoon up a thing of peas into my mouth.

“What was it about?” He asks.

“Oh, you know, he’s going to do what he can to let our voice be heard. Be perfect and equal. Just a bunch of blubber.” A lie. We all know that people who want to run for President is to control all of us. But I hold my tongue, they don’t like it when I voice my opinion.

“What?” Mom looks at me.

I nod my head, “Yeah.” They can see that I’m done talking. If there’s something that I’m uncomfortable with, I usually express it with a careless manner.

“Hm, they probably have it on the news or something.” Dad says, the starts cutting into the loaf of meat that I call food. At least, it’s not poisoned and undercooked. I’ve learned how not to do it thanks to the school.  

“Alright, we’ll go check it out later.” Mom says. As I put my fork into my mouth, some dressing from the salad is on my upper lip. “Hold it, darling.” He takes a napkin from the center of the table. But before she’s able to baby me, I grab the napkin from my lap and rub my face with it.

She sighs, knowing that I’m not going to be treated like a child. Even though there isn’t anyone to really embarrass me with, I’m still uncomfortable with the fact.

For the rest of the time, they go on and on about their work and what’s been going on with our (technically it’s their) friends. Even after that, they jump back onto the boat of politics.

Political parents, they’re interested in it so much.

I feel bad for not telling them of what I am. They probably won’t believe me, so I just keep my mouth shut about it. It’d be schizophrenia all over again.

They’d put me in some sort of juvenile detention room for the psychotic. Even if I do go to something like that, I’d drag Demetrius with me. I’m no good alone and by myself.

Rambling is already a problem that I have. Putting me into a mental facility would be asking for instant death.

For some reason, I think of this: I can’t imagine killing someone. The spilling of blood would be on my count. Even if it was someone that I had a pure hatred against, I think that’d be the first time I’d cry over something besides illness.

***

That night, Mom and Dad rummaged around on the new stations to find out what exactly went on down at School. Not even the internet helped them besides what they already know. I’m sorry the other Presidential Nominee, I don’t even recall his name honestly.

I’m not sure why Millet would tell us, the School about his campaign and such. We’re kids, and kids don’t listen to foolish things besides their own foolish things. That’s just how it is.

But really, there is only one idea on my mind, and it makes sense.

We’re his future, if he keeps things up and he treats us Citizens properly, I don’t see why we ourselves wouldn’t want to keep him in Office.