Who am I?

I strut into the basement; its familiar scent invades my senses. I begin to plug my electric guitar into the amp and Charles walks up to me, scowling.

He starts yelling, “Where the hell have you been!”

Calmly, I reply, “I was visiting a friend.” Now that the guitar is secure and safe, I stand to face him.

His face blows up. “Why were you visiting a ‘friend’ when we have practice?” His hands are on his hips, his neck cocked to the side. I stare. “What’re you looking at, prick?” He pokes my chest. I sense he wants to drag this on. He wants the attention he believes he deserves.

As our singer, a guitarist, and a person, I stick my chest into his saying, “Watch yourself kid.” His height makes the scene even more comical: my six foot against his five feet four inches. I recall the affect anger had on my eye color, but it is too late to turn away; Charles saw it. Emmy walks in, revising the situation. Her eyes avert to mine and she sees them slipping. Her small hands do not catch me in time. I slip to the floor, rolling onto my side limply like a raggedy Ann doll. An odd feeling starts in the pit of my stomach. Surely these symptoms are not that of a common cold. They cannot be.

Emmy watches me. I can see her through the crack between my eyelid and eye. She looks very worried. We both know what is going to happen and in an attempt to keep me secret, she stuffs Charles back into his house, locking the door behind her.

Violent tremors ripple through my body, bending my spine into odd shapes.

“Emm,” I whisper. She runs back to me, but there isn’t much she can accomplish. Her pointy finger nails dig into my chest as she attempts to hold me down.

“Careful,” I whisper again. My voice sounds horse and strained. The heat of my body escapes through my open mouth, choking on my inaudible words.

Her cold fingers pry my sweat filled bangs from my forehead. I close my eyes, surrendering to the monster inside of me. Emmy’s body pulses with such fierce emotions, I can feel them vibrating through her fingertips.

“Stay calm.” I am trying to sooth her. The anxiety is not healthy for her. She calms for a minute until the garage door opens. Ryan, our other guitarist, steps over the threshold and oddly enough, I feel her tension loosen. She relinquished my hand to run to him. They collided in an embrace built for elders.

“What’s happened so far?” Ryan whispers as though I cannot hear him.

“Nothing?” he questions. I must not have heard Emmy reply. Being this the second time this �" situation- has happened to me, I have no idea what is going to happen. Ryan kissed her and the emotions pulsing from both of them ignited the fuse. My chest begins to be active, falling and rising to the floor. My eyes roll backwards and I cannot stop it. The world seems to go white, the colors are disappearing. Soon, I cannot see anything.

Ryan begins to push on my chest �" one and two and one and two and one and two and one and two �" for a few seconds. I can feel the monster inside of me; I can feel its emotions. The monster had killed that man, that ‘friend’ I referred to earlier. Finally, it exits my diaphragm in ghost �" spirit form. I inhale sharply, finally being able to breathe correctly. Emmy hugs me tightly. Coughs bend me over and closer to the floor. My black painted finger nails clutch my flimsy t-shirt.

“Blake? Man, stop it.” Ryan pulls my clenched fingers from my throat. We all sit in a circle, staring at one another.

“I’m good.” I say, finally. Everything in my vision is returning to normal. My senses dim.

“What was it like?” Katie asks. I glance at her, feel her emotions. She is curious, but not worried. Emmy gasps.

“Look, I know his little secret. I won’t tell anybody.” I can feel the sincerity in the vibrations and hear it in her voice.

“Fine,” I mutter, hopping from the floor. I stand stationary, gathering my senses. All of the blood rushes to my toes, leaving me light headed.

Katie sighs, “I’ll walk you home.”

“I don’t need your help.” I trip into the snowy land surrounding the house. She grabs my arm ounce we are out of eye sight of the other two. I can feel the confusion spreading like wild fire.

“How are you?” I ask. I look down at her wild red hair.

“Same old same old.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Was it gross?” I look down at her again, pulling her close.

“I didn’t see anything. I just knew you were in trouble.” Her pale green eyes never look away from the future.

Our conversation ends here because we both know why she knew I was in trouble. Our twin telepathy is different from others. No one will ever understand such a surreal case as ours.

“Blake.”

I grunt.

“I love you.” She whispers, looking into my eyes, allowing me to feel her emotions rather than struggle to see them.

“I love you too, kid.” We smile again, huddling closer.