june 25th evening / 2nd floor kitchen / @theninthcard
the day had been a steady march of interesting events, the conversation with azra a highlight amongst them. to know it wasn’t just him suffering that particular branch of insanity, hallucinations with a face just a touch too close for comfort, threats to step away, a shared vision in this interpretation of life.
did that lessen the promise? the half acceptance that he had already said?
one day, he had said to himself, and that day hadn’t seem to come for him just yet, whilst the others had strange occurrences. not yet, but then it was.
he was on his way to grab a bite to eat, perhaps the ice cream he knew was in one of the kitchens, the hunger a strange feeling and he realised that he’d been chasing the sun and not slept in too long. perhaps ice cream, then he would sleep, here for once.
he was about to step through the open doorway when he heard voices, tow intermingled, and one of them caused him to still, hesitating, half hidden by the frame.
his own voice, though darker in weight, lighter in colour, the same ever present laughter still tucked behind every syllable. his reflection’s voice, he realises, talking to lailani.
some form of curiosity overwhelms him and he stays in the shadows as his reflection holds up a finger against his lips, a flash of movement as laila busies herself with something. there’s laughter in the air, a relaxed sense that he longs to bring, to breathe, to dwell within.
some form of jealousy then, as well, that his insanity, his hallucination can be perceived by anyone other than himself (though he saw azra;s earlier and has no right to complain), that his reflection may belong even better than he does (but wasn’t that why he half agreed to leave? to become better, to not need anyone? to take a step to not being himself anymore?).
then laila reaches for his reflection, that comforting touch he always leans into, but his not-self dances away.
and he can picture her face, the confusion, the shock, and betrayal curdles in his gut - that something wearing his face would hurt her, even as they had claimed to not need them.
he opens the door fully, loudly, strides into the kitchen with a grace and an ease he half has. he’s acted before he’s thought, again, and there’s a beat before he speaks, some excuse coming unbidden to his tongue.
“ you gotta commit if you’re gonna pretend to be me, you know? i mean, if you were me, then you would, wouldn’t you? “