Never thought I'd be back here.

The apartment that I called home for 6 long years. Empty. It's astonishing, how much difference a bunch of overpriced, brand name pieces of furniture can make in someone's recollection of the very place they slept for over half a decade. Without those fancy pieces on this abandoned set, I can hardly recognize it. I walk lightly through the barren living room, feeling the carpet compress under the pressure of my boot, almost as if I feared something popping out of the floor to murder me. After what I've seen, I wouldn't doubt that in the slightest.

No, this was the real world. The only thing I had to fear was Wilson. If he were to so much as walk down the hallway at the wrong moment, he'd certainly see me. Why wouldn't he? Isn't that sort of what I want to happen?

In a sick, sick way, I guess that's right.

That's why I left the door open. That's why I made no effort to rip the mask off my face and hide it in a bush before walking in and getting my wrapped up mug spotted on every camera, practically flipping him the bird and daring him to call the police.

I did flip him the bird.

You're a psycho, though. That's to be expected.

This seems like one big, giant cliche; but at this point I feel as though I have absolutely nothing to lose. I do however have everything to gain. Or regain, depending on whether or not you'd classify me as having it in the first place. Anna? We were falling apart. I proposed to save it.

That went about as well as I expected it to. I hoped it would work and that right now, we'd be together, planning the wedding or whatever the hell we should've been doing if things went normally. I guess that was a little too much to ask, though. After all, I've never been normal, even on meds. How could I have hoped to keep it together when I couldn't keep myself from falling into a different persona even with the best of my efforts.

For fuck's sake, are you really moping right now? Just get the fucking thing so we can leave.

What's your rush? Last I checked; you didn't have anything to lose either.

So? Having nothing to lose doesn't mean throwing everything away. I don't plan on going to jail tonight.

I'll never understand you, Kea.

Then don't. Contrary to your belief, it's sometimes better that way.

Kea stepped out in front of me, her body not dressed in the same constricting outfit as mine. The delusions were getting stronger. She was here, no longer inside of me. No, my eyes were deceiving me, no matter how much it seemed like they weren't. She is me, and I am her. How can we both be here at the same time?

Stranger things have happened, idiot.

I almost didn't recognize her. Brown hair, not orange. Taller than me by more than a few inches. Tigris' touch wasn't present in her. She was natural, not bound by the synthetic skin and bones that trapped me in the corner of unwillingly doing her bidding anymore. Still, my skin underneath the disguise wasn't something I could be proud of. The orange hair that I mask underneath the wraps, the skin I conceal with the black suit, they were all Miranda's creation. Kea walks further into the house, standing where I guess the couch would be if it weren't on the street.

This place is a lot roomier than I remember.

Glad to see someone sees the humor in this.

That's your fucking problem; you don't. Look at how ridiculous this whole situation is! How could you not laugh at it?

I guess out senses of humor aren't that similar.

Implying anything about us is similar.

How are you even here?

You think I'd miss something this for anything? No, I have to be here in the flesh. I gotta see your face when this accomplishes nothing except for incriminating us. That way, when you're passed around by the bull dykes in prison, I can tell you how right I always was.

You're disgusting. Well, if you're really here can you help me look?

I thought you remembered where it was.

I shake my head and continued to tiptoe my way to the bedroom, which through the open doorway I can see is as densely furnished as the living room. I hang my head momentarily as the heels of my feet meet the floor once more and trudge their way to the dark room. This one didn't have the luxury of stealing the hallway lights, I guess. As I cross through the open doorway, I run my hand up the wall until I finally meet the lightswitch and push it up. The initially dim eco lightbulb comes to life, basking the room in a pale glow. There, I see Kea jumping right out at me from the former abyss. I should jump and be shocked, but I kinda saw it coming.

Come on? Nothing?

Nope.

Bo-ring!

Look, we'll be out of here a lot faster if you just let me look. Stop bothering me, please.

I'm not making you stop. You're making you stop.

But you are me-

No, you fucking idiot. For the last time: I am you. It doesn't work both ways.

I don't think I'll ever understand that, and the look in her eyes assures me that she doesn't care whether I do or not. It also confesses that she'll probably say it again in five minutes once she gets bored with not saying it. Just like the room itself, the closet right around the corner from the door is empty. My heart initially sinks, but then I remember something and rush into the empty, narrow storage room.

The loose patch of carpet at the far right corner of the room smiles at me. I lift it up. Seemingly, its grip to the floor weakened over time when I stuck it here years ago. I sigh, and pull out a white envelope. Turning it around so I can see front, I read, written in big letters across the envelope in slightly smeared black pen:

Dear Jessie.

My heart pounds rapidly as I fumble with my fingers to open it. Once I pull it open, ripping the envelope severely in the process, I pull out a piece of notebook paper, folded in half to more easily fit. Dropping the envelope to the floor, I fall, seated, to the floor and unfold the paper.

Dear Jessie, Look, I'm sure things aren't that great for you right now either. I don't think it's in our nature to be great, or fine, or whatever. Statistically speaking, there's probably a better chance of your life getting worse by the time you read this than it is right now. I'm not saying this as a throwback to better days, where things were simple, but as someone aware that things can always get worse. We're like the universal example of Murphy's Law in action, for God's sake. However, I also know that things can always get better. Take your meds. Or don't. I can't make the decision for you: whether you want to deal with the personalities and be free or have them whisked away at the possible expense of your own enjoyment of life is on you. It's on what you want at the moment. I'm 21, I have a whole life ahead of me to be a boring corporate type. I don't know how old you'll be when you read this. You might not have that luxury for all I know. I do know something though. Stay with Anna. She has her own problems expressing things, but she does care about you. Believe me on that. Quit your day job. All of them. You aren't normal, deal with it. Don't compensate for your "condition" by doing some mindnumbing task for the rest of your life. You're a fucking college graduate, not a student anymore. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop blaming dad, stop blaming Chris, stop blaming yourself. You can't change it, so embrace it. Be yourself, you glorious psycho bitch. And be happy. And remember this; hey, things could always be worse. You could have cancer.

Funny. I don't remember writing most of this. My eyes scan the bottom of the paper, where I most certainly remember inserting a redundant closing even though I already know who wrote it.

Sincerely, Jessie, Kea, and Jessica

Never let it be said I never did anything nice for you.

I stand up, folding the paper back in half. Tears well up in my tear ducts, and freely roll down the sides of my masked face before I can even think to stop them. With shaky hands, and entire shaky body, I stumble my way through the doorway and back into the main room. I grip the mask, almost ready to take it off before turning back to the bedroom, where Kea stood, leaning against the doorway like nothing ever happened.

I guess I was wrong about you.

Then, it happens. A shadow in the doorway leading into the building's hallway. Wilson. I don't dare look back to see who it was, I didn't need to. Instead, I put my hands in the air and decide to make it as quick and painless as possible.

Uh, you might wanna turn around.

"Who are you talking to?"