I was awaiting the moment when the throng of her gaze would be loosened. We stared at each other, neither of us breaking eye contact. I wasn't going to be the one who looked away. She'd started this, it was all her fault. I flicked my gaze towards the open door and she did the same. "Go away!" I said coldly looking back at her as she said the exact same words. "Please!" we yelled in sync. "Leave me alone!" I stepped back, and of course, so did she. I felt the tears in my eyes, they always came, it always went the same way. I'd catch her following me and when I told her to leave, she'd tell me the same thing. Looking at my tormentor I saw she was crying as well, round tears rolling down her cheeks as she sank down against the opposite wall. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing that with them closed it could almost be like she wasn't there. When I couldn't see her I could pretend that she wasn't there, but I knew the moment I opened my eyes they'd meet her terrified ones. Sometimes I wonder why she does this, she looks as scared as I feel, why would she keep doing this? I pull myself up; I knew I shouldn't let her do this to me. I have to be strong, my eyes fly open.
She's just standing there with her red-rimmed eyes judging me, like this is my fault. Without another word I stalk out of the room. She follows me but not into the hallway, she's always scared of other people. I make it back to my room without seeing her and I know that she's gone, but it isn't permanent. It never is. It's not always that bad, it's just sometimes I want to be on my own. I don't need her following me all the time. My room is where all this started, where I first met her.
It had been just an ordinary day. I'd gotten up and gotten dressed in my school uniform when I crossed the room to put on my make-up she was standing there without a care in the world that this was my room, my house. Our eyes had widened and in sync we had screamed. I ran from the room and straight into my dad. "There's someone there!" I'd shouted. "She's in my room!" I'd curled into a ball in the hallway crying softly as Dad had searched my room.
When he walked out his grey eyes were confused. "There's no-one there love," he said and added in the ever-caring way my father had that he was late for work. After he'd left, I picked myself up and dried my tears. Whoever it was must have run off I reasoned. I'd walked shakily back into my room for my fallen bag, but when I turned to leave she was standing by the door again.
Where had she hidden, I wondered. I stepped closer now curious to see her. She moved forward and we ended up standing close enough that if I reached out a hand I would have been able to touch her. "Who are you?" we asked at the same time. "I asked first!" we said in sync. "No you didn't, I did!" we countered each other. I had looked at her, she was dressed the same way as me, we must go to the same school I had reasoned. That's why she looks slightly familiar. Her hair was a little lighter than mine and she was slightly skinnier I noted with a slight hint of annoyance. Her hair was styled identically to mine with a matching headband settled in it. I steeled my gaze, so did she. "I want you gone!" we both said as I stormed out of the room. I had hoped that that would be the end of it, but she followed me. I kept seeing her walking next to me, I'd speed up to get away and so would she. She even had the audacity to sit next to me in class and answer questions at the same time as me. Yet at times I could turn around and she wouldn't be there yet out of the corner of my eye I could nearly always see her blond hair.
And it continued from there, I see her every day, whether we have school or not. She's in my room, the bathroom, next to me on the street, in school and every single time I see her she's wearing the same clothes as me. I've told her to stop this so many times now, but she never does, she keeps following me, dressing like me, copying me. No-one else comments on how I've suddenly grown a double. But I guess that shows how much they notice. It gets to the point where I'm grateful for her presence. When I've had to walk home in the rain because Dad forgot to pick me up again, it's almost nice to see her with the same drenched hair and annoyed expression on her face. This way I don't feel alone anymore. At least she's there.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts by dad walking into my room. He looks at me sadly and says that he made me an appointment with a psychologist. "I don't want to go," I say at once. I'm 16, I don't want to be told I'm crazy. It's everyone else who is. I feel so bad for her; at least people acknowledge I exist.
So that's how I end up sitting on a chair in a cream coloured room. My psychologist says her name is "Doctor Smith, but I can call her Sarah." She continues, but I zone her out after seeing her fake smile. I wonder to myself "What's everyone at school going to say?" 'Nikki's crazy!" they'll whisper to each other. They'll say I'm mad. I look around the room, I can't see her. Why wouldn't she come with me? She's nearly always there. Why not now? Is it because I yelled at her? The last time I saw her was in the bathroom with her red eyes and scared face. I shouldn't have yelled I think to myself, she looked so sad, I feel awful now and I realise I need her. I need her right now. I need to show Sarah that she is real.
Speaking of my psychologist she looks confused and says my name, I have a feeling it's not for the first time. "Can you tell me about her?" She asks.
Well dah? I think. "Yeah, she's the same age as me, similar height, she's blond. She gets scared of thunderstorms, what do you care?" I don't mean to be rude but Dad has asked questions like this before and never listened then so why should Sarah listen? It's not like anyone cares about us.
"Is she the only one you see, or are there others?" Sarah ignores my question.
"Yes, it's just me and her" I say. "Listen I don't need a psychologist. If I wanted her to go away, I could go to the police."
"Are you saying you don't want her to go away?" Sarah seems pretty interested in that.
"My Dad works ten hours a day, I spend half my days by myself, I don't have friends yeah shoot me. I don't want the only person who chooses to be around me to go away."
Sarah wisely decides to not go further into that right now. "Where do you see her?"
"Everywhere" I say a faint smile crossing my face. She's everywhere. She's always with me and what do I do - I yell at her. This isn't what the doctor wants, I sigh, "Home, school, on the street, where ever I go she comes"
"Is she just in the corner of your eyes?"
"Nope" I pop the 'p' on the word. "She's as real as you are."
The doctor nods and asks me to stand as she leads me down a corridor and walks me into the bathroom. I have never been more relieved to see her standing across from me. "See!" I announce. "There she is." She's speaking at the same time as me. I smile it's like she's pointing out that I'm real too. Her blue eyes warm as they stare at me.
Sarah takes my hand and forces me to look at her. I do so with some annoyance. Can't she tell that my friend's here now and that I need to tell her I'm sorry for earlier? I can still see her out of the corner of my eye. "Niki, that's your reflection." She says it softly, but I feel as though she screamed the words at me. "She's not real." My eyes snap to those of the other terrified girl and I feel anger course through me.
"Yes she is!" I shout. "You haven't heard her cry! You can't say she isn't real" I've seen her laugh and cry and scream. She's real. My lovely psychologist shakes her head sadly at me. I don't want your pity, I think. I want the truth. I want you to stop saying she isn't real. She isn't me I know that. She's a different person I've seen how sad she looks. I've seen how she doesn't smile for hours on end. "She isn't me." I say out loud. Sarah continues to look at me with those sad brown eyes. Then she walks out of the room, probably to tell this lie to my dad. I look at my supposed reflection, her cheeks are flushed and her hands are shaking. Is it fear or anger, I can't tell. "Don't worry" we say in sync, I'm not sure if we're trying to comfort ourselves or each other. Maybe it's a little of both. "I know you're real" And I don't think I've ever been more serious when I say something. I reach out my hand, a flicker of confusion runs across her face before she does the same. I manage a weak smile when our hands touch. I'm not at all surprised that her skin is as cold as glass. She looks at her hands then smiles.
"I'm Jessica," she says.
