Chapter Seven
I don't think there's a certain word that could describe the confusion I felt at that point, it was definitely unlike anything I've experienced before. I hate to admit this, but it was unlikely that I was going to come to terms with this in a quiet manner, I would not conform to this idea; it was ridiculous, and impossible. Although, one would think that the Sylvie's existence was then also ridiculous and impossible, and there lay my dilemma.
"I'm Dougie." I stated plainly, shuffling away from her. "I can't be him. I'm not him."
Sylvie merely shrugged, slumping further to the floor, arms falling to her sides, small thuds on the floor. She looked down to her dress then up again at me, her nose crumpling upwards as her face distorted with a glance of disgust.
"You
do not believe me?" She asked.
"No." I answered
quietly.
I did not want to appear as if I was defying Sylvie, I was simply having a crisis over my identity. I've been Dougie Poynter for nearly sixteen years. How on earth did she expect me to accept that I'm not who I am. Or is it, who I was? Or...
I shouldn't even be contemplating this.
"It's not real. You're pulling my leg." I speak a little louder. She sighs annoyed and turns her body to face me, edging closer, her face inches from my own. Her eyes sparkle, glimmering a violent blue. I attempt at moving again, although it appears I've lost control of all bodily functions, and I'm unable to twitch, let alone scamper away from the crazy coloured eyes that still burn in to every thought that passes through my mind.
"Naturally, you're going to be confused. You won't be the only one." She blinks finally, her iris' a shocking pink. She smiles. I say nothing. I don't feel like asking anymore questions now. I'm scared I'll ask the right one, and more will be revealed. I'd much rather be oblivious from now on. I'd much rather go back to being Dougie Poynter, the dodgy boy from number 24. Not Dougie Poynter, the boy who jumps out of windows to talk to a dead girl.
"Come here tomorrow, Dougie." Sylvie continues when she understands I don't have words to verbalise. "Things may become a lot clearer."
I shake my head. I'm not doing anything of the sort. I'm not breaking routine because some dead chick told me to. I don't do what people tell me to. I don't...
"Okay." I mutter.