I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser.
Dr. Angela Jekyll stared out the window of her lab with a forlorn expression. Brilliant as she was, as many science degrees and discoveries as she had, it seemed that as the years went on, in other parts of her life, she was only getting dumber and dumber, making the same mistakes over and over.
ooo
Midnights become my afternoons.
Little did she know, all the way across the city, a woman as different from her as fire from ice was stuck in the same spot. She stared out the window of her recording studio. Pressed with deadlines and unable to sleep, she found solace not in a bed, but a mic, drowning her sorrows out with sound.
ooo
When my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people…
That was why Angela was still awake at such a late hour too. She couldn't sleep, and she could use her project deadlines to justify not even trying to rest. But she could still feel the accusatory stares of everyone she knew she was disappointing with her actions… She hunched her shoulders in shame, trying to protect herself from the crowd of invisible people leering at her work.
ooo
…I've ghosted stand there in the room.
Meanwhile, try as debutant Deborah Lavish did to get lost in the music, the only words that fell from her lips were tragedy. She knew better than anyone how judgmental and ruthless life was, and subsequently, how she had to match pace. It was a cutthroat life, though. Behind the lavishness was distrust, discontent, despair, and deeply buried rage. Being a model and singer was not all fun and games.
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I should not be left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices; I end up in crisis (tale as old as time).
While Angela buried her head in her hands and ran her fingers through her hair, hunched over her laboratory workbench and surrounded by little glass vials, Deborah slid off her headphones, letting them hang around her neck as she threw back her head and stared up at the ceiling and its single, too-bright white light with a tired, world-weary sigh.
ooo
I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day, I'll watch as you're leaving. Cause you got tired of my scheming (for the last time).
Unsatisfied with the quality of the work she was producing, the model-singer finally gave up and went home, but there was no respite to be found there either. She saw all the friends she'd ever lost, whether due to her actions, theirs, or of the entertainment industry itself. They always got tired of her. She typically tried to justify and deny it, but sometimes, she got tired of herself. If it was hard to live with her, imagine being her. In the dream, she was livid, but when she woke up to a midnight moon shining through her window, she could only hang her head in defeat and agree…
ooo
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me.
Angela caught a glimpse of her reflection in the little glass vials filling her lab. She couldn't bring herself to look, but she could not look away either, surrounded on all sides by distorted images of herself. She was indeed the cause of all of her problems and insecurities and ruined relationships, because she was too pathetic and stupid to get her brilliant brain out of the rut it was stuck in. She could help but laugh at the darkly fitting irony, but the angry eyes she saw in every beaker and flask drained her, and all she could do was sigh, and nod, and agree.
ooo
At teatime, everybody agrees.
Deborah was suddenly surrounded by fellow models, performers, and rich elite. They sat at a quaint but fancy diner. Despite its humble aesthetic, it was all performative, just like the patrons. Including Deborah. She could not bear to look upon herself, or anyone else in the diner, but she could still feel the stares. Some were of judgement, some of envy, some of disapproval. Either way, everybody agreed…
ooo
I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero…
Deborah and Angela stared out of their respective windows again, the diner and the lab. Whether it was the moon or sun that shone through the glass, it was much less painful to look at than the faces they saw in every reflective surface.
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Sometimes, I feel like everybody is a sexy baby.
Angela stared enviously at all the pretty people all around her. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively, hugging herself, shielding herself from the rest of the world. Of course, she would've much preferred her laboratory, but as one on the lower rungs of the upper-crust society, she was still expected to make appearances every now and then whether she wanted to or not.
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And I'm a monster on the hill.
Fate was a funny fiend. Deborah stood in the exact same position, hidden away in her own little corner, feeling just as isolated from everyone else as Angela did. Just because she was a model didn't mean that Deborah felt any prettier than Angela felt. But fate was a funny fiend again. As similar as they were, their outward differences would've kept them at odds, and neither woman even knew the other was there.
ooo
Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city. Pierced through the heart, but never killed.
Even when they finally found the courage to leave their respective corners of the dancehall and mingle with the other party attendees, it felt fake and forced to the supermodel and scientist. They were too much a pair of outcasts, but as much pain as they endured trying to fit in, they were never granted the sweet release of success, or even death. For better or worse, they were still here.
ooo
Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time).
An out-of-body experience flashed before Deborah's brilliant blue eyes. She was onstage, waving sweetly at all of her screaming, adoring fans. Was she generous, or just seeking attention? As she posed for photos, hugging her fans as they smiled and wept upon meeting her, she felt good, but then she felt bad, questioning herself and her motives yet again. Was she just as rotten as the rest of her industry? Could anyone ever truly love her?
ooo
I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day, I'll watch as you're leaving and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).
At the same time Angela watched Deborah on TV. She hissed in disgust. This was why she hated this city. This was all they ever showed on the news anymore, and Angela was sick of seeing it. Deborah was surrounded by so many people that worshipped and adored her. Angela had no one. She was a weird, awkward loner that drove everyone away. She watched so many people go, and they took the light of her life with them on the way out.
ooo
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me.
Deborah caught a glimpse of herself in the gold pillars of the theater building in which she stood for yet another debut. She recoiled at her yellow reflection and how it made it look like there was a halo of light surrounding her head. Yes, she was aware that she was the source of her problems. Who else could stand in the middle of such luxury and still feel so miserable? Well, if she could just knock it off, she would stop scaring people off!
ooo
At teatime, everybody agrees.
Angela exhaled quietly, out to tea with her family. Her parents were divorced, but still on amicable enough terms that they would sometimes meet up for her sake, so she could spend time with both of them together. As thoughtful as it was, though, it felt like a shallow mockery to Angela. They were only doing this out of pity, wondering if they were to blame for her troubled nature, which they were all well aware of…
ooo
I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.
Deborah finally averted her gaze from the gold pillars to stare at the red carpet beneath her heeled feet. She didn't do it just to give herself a respite from her reflection, but to conceal the exhaustion could no longer hide with a confident smile. At the same time, miles away, Angela stared out the diner window. To ignore the faint reflection she saw judging her from the glass, she focused her bespectacled gaze on the burning sun above.
ooo
I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will!
Deborah indulged in gallows humor to cope. She was certain her own blood would betray her in a bloody way. And since she was already counting on it, she had a revenge plan ready to haunt the world long after she was gone from it. She had a family, but she knew there was no loyalty between them except for what benefited them. It was a contract, not a relationship. Well, Deborah would have the last laugh from beyond the grave.
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The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out, "she's laughing up at us from Hell!"
Angela smirked darkly as she held up a little glass vial of glowing green liquid. She knew her family would disapprove. Her mother was a little more supportive of her scientific endeavors than her father, but she knew they both longed for a traditional life for her. Well, if they found her dead body in the morning… The mad scientist laughed at the idea of her extended family at the funeral when they heard the disgraceful story of her life and death.
ooo
"It's me, hi," Angela waved tiredly at her reflection as she left the lab for her bedroom, passing mirrors on the way upstairs. A dry expression met her eyes. "I'm the problem, it's me," her reflection said.
ooo
"It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me," Deborah started off sarcastic as well as she met her own gaze in the vanity, but her voice became small as she watched her own lips move back at her. "It's me… Hi…"
Everybody agrees, everybody agrees…
ooo
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me! (I'm the problem, it's me).
Two women, so different and yet so similar, were blown and battered about by the winds of change, chance, fate, and fury. Lost, they stumbled and wandered, knowing nothing except grief and shame. In an endless round, the same melancholy melody taunted them with merciless memories. Unable to look at themselves any longer, they took flight, running away from their problems.
At teatime (teatime), everybody agrees (everybody agrees).
Through fate and chance alone, they chose the same spot to hide: the city riverside. Sitting on a grassy hill and overlooking the dark water, each woman was quick to notice the other. Distrust and disbelief were gut reactions for Angela and Deborah the moment the two enemies laid eye on each other, but when blue met blue, they realized that something deeper than hatred for the other existed.
I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror.
In that one look, there was understanding. And with that understanding came a silent agreement to a temporary truce, at least for tonight. Maybe it was tiring to root for themselves. Maybe they could take a break just once and root for each other instead. Maybe they were more alike than they realized. Maybe it only took a breakdown to help them see themselves, and each other, in a new light.
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero…
AN: It's a shame I can't align the text right, because Angela was originally left-aligned and Deborah right-aligned and all the "unison" verses are center-aligned.