She’s the Brave One, not Me

She told me: “It doesn’t matter if I die,” and then: “this coffee is really good.”

I stared at her as if she had just stripped naked in front of me.

“What?” she asked, like I was the one being insane, “I’m not scared of death, so it’s fine.”

“Not scared of death?” I repeated like an idiot. “Not scared of death? How can that be possible?”

She curled her manicured finger over the lip of her cup and dipped it into her coffee. “Calm down. It’s not like you don’t know me. You’re the one that’s scared of everything and I’m the one that scared of nothing. You know that. I’m the brave one; it’s why I’m alive.”

I looked down at my own hands, nails bitten down to the roots, fingers covered in ink.

“You can’t die,” I told her.

“And why not?”

“You can’t. I forbid it. I can’t live without you.”

She smiled and looked through my soul. “You’re scared, as always.”

“Yes. Which is why I need you. You’re the one that goes out there when it’s too scary.”

“Stop,” she said, her smile turning into a leer, “pretending to be somebody you’re not.” She downed the rest of her coffee and tapped the table with her nail, leaving drops of leftover liquid on its surface. I had the urge to wipe them off.

“What do you want me to do?” I said finally, piteously.

“I don’t really know,” she said. “Oh, wait. I do. Why don’t you face those fears of yours? I’m tired of doing the dirty work. Face who you truly are, no matter how ugly and horrible that person is. I know you’re ab-so-lutely terrified of what awaits you.”

“No,” I said forcefully, standing up so that my chair clattered, noiselessly, on the ground. “I won’t.”

“You will,” she said confidently, because she was the confident one, not me. “You will, because I am you and you are me. You’re scared, but not as scared as you think you are. Now get out there, and stop being so pathetic. Look at this, your alter ego is stooping so low she’s giving you a pep talk.”

Her face swam before me—maybe a trick of my mind, or maybe a trick of my tears. When the ripples faded, I was standing in my brightly lit bathroom staring at her.

Well, staring at me.