She did not have any friends. People liked her, and there were some that did consider themselves her friend. But they were not close friends. They were not the sort of people who would listen to her feelings and innermost thoughts. They did not listen to her because they thought her flawless and envied her. She was beautiful, kind, and polite. Yet she was silent. She spoke only when spoken to. Her voice was sweet and quiet like a cool spring breeze. Her demeanor was calm and meditative. She had a faraway look as though she were always deep in thought. Her clothes were modest: a long dress and a long-sleeved shirt that covered her stomach completely. They covered the series of scars that ran down her arms, thighs, and on either side of her stomach. No one saw these nor the invisible tears that trickled slowly down her face, collected at the base of her chin, and fell like rain to the ground as she walked the hallways. No one saw her. All they saw was her beauty: her wavy dark brown hair, and olive skin; her dark eyebrows and stunningly green eyes. When the other girls approached her, it was not because they wanted to talk to her. They wanted to be seen with her. And boys did not see or want her. When they came over to her, it was their lust and her appearance that drew them to her like moths to a lamp. They did not want her: they wanted her beauty. That was all she was to them and the rest of the world: living, breathing beauty who provoked envy in girls and lust in boys. She would not let anyone touch her. She recoiled like a snake whenever a hand reached out towards her.
She was always alone. She retreated into herself, into her mind. There she had a friend, another part of her conscience. She spoke with it and it understood. It understood her because it was her. She gave it a name: Kitty. Kitty was her friend, her confidante, her mother, and her sister. Whenever she retreated within herself, Kitty was there. Sometimes her hair was brown. Other times it was blond or obsidian-black. Sometimes her skin was as pale as the moon or golden like honey or dark like ebony. Sometimes she wore a midnight blue dress and sometimes she wore shorts and a t-shirt. But her eyes always remained the same. They were a stunning deep-violet with flecks of silver in them. They looked like the night sky. Kitty’s eyes were sharp and piercing like a hawk’s, yet there was a gentleness and calmness to them.
Sometimes she and Kitty would sit on a park bench underneath a cherry blossom tree. A gentle breeze blew and the the tree sang. Small pink petals fell off the tree and rained on her and Kitty.
She and Kitty walked together down a sidewalk. Snow fell and the buildings on either side of them had roofs like powdered sugar. No one else was there, just her and Kitty.
They had climbed a snow capped mountain together. They swam in a turquoise ocean. Dolphins nudged them playfully and fish nipped at their toes. They had wheeled through the night sky on silent wings, the full moon glowing with a silver light. And they had watched the sun rise and set and the sky turn from purple to crimson to azure.
Wherever they were, they talked. Sometimes they spoke aloud. Other times they looked into each other’s eyes, letting those words that could not be spoken make themselves heard.
She told Kitty everything: about the cuts, about the Oxycontin. She showed her the scar that ran diagonally across her ribs. She told Kitty about her overdose: she had taken too many sleeping pills. She had tried to take the whole bottle but, unfortunately, the CPR had worked. Kitty listed to her and her eyes showed that she understood it all.
When her shoulders shook or her lips quivered, Kitty was there to embrace her. Kitty was her rock. Around Kitty, she could be herself. She did not have to pretend or hide anymore. She could let her emotions free. And when she needed to be loved, Kitty would kiss her on the cheek.
Kitty did not talk much. She did not seem sure of her origin. She did not know who her parents were. She did not know where or when she had been born or if she had been born. She had no earlier memories before she had met the girl.
Reality dawned. She and Kitty sat on the bench beneath the cherry blossoms.
I have no one, Kitty.
You have me.
Do you love me?
Yes.
I love you, too.
You have me.
You do not understand.
What?
You are me.
Kitty’s brow furrowed in confusion. I am Kitty.
No. You are me and I am you. We are the same person.
The girl looked across the bench at Kitty. Kitty was gone. In her place was a mirror image of the girl. Gone. She pulled the trigger.