Same eyes, same face but something about her is… different.
Because now I can see her.
Sera.
Not as someone separate. Not as someone foreign. But as a piece of me that was always there. I lift my hand slowly and touch my hair. Her hair. The color she chose. The color she claimed. I walk back to the desk and pull the diary out again. The pages flip softly beneath my fingers. The handwriting is familiar.
But it isn’t mine. Not exactly. Sera’s confession stares back at me from the page. My lips slowly curl into a smile. Then I tear the page out. The sound of paper ripping echoes softly through the room.
I close the diary.
Walk downstairs while humming. The kitchen light flickers softly above me as I pull open a drawer and grab a match. I hold the page over the sink.
“Sera, Sera, Sera.”
“Tsk tsk. Always the better half.”
Strike the match.
The flame flickers to life.
I tilt my head slightly as I watch the fire catch the corner of the paper. The edges curl first, then the ink darkens. The words twist and disappear as the page slowly turns to ash.
I smile faintly as the flame eats through the confession.
Gone.
Just like that.
My eyes drift upward toward the top of the refrigerator. Right into the small corner no one ever notices. I reach up and pull down a cigarette. No one knows it’s there.
Just me. Sera doesn’t smoke. But I do. What’s the fun in not smoking? That first drag feels too good to give up. I step outside onto the back patio. The evening air is cool against my skin as I light the cigarette. Take a slow drag.
God.
That feels good.
I miss this shit. The smoke curling into my lungs like a slow, quiet exhale the world never lets you take. People always have something to say about it. Warnings, lectures, little looks of judgment, but I stopped caring about other people’s opinions a long time ago. Life burns out one way or another anyway, just like the cigarette between my fingers. The only difference is whether you enjoy the flame while it’s still lit.
I exhale a thin stream of smoke and watch it disappear into the dark. The glass window beside me catches my reflection.
I stare at it, tilt my head, then I smile. Her choice of clothing. This black top, modest, careful, with that small, polite cut at the neckline.
Boring.
I could’ve sworn I hid this hideous shirt. Buried it somewhere she wouldn’t find it. But of course she did, she always does. My fingers curl into the fabric before I even think about it.
I pull.
Hard.
The sound of it tearing cuts through the quiet, sharp and satisfying, splitting the neckline open until it falls lower, exposing more than it’s meant to. I breathe out slowly, watching myself in the mirror. Something in my reflection shifts.
Or maybe it’s just me.
My head tilts slightly, eyes dragging over every detail. A faint smile touches my lips. “Much better.”
Funny thing is…we all have secrets. I take another drag. Blow the smoke slowly into the air. She was going to die anyway. Do you really think I was just going to let that slide?
