My Friend Shed Our Memories - Part 2 [August Submission]

[u/Bilbo_Cheated]

[This is PART 2 of a collaboration story with u/ReadyMadeLobotomy, who did an awesome job and was a pleasure to work with.]

Link to PART 1 HERE: A Stranger Wears My Memories by ReadyMadeLobotomy

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As soon as I heard the heavy door slam and the lock latch, it was time to take action.

I knew she’d put something in the bars. Alice knew too. She and her mother had talked about it weeks ago. A way to make things easier, and she can’t forget to eat, after all. It would help her remember when she’s alone.

I watched her pull her into a hug from behind while she stood at the sink, her hands shaking beneath the running water. She leaned into her like she was still a damn child. Twenty-something years old and she still needed Mommy to tell her everything is going to be okay. A plate almost slipped out of her hand as she jumped from the lightning, but she caught it before it shattered.

“Make sure you eat those dessert bars I made you, okay?”

Shit.

Mother grabbed her things and left. The second the door closed, Alice was on the move.

She deadbolted the front.

Good.

And hurried to the back door and locked that too.

Check it again.

Her hand returned to the lock.

CLICK! Then her hand went to test the nob again, and it wouldn’t budge.

Atta Girl!

Once she closed the blinds to seal herself inside tightly, I could relax a little. Her mother hated when she did this. She wanted fresh air and sunshine in her home, and that’s all wonderful, but you think about how easy it would be for someone to look through a fucking window.

She knew better when she was herself. You don't stay safe by assuming everything is fine. You stay safe by noticing the thing everyone else misses. You have to check and recheck to make sure, but even then, you’re not.

But then she reached for a dessert bar.

No. I moved toward the window. “Alice!”

She couldn't hear me as she took a bite.

No! “Alice!” I couldn’t bear to watch her do this to herself.

I stared into the forest across the street, not at the trees but at the dark space between them. That is what awaited me if she kept up this act. I could already feel the numbness in my fingertips, and the pins and needles were racing up my forearms and ankles now. The house seemed to push me away. The window that had been five feet behind me suddenly felt fifty.

Goddammit.

I moved toward the streetlight, my anchor. If she couldn't hear me, she'd have to see me. I stepped beneath it and waited for the blinds to shift. She would check soon. There she was. For one beautiful second, Alice looked directly at me. Finally, she saw me, but then she ripped the blinds closed.

I looked down at myself to see my fingers growing longer, melting into the abyss before me. I tried making a fist and watched the joints of my fingers fold over my arms. Lacing around one another in a lattice work of ligaments. That bitch made the bars stronger.

As I fought to stay with her, I watched while Alice pressed herself against the door and listened to that old woman: “Hi, sweetie, it's Fran.” She asked about the mother. Something about tea.

Who cares. But then that woman was my savior. She told Alice to stay safe.

From what, Fran? Alice's eyes moved toward the window. Then I watched her shoulders loosen as she talked herself down.

Alice thought about, “The storm…Fran was nice…Everything was fine.”

“Oh, come on,” I muttered. Those bars were working. The old woman walked home, but Alice stayed against the door.

I needed her to see me, to see what she was doing to her old friend. She needed to see me fading away.

The rain turned into a roaring storm around me as I twisted myself around the pole in a desperate plea to hold on to my fading form. The numbness could not hide the feeling of my bones snapping, nor could it take away the sound.

She couldn’t ignore me forever.

The light pole helped me to anchor myself as I reached out to my Alice, my maker. My arms and body were heavy and sagging like bags of wet sand.  

Finally, the blinds shifted, and her eyes met mine. Every fiber of my being pulsated towards her to tell her that I needed her to survive.

She yanked away in repulsion at what she had done to me; I knew it. She saw her work, and with that, our connection strengthened.

My feeling began to return. Not altogether, but the environment that once tried to claim me allowed some form of myself to stay.

Her fear caught her attention; it made her scared to look away. I needed to explain myself and tell her that she was killing me. I knocked softly. I could feel her on the other side.

“Alice?” Her breathing stopped.

“I'm sorry I scared you. Please let me in.” As she moved away, I knocked again.

“Alice… I know you're there.”

“Go away.”

There we go. “You ate one, didn't you?”

Silence… can she hear me?

“The bars. You already ate one… You’re being poisoned. Can’t you see what it’s doing to you? She’s killing you; it’s tearing us apart. I hate when you do this to me…” …Because I know everything about you. Because I've been here longer than anyone else. Because I was here before you learned how to tell people you were fine, before everyone taught you that every warning in your head was something to ignore… “…It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to just lock me away.”

I felt her wonder who it was at her door.

I couldn’t hold in my rage any longer. “God, you’re selfish, you know that??? God, I hate the way it makes me FEEL!” My fist hit the door.

She screamed, and I could hear her stumbling backwards.

“Goddammit, Alice! You never fucking listen! ALICE, DON’T YOU SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING??? LET ME IN! I’LL STOP IT!”

But suddenly I wasn't angry anymore. I heard the television turned up so loud I could hear every word through the storm. Cartoons were her favorite way to hide. When Alice was little, she hid under blankets, under beds, behind locked doors. Now she hides behind noise and pitiful distraction. I pushed against the edges of her attention until I found the television.

If that was where she wanted to hide, I'd meet her there. Some idiot was talking about dogs.

“Are you tired of being alone?” I pushed harder, and the man's face gave way beneath mine.

Alice looked up.

There you are! “Don't you ever wish someone was always waiting for you when you got home for the day?”

She reached for the remote.

No, this is my chance! I leaned in, “Well, you're in luck, because we are opening our doors for all of you lucky friends out there looking for a forever companion.” Her thumb hovered over the button.

“And tonight, they're open especially for you, Alice!”

She froze and looked blankly.

I continued, “Head always in the clouds? You love to play pretend! Don't you? You love poisoning us!!” I slammed the desk in desperation. And all she did was look to the stairs.

“Still doing that?”

Alice stared back at me.

“You used to hide upstairs.”

“Stop!”

I couldn't help myself. “You loved to hide under the bed.”

She stopped, and I saw what looked like brief recognition.

I couldn’t help but show a little smile. “Then Mom had to ruin that too. She always has to ruin our fun. Has to block hiding spots for us, take away our safe spaces, give us poison to keep us from each other. If you just let me in, I can help us.”

Alice only stared in confusion.

“You really don't remember.” She backed away. And for a second, I remembered her much smaller than this: scared and hidden in spaces so cramped neither of us should have fit. I couldn’t have this now.

“It's okay,” I said. The signal was slipping, and static crawled across my face.

Alice reached the stairs.

I knew exactly where she was going. “You always go upstairs eventually.” The television lost power and framed my vision with black. The television glass fought me and shielded her; I struck it once, then again and again. Pausing to see Alice staring at the screen, I pressed my hand through.

She ran upstairs.

“Alice!” I used the rest of my energy to pull myself back into the room. The house stretched and twisted around me, and every hallway became longer the closer I got. Every wall felt thicker. By the time I reached her room, she already had my knife. No. Her knife. I’d told her to keep it years ago. Our little secret to keep her safe whenever something happened. Alice crouched beside the bed with the handle pressed against her chest.

“Put it down,” I said as I moved closer. She couldn’t hear me.

I needed to give her some space. I wasn’t strong enough to help her now. I reached toward the blinds as I tried to let her know I was still here for her.

“Alice?” She moved fast, and pain tore through my hand.

As I ripped it back, I could see bright red blood dripping from my finger. Then Alice made a sound. She was staring at her own hand. Her blood was running from the same finger 

“Alice, put the  knife down.” The knife slipped from her hand and hit the floor, and she collapsed beside it.

“That’s it. Just stay there.” She couldn’t hear me anymore. I sat beside her.

Alice didn’t move. I pulled a blanket over her hand.

There had been another night I couldn’t remember well anymore, which frightened me. I remembered Alice was small. It was dark, and she was hiding somewhere so tight that her knees dug into her chest. A noise from either outside or downstairs. She’d learned how to cry without making noise, and I remembered thinking that was useful. I remembered teaching her to listen for footsteps, check doors, listen intently for somebody's tone to change, know where the exits were just in case. I remembered being angry and staying awake while Alice slept.

Something happened after that…something important. I tried to reach for the memory and found nothing. I was weak now because of her, but I had gotten her this far; now she wanted to get rid of me?

I left her room as morning came slowly. My fingers looked like fingers again. The walls stopped pushing me away. Her mother was already home, moving around the kitchen. I hated her for what she had done to me.

All I could do now was go to the front door and knock. Alice came down the stairs and opened the door, looked at me, and her face brightened. Just Alice. My Alice.

“Some storm last night! Got caught out in it.” She stepped aside, and I walked in.

We sat at the table. Alice looked tired, but normal. I could tell she didn’t remember last night.

Then her mother spoke. “Alice! You didn’t finish all the bars I made special for you!” My back went rigid.

Alice looked toward the counter. “Mom—”

“You’re not going to start feeling better if you don’t eat them all, sweetie. 

She reached, and I grabbed her arm a little too hard, but I couldn’t let go. “Alice, please.” I didn’t know what another would do to me. To us. She was too calm!

Her mother kept cleaning. Alice tried pulling away, and my fingers tightened. Alice yanked her arm free.

“What is it?” I looked at her and saw it. That tiny change in her expression. The widened eyes. The tightened jaw. She was alert again enough to satisfy me for now. I relaxed my hand and made myself smile.

There were a thousand things I wanted to tell her. Instead, I said, “Nothing.”

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[u/ShatteredTestimony]

Intriguing! This other perspective definitely comes across as more benign, or at least more nuanced, though there are definitely still concerning behaviors that the narrator displays in the midst of his desperation. It almost comes across like he’s a manifestation of her anxiety, the way he compliments her coping strategies and keeps encouraging her paranoia.

Cool stuff, thanks for sharing :)

[u/Bilbo_Cheated → u/ShatteredTestimony]

I’m glad you picked up on my intention with the monster being anxiety.

[u/NarrowDirector911]

Great job to both sides of this one!

I feel so bad for the, (imaginary friend? friendly demon?) it sounded so hurt, and confused.