Living a Lie

The first weeks were the toughest, since the surgery was to be kept a secret, I had to fake a severe case of amnesia to make people believe that I was Nightmare, when I really was someone else completely. To keep people from suspecting anything, I could not visit my family more than once a month, and since my mom Is the only one that knows who I really am, she’s the only one I miss. Since the first days in the cramped hospital room, I had gotten access to an old laptop that the hospital had lying round. My sister, the lying little skank, had skipped out on my, I mean, Emma’s funeral and went to some party in order to get laid with some football player. I was beyond furious that she could ever act like that. Emma dies for her, and she does not even show up to her funeral? How do I know all of this you may ask, well, she has a blog that not even her own mother knows about.

As it turns out, my funeral was very well attended, even some of the guys in the band I’m currently supposed to be on tour with showed up. My family, grandma, teachers, friends in school and almost the entire neighbourhood showed up. I saw pictures on my mother’s Facebook. Mom and I chatted over the internet when no one was looking over my shoulder and she would often bring up how horrible it felt to trick our relatives into the thought that I was dead.

Included in my daily routine, is learning more about Nightmares life, and by Nightmare, I mean me. My likes, everything I’m allergic to and everything I need to know about my band members. And yes, I even had multiple tests to take every day, so my arms looked like I’d tried to hug a porcupine.

I have not met any of the guys I work with yet, and honestly, I’m a little scared to meet them. From what I’ve learned, I was a 100% bitch to all of them, especially the guy that I was dating. Nightmare aka me, even cheated on him. So meeting them? Not on my checklist.
After a long workout with the hospital staff, I had finally earned their trust enough to let me shower without a supervisor. You see, if I slip in the shower and hit the back of my head, shit can hit the fan really fast. It takes a long time for the brain to heal after such an advanced surgery and I would never hear the end of it. Working out actually felt great, Nightmare had kept her body in great shape, and I can now honestly understand the people I’ve met in my life as Emma Jennings that said that working out feels great. I think it has something to do with endorphins being released into your system. Shame I had to die to experience the joy of being fit, huh?

After a small amount of hassle with getting my hospital gown on, I sat down on the bed that I had gotten used to calling my own. The window was still covered up though, but Spock had told me it was because the media would give anything for a picture of me in the hospital, which freaked me out to say the least. As if on que, I picked up the laptop that was hiding under my fluffy pillow and popped open the greyish white screen lid. Same as always, type in the password and look through my sister’s blog, it had become a habit of mine. I monitored her every move, just like I did back in my old body, making sure she was not doing something REALLY stupid, because if she did, I would text my mom and later read about the post of my sister whining about getting caught in some unexplainable way. Just because Emma’ is dead does not mean I can’t be an over protective sister.

Since I had died, my sister had lost most of her weight, in a desperate attempt to look like Nightmare, she had strangely dyed hair, and she even has one of Nightmares tattoos, pretty shit quality, but you can see what it is supposed to be. I had gotten used to all of the tattoos over time, and I liked some of them. The tattoo my sister had decided to copy was one of Nightmare’s more personal ones, it was a phoenix, rising out of the ashes. It was on Nightmares lower back, and it symbolized her journey from the slummiest area to where she would be today. As I entered the URL to my sisters blog into the little grey bar on top of the window, I was greeted with blaring house music and a big banner across my screen, no matter how many times I open the stupid blog, I’ll never get used to that. And on the amazingly glittery banner, the text read:

"Hey people, I’m sure that by now you know who I am. I am the only daughter of Emelie Jennings, Yes, the ONE AND ONLY Emelie Jennings, the fashion queen of the world. Come follow my life and my everyday drama as I tell the tales of the most important person you’ll ever hear about, ME!

Under a never ending stream of gloating posts, I found multiple pictues of her and her skeleton friends, Pfft, she looked ridiculous. But maybe that’s the way girls want to look these days.
Hearing the sound of the door sliding open, I looked up from the screen, fuck. Standing in the door with a small, pink bear, was Brian. I’ll admit, he looks better in real life than he did on any of the pictures that the people at the hospital had showed me. I could already feel the tense mood in the room, the silence was so thick you could slice through it with a knife, and since someone had to break the silence, I went for it.

“Uh, Hello?” I mumbled, not really sure what to say. Brian looked back at me with a sort of confused smile, the one you would give someone after not really understanding what they were saying.

“Hey, they finally let me in here after weeks of complaining, figured I could say goodnight or something.” Brian mumbled back, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. “Oh yeah, I got you this, if you wanted it, I know you like pink.” He continued, slowly handing me the cute little bear

“Thanks…” I grumbled and accepted the little bear and almost dropping it when I once again fucked up while trying to grab something.

"Just wanted to tell you that, uh, the tour is on again in a month, we have sorted out everything out with your manager, Simon. I’ll probably leave now, you probably need your sleep.”

"Wait, Brian.” I whispered to get his attention, well, I might not like my life as Nightmare, but it had some benefits, such as spending time with cuties like this one. “That day at the concert, you sang the beginning of a song by yourself, could you sing it for me?” It felt weird to ask that from him, but if he was my boyfriend, he could at least sing a little for me, right?

Brian looked me in the eyes and sat down again holding my hand and nodded at me.
"I thought you had amnesia? How do you remember the concert?”
“Well, my memory is weird like that, I remember some things, while other things are completely gone.” I said with a sheepish smile. I may have fucked up with that, but damn did I save it.
“Well, that has to be a pain in the ass. But sure, I’ll sing a little.” I cuddled the little pink bear to my chest as I lay down in the familiar bed that I had called my own for quite a while, smiling as he began to sing softly. As I lost myself in the lyrics, and slowly closed my eyes, I swear that I could see Brian smiling at me, with an adorable little smirk that I would get to know as the, ‘you know you like me’ smile. All of the worries that had formed in my mind since the surgery melted away, and for the first time in a long while, I was able to get a relaxing night of sleep.

Notes

1. Start writing
2. Slip
3. Bang broken arm into desk
4. Swear and break a vase
5. Keep writing until you have at least 1000 words
6. Cry