When She Was Me

by Marlee Bush

Dad’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

He should have stepped in

For the first time in my life, I feel like I can honestly kill someone.

“But you knew, didn’t you?” Cassie tilts her head at me. “You heard their fight. You saw how strange she acted. You knew, Lenora, and I’m sorry I doubted you.” Doubted me. Is that what she calls it?

“Then why did you call him?” I ask, my voice rising uneasily. “Why did you reach out to him when you needed someone? I needed you, Cassie. Tilly was murdered. Karen has been watching us for days. She broke in and attacked me. I needed you, and it just feels like through all this, you never needed me.” “I needed a distraction. That’s it. Sometimes I need to think of anything else. This—” She gestures between us. “It’s starting to hurt, Lenora.”

“You thought I was a murderer. Some kind of serial killer.”

Our footsteps were a dream, echoing down the hallway. Emphasizing the violent sounds coming from our parents’ room. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Cassie’s sweaty hand in mine. One last moment to brace ourselves before opening the door. One last moment before our lives changed forever. But I closed my eyes. And when I did that, I didn’t just shut out the violence and trauma. I shut out Cassie. She told me to run, and I didn’t listen because somehow I felt safer like that. Eyes closed. Ignorant. She ran and I stayed, and we’ve paid for it ever since. We’re still paying for it.

I can’t explain it, but there’s a need to know. To prove to my subconscious that it really wasn’t Lenora. That it was Karen, and it’s been her the whole time.

But something about that cabin. The feeling inside it. It was more than darkness. And I don’t want to go back.

Lenora will be upset if she wakes up and I’m not there.

Fuck Lenora you've wasted so much of your life on her, covering up her secrets

“You and your sister,” she says, “you’re both haunted, aren’t you? Why else would you be here?” “You know what happened to us. You’re familiar with our story.”

“Complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Anxiety. There are probably lots of words for it.”

You have to be the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

The power is electric, running on a line between the two of us. I hold her stare, feel the shift in the atmosphere. The kinship between us. I want to tell her I understand. I want to tell her she’s done well for herself regardless of her past. I want to let her know it will be OK.

She’s prone to panic attacks and consistently misremembers pivotal moments in her life.

Me with my inability to have a relationship or wear a pair of damned shoes. Me enabling my sister with no plans to stop. It’s how I punish myself. These ugly parts of me feel permanent. Maybe it doesn’t get better. And maybe the best thing for Sarah is to stay far away from Lenora and me.

“Don’t you think it’s ironic that after what you’ve been through you picked a career in true crime? Do you think exploiting other people’s trauma helps you avoid your own?”

damn sarah called her the fuck out

“Like we were damaged goods after our father died. Like we did something wrong. Like everyone would get infected just by associating with us.”

Sarah was wrong before. I’m not haunted by ghosts. I am the ghost.

Lenora standing in the dark. In a too-big T-shirt and nearly concealed by shadows, she’s watching me with a completely blank expression.

such stalker vibes

I didn’t want you to see me like this, but clearly, I failed at protecting you again. Because you’re here, and your face is crumpling as you look at the bruises on mine. Proof Mom went too far this time.

Lenora is speaking I'm guessing

“She’s never done this before. Not like this,” you say. But I want to correct you. She’s never done this to you before. This is her cycle. She shuts down and pulls away until I piss her off, and then it’s as if everything explodes out of her all at once.

“Last summer was an accident.” “It’s not even about that.” You stop with a shake of your head. “Just forget it.” “Please.” I step toward you. Lay a hand on your arm. “Please talk to me.”

“You know I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be like them.”

“We get to decide who we are,” I say fervently. “Me and you. Not them. Their DNA inside us isn’t as important as who we want to be. All the bad things that they are will end with us.”

The joke pops back in my head. Killing our parents. “You’re not talking about doing something bad to them again—”

There’s a feeling in the house. A tangible feeling that something is wrong. I step in front of you, push my hand against your chest to stay ahead of you. Keep you back. An unidentifiable noise comes from the kitchen. A sliver of light slips out from beneath the door. Someone is up.

Dad is on the floor in front of the kitchen table. His chair is toppled, and beer is spilled all around him. “Dad, are you OK?” You rush to his side. Grab his hand. Attempt to help him up, but I don’t move. Just stare at the open can of beer. There’s a slur in his words when he says, “I’m fine.”

Don’t be a bitch about it like your mother. I won’t get lectured by my own kid.”

Damn little harsh when you were so sweet to her earlier

“You know how it starts. You know he always says he has it under control, but he doesn’t.” My gaze must be sharper than I intend because you wince. “And he’s not the only one without control. Anytime he drinks someone gets hurt.” We both know I’m not just talking about us and Mom. Kate. Joan. Monica. You don’t say anything. But you don’t move either. We sit together like that until my eyelids get heavy. Until I fall asleep.

“I want him dead,”

So Cassie is speaking now and Lenora is saying that she wants to kill her parents

“Please,” I beg. “What happened to you?” “You know.” Your voice breaks. “God, you know, don’t you? Don’t make me say it.”

“How long?” I choke out. I don’t want to know. But I have to. “Two years.” I groan and cover my eyes. He’s been doing this to you for years? He’s hurt you for years? While I’ve what? While I’ve slept? The thought is impossible. It’s impossible to comprehend.

Fuck is this true or a way to real Cassie in?

After what he did, I’m nothing now.”

Explains why she doesn't date our trust anyone except Cassie when it fits Lenoras needs

She knows, and she doesn’t stop it.” You lean in, lowering your voice. “If we do this, I’ll finally be able to move on. Justice will finally be paid.”

“What is this?” I ask, staring down at the contents of the drawer. It’s like a junk drawer. Small toys, a set of keys, a guitar pic, vape pens, an unopened tampon, bracelets. I sit back and look at Cassie. “Whose stuff is this?” “It’s mine.” She tries to push past me, to close the drawer, but I hold up a hand and keep my position.

“No, you don’t get to look at me like that. You of all people. You, Lenora? Staring out that window again because you never seem to learn your lesson. Too afraid to walk outside. You? No, you don’t get to judge me.”

“At least I’m trying to get help. I do therapy. I try every day to get better. You just act like you’re doing nothing wrong at all. But you’re collecting things. Collecting what other people throw away. Is that what you’ve done with me too?” “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“You think I believe I’m normal? I live in the wilderness with my agoraphobic sister. You think this is normal? I should have a family, a life, a career, children. Something. I should have something more than this.” She waves around us. Her tiny room. This cabin. Me. She should have more than that.

“Do you remember what happened the last time I tried?”

“She may not be here, but she isn’t gone. If she were actually gone, then I would have a choice. We’re tangled, you and I. Don’t you see that? Two roots of the same tree, fused together, forced to grow in the world’s shittiest conditions.”

It really doesn’t matter what you wanted or what I wanted. It’s still your fault we’re here.”

Killing our mother? There has to be another way. I walk to the restaurant unable to stop myself from imagining how it would happen. Our mother screaming. The two of us on her. Hurting her. I close my eyes. Physically jolt against the images. I feel weak for it. Knowing how she’s hurt me, and he’s hurt you, and they’ve hurt us. Because it’s all the same, isn’t it? When one of us is hurt, we both are. You’re me and I’m you. I’m weak because I couldn’t protect you. Even weaker because I can’t give you what you want now.

When I open my eyes next, the room is filled with smoke.

The door is open. And there’s something on the ground. Leaking toward me. Slimy, red. Blood. It surrounds me quickly, pooling around my feet. I scream, grab for the wall, but my hands are slick, and I leave a sliding red handprint. “Cassie!” I scream her name. Somewhere downstairs, I hear her laughing.

But there’s something else. A light. I rub my eyes. No, not a light. A fire. I take off running.

“There is no cabin, Cassie.” Lenora’s voice is small, tortured. She’s putting on a brave face, but I can sense the wariness in her. The vulnerability. “It’s gone. Everything’s gone. But you. You’re my home. Where you go, I go.”

“Someone wanted to kill us.”

Karen

“You don’t think it’s strange that the one time I stay the night, someone lights your house on fire? And on that night, your sister happens to have gotten out?”

“Are we really doing this again? You think I set that fire?” But the room tilts. Me running through the woods. The night Tilly died. The night the fire was set. There are memories there. Almost close enough for me to grasp. Something I’m missing.

“I didn’t set that fire. I’m not our mother.”