Who are you, when the reflection in the mirror fights to claim your life?
John is a successful sales executive, admired for his charm and confidence. But behind his polished exterior is Janeāa daring, vibrant alter ego. At first, she is an experiment, an escape. But Jane begins to take on a life of her own, complete with friends, triumphs, and a world that John doesnāt remember building.
When John wakes up in Janeās apartment with no memory of how he got there, and cryptic notes in her handwriting appear, the lines between their realities blur. Jane isnāt just part of him; sheās something more. As memories fade and control slips from his grasp, John and Jane confront each other in a fierce psychological battle, fighting to determine who is realāand who must fade.
Is Jane a creation of Johnās fractured mind, or has John always been the mask? Their mirror becomes the battleground, their cutting dialogue the weapon, as shocking truths emerge that will leave readers questioning everything.
This novel boldly explores identity and self-deception. "Me & Me: Trapped between John and Jane" will challenge you to confront your own reflection and leave you breathless. Dare to look.
Who are you, when the reflection in the mirror fights to claim your life?
John is a successful sales executive, admired for his charm and confidence. But behind his polished exterior is Janeāa daring, vibrant alter ego. At first, she is an experiment, an escape. But Jane begins to take on a life of her own, complete with friends, triumphs, and a world that John doesnāt remember building.
When John wakes up in Janeās apartment with no memory of how he got there, and cryptic notes in her handwriting appear, the lines between their realities blur. Jane isnāt just part of him; sheās something more. As memories fade and control slips from his grasp, John and Jane confront each other in a fierce psychological battle, fighting to determine who is realāand who must fade.
Is Jane a creation of Johnās fractured mind, or has John always been the mask? Their mirror becomes the battleground, their cutting dialogue the weapon, as shocking truths emerge that will leave readers questioning everything.
This novel boldly explores identity and self-deception. "Me & Me: Trapped between John and Jane" will challenge you to confront your own reflection and leave you breathless. Dare to look.
Chapter 1: Doubt in the Mirror
John stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, studying his face as if he could find in its lines and angles some answer, some buried truth heād overlooked. He leaned in closer, scrutinizing the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the slight tension in his brow, looking for some sign he might have missedāa clue, maybe, that would make him feel present in his own life. For years, he had inhabited this face, this body, this image of himself, and yet, standing here, he felt like a stranger. It was a strange, unsettling feeling, as though he were observing someone else, a man who looked and sounded like him but lived a life that felt increasingly foreign.
He was a man on the rise, or so everyone said. His boss praised him openly; his colleagues threw admiring glances his way. John had become the āgo-to guy,ā the model of what a sales executive should beāreliable, persuasive, polished. There was no shortage of affirmations: āJohnās got the charm,ā theyād say, or āHe could sell ice to an Eskimo.ā Heād heard these things about himself so often that he could practically recite them in his sleep. Yet, in moments like this, alone with his reflection, the words felt hollow, like phrases from a script heād been reciting his whole life without understanding their meaning.
He leaned even closer, his breath misting the glass as he examined his face from inches away. His jaw was set in that confident, square line heād learned to adopt, a look that exuded authority. Sharp, reliableāqualities heād always thought of as strengths. His chin bore the faintest trace of stubble, a shadow that had just started to come through. He ran his hand over it, feeling the roughness, feeling something, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if that was all he wasāa collection of carefully crafted traits and expressions heād pieced together to meet the expectations of others.
Above him, the light buzzed softly, casting sharp shadows over his face, exaggerating the angles, making him look sharper, harder. It felt like a spotlight, a stage light, illuminating him in this private moment where he was laid bare, stripped of pretense. He let his gaze drift downward to the suit hanging on the back of the doorāclassic gray, expertly tailored, the kind of suit that commanded respect without demanding it. It was his armor, his uniform. The suit itself was yet another projection of John: crisp, confident, unassuming in a way that made him easy to trust. In it, he was John the Closer, the Salesman, the Man of Numbers, someone who could walk into a room and make people listen. But now, looking at that suit, he felt an odd disconnect. It was a shell, something he slipped into each morning, as though it were his entire identity.
Is that who I am? The question lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, as he looked back at his reflection. In the mirror, he tried to see himself as others saw himāthe friendly but assertive sales executive, the charming negotiator, the man who made things happen. But as he looked deeper, he felt a strange sense of emptiness creeping in, a void that felt unfillable no matter how many sales he closed or quotas he hit. It was as though heād spent so long constructing this version of himself that heād forgotten what lay beneath, if there was anything beneath at all.
He remembered the compliments, the congratulations, the pats on the back from his boss. Heād hit target after target, received award after award. His LinkedIn profile gleamed with endorsements, his professional image meticulously crafted. But the strange truth was that none of it felt real. They were just words, just images, just expectations he had fulfilled so diligently, so automatically, that they felt as though they belonged to someone else. And maybe they did. Maybe āJohnā was just a role heād been playing for so long that heād lost sight of who he actually was.
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it, the exhaustion that came from sustaining a facade. There was a part of him that wanted to pull away from this reflection, to stop thinking, to push aside these thoughts that threatened the structure heād built so carefully. But something kept him there, rooted to the spot, forcing him to look deeper. And as he looked, he couldnāt ignore the hollowness that stared back at himāa man with everything going for him on paper but an ache inside, an ache for something different, something real.
What did ārealā even mean? The thought struck him suddenly, catching him off guard. He had built a life that ticked all the boxes, that matched every expectation society, his family, and even he had set for himself. But why did it feel so thin, so insubstantial? He felt like a shadow of himself, a well-dressed silhouette going through the motions, ticking off achievements like items on a checklist, never stopping to question why. Who am I doing this for? he thought, a quiet desperation edging into the question.
He glanced back at the suit hanging on the door, suddenly seeing it differently, as though it were a costume he was tired of wearing. Day after day, he put it on, buttoned it up, and transformed himself into John, the man everyone expected him to be. But beneath the suit, he was justā¦ him. The man staring back in the mirror didnāt feel quite like John, didnāt feel like the sales executive, the ācloser.ā He was someone elseāsomeone who had dreams, doubts, insecurities, someone who wanted more than just the next sale or the next promotion.
Lately, John had been caught in a loop of strange, wandering thoughts. They came in waves, interrupting the automatic rhythm of his daily routine. Sometimes it was a passing question that lingered far longer than he expected, whispering to him like an insistent breeze he couldnāt shake. Today, the question was particularly vivid. What would it be like, he wondered, if I werenāt the person staring back at me in this mirror? What ifā¦ what if I were someone else? Someoneā¦ different? A woman? He hadnāt shared this line of thinking with anyone, not even his closest friends. It was too strange, too abstractāsomething he was only half-sure he even understood himself.
The initial thought had struck him during a meeting. It was a mundane Monday morning review, a room full of salespeople around the polished conference table. The client they were discussing was notoriously difficult, particularly toward male reps. As the head of the department laid out strategy after strategy, Johnās mind had wandered, wondering whether his female colleagues faced these challenges in quite the same way. There were certain clients, after all, who warmed up instantly to women, yet stayed cool and guarded with men. Heād seen it time and time again, in subtle ways: the warm smile a male client gave to a female colleague, the moments they were heard more easily, even indulged a bit, where he was scrutinized.
Sitting in that meeting, he found himself caught up in an odd curiosity, his mind racing with possibilities. Would they talk to him differently? Trust him in ways they didnāt now? And beyond his career, how would he be treated in day-to-day life? Heād never seriously considered these questions before, but now, once the door cracked open, he couldnāt stop himself from pushing it further. It was strange how this curiosityāthis doubtāseemed to take on a life of its own, simmering beneath the surface of his thoughts, pulling him back to it when he least expected.
After that meeting, it was as if he saw himself in a double exposure: half the man heād always been, and half someone else he didnāt yet understand. Every glance in the mirror seemed to carry with it this nagging question. He began to imagine what life would look like if he werenāt bound by his current self. What if he could approach life from a different angle, step into a new perspective?
John didnāt dislike being a man, or even his life, but there were times he felt confined by expectations that came with it. The subtle but insistent pressure to assert, to be competent, to constantly perform with little room for vulnerability. He wondered if women felt this same weight, or if their burden was a different shape entirely. In the world of sales, these expectations were magnified; success demanded confidence and charm, yet both felt increasingly performative to him. Was he really connecting with people? Or was he simply delivering the version of himself that clients expected to see?
These thoughts haunted him most at night, when he was alone with them. Heād lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and try to push them aside, only for them to creep back, persistent and unyielding. Was it so strange, he wondered, to want to step into anotherās life? To know what it would feel like, not just to āseeā the world through someone elseās eyes but to live it? It was a thought that made him feel oddly alive, yet there was an uneasiness to it, a discomfort in realizing that he wasnāt entirely satisfied with who heād become.
One morning, while preparing for another day at work, John found himself staring into the mirror once more. But today was different. Today, he wasnāt just pondering abstract possibilitiesāhe was staring straight at his reflection, searching for something. What if I wasnāt looking at John? he thought, almost on instinct. What if I were looking at someone else?
The idea took root, spreading quickly. He watched his face, but in his mind, it began to shift, to soften. A slight narrowing at the jaw, a gentler arch to the brows. He could almost see itāanother person emerging behind the mask he had always worn, a person who lived somewhere within him yet felt so far away. She seemed to wait there, quietly, in his reflection, as if sheād always been a part of him, and he had simply never taken the time to notice her.
āJane,ā he murmured, the sound barely escaping his lips, a whisper so faint it felt as though it had come from somewhere else. The name echoed softly in his mind, unexpected yet strangely familiar, like a tune heād once known by heart but had long since forgotten. He was surprised at how natural it sounded, how easily it rolled off his tongue, and yet the way it hung in the air felt transformative, almost sacred. Jane. As he repeated it to himself, he felt a spark of somethingāa quiet thrill, like the beginning of an adventure he had never dared to imagine.
John felt his heart beat faster. He took in his reflection with new eyes, studying the contours and shadows of his face, searching for more traces of her, as though Jane had always been there, hiding in the depths of his gaze. There was a beauty in this feeling, an almost giddy sensation that washed over him, like a rush of adrenaline. A sense of anticipation bubbled up in his chest, a feeling he hadnāt experienced in yearsāperhaps not since he was a boy dreaming of all the lives he could live, all the people he could be. It was as if he were standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, yet deeply intimate, waiting to step into a world that was his yet wasnāt. The thought was exhilarating.
But beneath the thrill, a thread of doubt wove its way into his mind. What am I doing? The question broke through like a discordant note, jarring him from his reverie. The familiar voice of reason that had guided him throughout his life spoke up, cautioning him, reminding him of all the ways in which this was impractical, strange, maybe even absurd. You're John, he thought firmly, as if saying it to himself would tether him back to reality. John. The steady, reliable sales executive. The man who knew how to close a deal and charm a room, who had the respect of his colleagues, who wore the same brand of cologne and tailored suits, day in and day out.
But then, why did āJaneā feel so right? Why did that name, that person, feel so comfortable, almost inevitable, as though she had been there all along, waiting for him to finally notice her? The thought unsettled him and thrilled him all at once. He felt like an explorer venturing into uncharted territory, both drawn to and terrified by what he might find.
He found himself wanting to try on her skin, to see the world through her eyes, to understand who she was. Who he was, really, underneath all the layers that had been imposed on himāthe expectations, the routine, the well-worn path heād walked since he was old enough to know what was expected of him. There was a strange sense of freedom in this possibility, an invitation to live differently, to step outside of himself, to shed the constraints of āJohnā and discover someone new.
A vision of Jane came to life in his mind. She was still him, yet not himāa woman with a softness and vulnerability he rarely showed, yet with a quiet strength that seemed to rise from somewhere deeper, somewhere true. He imagined her in conversation, her words flowing with a subtle warmth that put others at ease, a kindness in her voice that people found inviting. She was composed yet approachable, driven but with a gentleness that softened her edges. Where Johnās confidence was honed from years of practice and self-discipline, Janeās felt effortless, as though she knew who she was in a way John had never allowed himself to.
But with each new vision of Jane, he also felt the uncertainty grow, blooming darkly within him. What if this isnāt real? What if itās just a fantasy? The questions circled like dark clouds, warning him of the risks, of the judgments he might face, of the rejection and confusion that would certainly arise if he allowed himself to explore this new identity. He thought of his colleagues, his family, his friends. What would they say? Would they see him as unhinged, someone having a midlife crisis or worse? The thought made his heart pound with fear, but it didnāt quell the desire to explore this new side of himself, to find out who Jane really was.
The mirror reflected the flicker of conflict in his eyes, a tension he didnāt know how to resolve. Part of him wanted to turn away, to shut this down, to get back to his routine and let āJaneā fade into the recesses of his mind, a fleeting curiosity never to be revisited. But he couldnāt. Not now. The thrill of discovery was too enticing, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly alive.
There was a surprising softness to the name āJane,ā a kind of simplicity that called to him, inviting him into a life that was less performative, less weighed down by the expectations he felt as John. As Jane, he could be gentle, introspective, present. There would be no need to project an air of authority or constantly prove himself. It was as though Jane allowed him to drop his armor, to be vulnerable, unguarded. The idea of stepping into her life felt liberating, a chance to escape the rigid boundaries he had set for himself.
John lingered there, savoring the sensation. What if? The question pulsed in his mind, urging him forward, tempting him to continue down this path, to explore this unknown territory within himself. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to embrace the fantasy, to imagine what it would be like if he allowed Jane to liveānot as a thought, but as a reality.
Who are you and what do you want from me? is a key question in this dark and brooding psychological thriller by Antonio Garrido.
John āthe Closerā is a successful sales executive on his way up. Heās also not sure who he is. On the outside, John looks like he has everything going for him. But on the inside, John feels thin. Insubstantial. He aches for something different. Something āreal.ā But what does ārealā even mean?
John begins to wonder about the person staring backing at him in the mirror. What if he isnāt that person in the mirror? What if John was someone else? Someone differentā¦ A woman? What if John could approach life from a different angle? Step into a new perspective? Is John really connecting with people? Or is he just delivering the version of himself that clients expect to see?
Pondering these and related sentiments, John has a āpressing need to understandā all the time āheād unknowingly benefited from his unspoken advantage.ā In fact, John doesnāt "just want to understand his female colleaguesā experiences ā he needed to.ā
So John changes himself into his image of his mirror buddy, his female alter ego, Jane. After all, Jane is āa woman who knew her worth, who moved through the world with a confidence that came not from her achievements but from her own inner sense of belonging.ā
It's not long before John is faced with the ultimate dilemma: A note left for him from Jane. Did John create something that's outgrowing him? Is he losing himself to her? If Jane can act without him, can think, feel and want things he hasnāt approved, then where does that leave him?
Wait. Is that Rod Serling?
This book has potential. It will resonate with a certain audience (more on that in a minute). It just wasn't my cuppa. For one thing, the āI am woman, hear me roarā montage in the initial chapters gets old. Fast. The plot moves with the alacrity of a three-toed sloth in places. For example, itās not until chapter 5, Double Life, that we get to āthe decision to live as both John and Janeā and Jane steps into her role as a sales consultant at Brightwave Solutions. Jane soon feels āa sense of sisterhood and solidarity that she had never experienced as John, where every interaction felt calculated, every gesture weighed.ā Ho-hum.
This is an interesting premise ā dude loses himself in order to find himself. Orā¦ something. Itās undergirded by sturdy writing and solid prose. But this has already been done. And way better. Hello, Dustin Hoffman and Tootsie. The ending is predictable. (Hi, Dr. Monroe.)
This book just didnāt keep my interest. Parts are over-written and painfully over-long. Like the two paragraphs describing how Jane applies lip balm and foundation. Two. Paragraphs. Seriously? (I can do both in under 60 seconds.) Additionally, the cardinal writing rule of Show, Donāt Tell winds up on the wayside far too often as the story unfolds. Thereās a lot of Telling in this book. Think major continent. Some readers may find this tiresome or tedious. Also, it takes some time for this story to get rolling. Like about half-way through. Whether or not most readers will want to stick around that long is open to question.
Readers who enjoy Oscar Wildeās The Picture of Dorian Gray or Mary Shelleyās Frankenstein may enjoy this book. Ditto fans of the 1944 movie Gaslight (Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer), the 1984 Echoes of the Mind episode from Magnum, P.I., or the scene in The Lord of the Rings where a ādual personalityā Gollum (or Smeagol) talks to himself in a pond may enjoy Me and Me. It has potential. It's not my cuppa. But it might be yours.
My Rating: 2.5