She Kept Me Up Again Last Night

Last night, I couldn’t sleep… again. I know it keeps happening, I’m trying to figure out a solution, she just… she won’t stop talking. What? No, not Sylvie… the… you know. Her. I guess I’ve been anxious about a lot of things, that one application is out on submission. I know I’m not supposed to just keep refreshing the page, I know I need to be patient. But it’s either stare at the same unread application or keep listening to her. Last night she was wearing these lacey, black underwear with little pleated frills. Not to be sexy or anything, just because. And she kept talking no matter what I did.

“How are you going to rectify it?” She asked, “How are you going to rectify diverging realities in a satisfactory way that you can live with?”

“Who the hell starts a conversation like that?” I asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Why do you keep thinking about me?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I didn’t think about you all weekend!”

“You were busy, I creep in when your mind is slow.”

“You’re going to wake up Sylvie.”

“She can’t hear me.”

Then, like always, I rolled onto my side to try and tune her out. I scrolled through TikTok and, when that got boring, I scrolled through Instagram. I put in my headphones and tried to find a YouTube video, but YouTube is more ad than video these days, plus, the screen was too bright, I didn’t want to wake up Sylvie. So, I laid on my back and stared up at the ceiling fan. Who invented the ceiling fan? I wondered, Who’s brilliant idea was it to put spinning swords on the ceiling?

“Oh, come on,” She groaned, “Answer my question. How are you going to rectify it? Make it stop.”

“I’m trying…”

“Don’t you want this?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know…”

“You want to look like me, don’t you?”

“Can’t I be both? That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but can you?”

“I like my beard.”

“Then grow it back when you want it.”

“Please go away.”

I rolled over and looked in the mirror. 

“Why are you wearing bows?” I asked, “It’s midnight.”

“It’s actually 1:30.”

“Okay, why are you wearing a big pink bow in your hair at 1:30 in the morning?”

“Why did you put me in one?”

“I don’t… Can you just… Ugh!”

I covered my head with my pillow and checked my application again. It’s only been four days and I’ll most likely get rejected, but some part of me feels like it’s going to be the answer to everything. Like it’ll solve all of my problems and everything will finally fall back into line and then I can finally move on. Move on from feeling trapped, move on from spiraling, move on from… Well, everything. Still no reply. Of course there wouldn’t be a reply at 1:30 in the morning. When I could feel her breathing down my neck, I rolled onto my other side and grabbed onto Sylvie. I squeezed her as tight as I could, pressing her warmth into me.

“Ow…” Sylvie grumbled, “You’re squeezing me…”

“Sorry,” I kissed her cheek and loosened my grip,

“You okay?”

“Yes, go back to sleep.”

“Okay…”

“I’m gonna take a bath.” When I can feel my heart in my throat, I know it's time to take a bath,

“Does your tummy hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay…” Sylvie drifted back to sleep,

I got out of bed, it was like 1:45 now, and I grabbed my phone. I looked in the mirror on the way out the door and blushed. I forgot what I was wearing. She wasn’t wearing the lacey black underwear with the pleated ruffles, I was. And I didn’t look ridiculous… I didn’t hate it… I looked away and rushed to the bathroom. I filled up the tub with water that was definitely way too hot and slid in, sinking into the bubbles like a crocodile on the hunt. I left the lights off. I like taking baths in the dark. 

“You look good.” She said, her reflection was in the chrome faucet of the tub,

“Thanks…”

“Switch places with me.”

“No. I’m going to take a bath and go back to sleep.”

“Switch places with me, Mark! Let me out for a day! One day!”

“Shut up!”

“You want this! You wanna be me! Why else were you wearing those?”

“B-because they’re comfortable—”

“No they aren’t! They look good! They feel good because they make you feel like me!”

That’s when she burst from the water and pulled me under. I felt her hands around my face, her black-painted nails digging into my beard, grabbing my face and pulling me under. The water was warm, really warm, and filled with bubbles. It was like sticking your face under a hot tub. Everyone always told me not to do that as a kid, but I love sticking my face underwater in a hot tub. It feels funny. I spun around and looked at her. Her hair was up in bows, two long strands fell next to her face. She had the same freckle as me on her nose.

She spoke under the water.

“Rectify it, Mark! Make it stop!”

“I’m trying…”

“Don’t you want this? Don’t you want to be a girl?”

“I don’t hate being a boy…”

“Then why do you keep wanting to be me?”

“I want to be both—”

“Then why do you keep second guessing yourself? Stop being so afraid of me! I’m part of you! I’m literally you!”

I came up for air and wrapped myself in a towel. I staggered, humid and dripping to the mirror. It was all foggy from the heat. I didn’t turn on the fan, I didn’t want to wake up Sylvie. I wiped the fog off the mirror and squinted. The lights were still off. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could and opened them again. You know that feeling you get when you squeeze your eyes shut so hard that, when you open them, you’re dizzy? Well, yeah. That. I focused through the dark, through the humidity, through the fog, on the dark mirror. I took a deep breath. 

“I just want to go back to sleep.” I said,

Then the bathroom was quiet. My phone buzzed, lighting up the bathroom with a blue glow. An email. My application? No. Just spam. Behind me, she stepped back into view. She sat on the edge of the sink and sighed. Have I ever tried just talking to her? Or do we always argue? Sylvie said I should just talk to her and just… be me… whoever that is. I looked into her eyes, into my eyes, and mumbled something.

“What?” She asked,

“I said hi.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“Have we ever just talked?”

“No. You always run away from me.”

“You’re aggressive.”

“I’m confident.”

“I bought a shirt.”

“I know.”

“It’s pink and white and purple and blue and black with stars.”

“It’s a good shirt.”

“I just want to start there.”

“With the shirt?”

“Yes. Please.”

“But—”

“I’ll start with the shirt and figure it all out later.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t… I don’t hate you, by the way.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Aren’t you trying to erase me and rewrite me?”

“No! I just want you to be happy.”

I rubbed my eyes again, this time I wasn’t dizzy. She disappeared… Well, she became a part of me again, then, at 2:30 in the morning, I finally fell asleep.