Apotropaic

I feel her in my mind, rolling my thoughts over her presence like a tongue exploring a stubborn bit of gristle caught between teeth.

Something important has happened. The birth of a child, I think, based on the pain I feel. I can also feel the faint echo of her joy, the closest thing to happiness I ever experience.

I'll never know that joy. That is not my role. My role is to experience what she does not want to, to channel all possible catastrophe and misfortune away from her. It's literally what I was built for.

I move along in the breakfast line, hoping they have some croissants left. They don't, of course. That would require me to have some fortune of my own. I grab a plain baguette, the only bread option left, and some plain cream cheese.

A small inconvenience, to be sure, but it would be nice to try a croissant just once. My coworkers sit next to me, delicately tearing their pastries, savoring each flaky bite. Their conversation has turned to world events.

"Did you hear about Sylvia? She had her baby! I'm so excited! I hope they release pictures soon. With such beautiful parents, I'm sure the baby will be absolutely adorable. The only downside is that she won't be touring for awhile. I can tide myself over with recordings for a bit, I suppose."

"I heard she saved some singles for release specifically after the birth, to keep the fans happy. I hope it's true! I can't imagine going a year or more without new music!"

"I heard one of the singles is for the baby. My cousin works at her record label. He said he got a preview of an unreleased single and that it was the most amazing thing she's ever recorded."

Their prattling fades into the background. So it was a baby. I intentionally avoid news about my Heart. It only makes my reality worse to know what could have been.

My colleagues have no idea. I politely excuse myself to freshen up before work starts. The powder room sink sprays onto my new blouse. There are no paper towels. I wonder what inconvenience this minor mishap has averted.

Most people have never even heard of an Amulet and wouldn't know one if they met them. I suppose that's one tiny stroke of fortune for me. I'm sure people would view me as less than human, a being engineered for the sole benefit of another.

As one of the first Amulets, I'm nearly identical to my Heart. Later models have been engineered to decrease the resemblence, make it easier for those affluent and famous enough to buy one to avoid the inconvenience of having a doppelganger roaming the world. I'm sure there's some vanity involved in that development as well, given that Amulets accumulate the physical scars that their Hearts avoid.

I run my blouse under the hand dryer, hoping to avoid some embarassment. The burn scar on my face shines bright under the fluorescent lights, a reminder of the fire my Heart (I can't even think her name, it hurts too much) escaped from unscathed.

I'll never have a number one single and a supermodel husband. I'll never jet across the world on a whim. I'll never be more than I currently am, and I'll likely be worse, considering the myriad of tragedies, both minor and profound, that the average person survives every day.

I put my semi-dry blouse back on and apply more concealer to my face. A single tear has made a trail down my cheek, breaking the facade.

I wish I could be happy for her.