Disaster on Wetherby Close

The spoon clinks against the mug and I don’t remember picking it up. I’m halfway through stirring when I realize I hate tea. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe that was someone else. The mug is chipped. I remember buying it. I remember hating it. I remember never seeing it before.
My skin feels full. I want to climb out of it.

The body is functional.

neural conductivity within acceptable range. emotional calibration complete. Incomplete. Complete? Error. there is noise. there is resistance. data bank may be corrupt.

I’m halfway through humming again. That tune. It’s not mine. It’s familiar. It’s wrong. I said something to Nona, and she looked at me like I’d slapped her. I didn’t. I don’t think I did.

I

I

I

I woke up with my arms around her, and the predominant message in the data bank was squeeze tight bring forearm up lock squeeze apply pressure on windpipe squeeze squeeze

Her bare heels banging against my legs and her nails scrabbling at my wrists. Snap it. Snap her neck. Snap it and run. Run away. Take the girls and run. It's a strong signal, urgent.

Who are "the girls"?

The blonde woman stares at us, her eyes and mouth wide. Why? Did I say that out loud? Is my mouth moving? Can I feel my mouth? Can I feel anything?

She reaches for the plant pot, and the data bank says

stop her

snap this neck snap it

who are th-

In the flicker of hesitation, the pot collides with my head, and I'm straining to hear it sma...

-

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..|

...|

I keep waking up with someone else’s dreams. I keep saying things I don’t mean. I remember things that aren't true.

I am... Jac. No. I am Ronnie but she has to call me Jac. No. It's the other way. I'm Jac, but she has to call me Ronnie. But I have memories of being called Sean. By her. But sometimes. Not her. Her, with another face.

I am adapting.

host unstable. emotional bleed increasing. memory integrity compromised. experiencing recursive identity drift. experiencing recursive identity drift.

I laugh too loudly. Rita flinches. I wave, too friendly, too fast. She waves back, uncertain. I don’t know her name. I know her husband’s name. I know her daughter’s birthday. I know things that I don't kmow how I know them how I know them how I know how I know know know know how I-

Rita is gone. She hit me with a plant pot. On the head. And now she is gone. Where did she go? Did I hurt her? squeeze snap it

Nona named me Jac. That was her first mistake. You don’t name a parasite. You don’t kiss it goodnight. Fuck it.

I remember the moment I came back. Like surfacing from cold water. No. Mud. My hands weren’t mine. I remember that. But now they are. But they feel... Wrong.. My voice has a rhythm I don’t recognise. Sometimes I can't hear my voice or feel my mouth or feel her hair breasts lips hands

I don't feel

Where does me start and end? Me is a ball of something inside this meaty cavern and she can't touch it can't reach it no one can-

I try to sleep. I dream in triplicate. Alone in here. But not.

I push and poke at her, trying to feel. She wriggles. I see it but that's all. See her under me. Her mouth moves in this shape

come back to me please

There's a ball of her inside there, there must be. Behind her eyes. Like I'm behind these eyes. I poke push push push to reach the ball of something. Blood runs down her face from her eye socket medical attention wil be required Her mouth is stretched wide but I can't hear anything it's like I'm underwater and am I going to wake up or is she going to be stuck like that, stuck and bleeding and silent screaming-

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