Chapter Text
The sun was shining outside.
It was a warm summer’s day. The type people dreamed of. The type that would make children count clouds and adults look up for just a second or two to admire the view.
Heaven opened its doors today.
But as always, I found it difficult to enjoy.
“Just give it up, Vincent.”
Part of me said that I could try to obey. I used to. Especially as a child, with a father often away and a mother whose words strung sentences so incoherent, her attempts at communication often resulted in physical confrontations. I couldn’t blame her- if speech won’t do, then why not fists?
But that’s why I wanted to try twice as hard to achieve mastery over my vocabulary.
“You’re hopelessly noisy for a tulpa, Scarlet.”
A quirk to her eyebrow. Soon the shouting and belittling would begin again. And she was always the one screaming, yet it only seemed to leave me tired.
“This is the passion of my life. How could I give it up for some meaningless studies?”
A cold laughter, shrill and ugly echoed in my ears.
“Noisy? I am noise? Dear, I’m the last shred of clarity your broken mind has! You know just as well as me that this book of yours won’t go anywhere!”
Her pale, cold hand touched the pages I was scribbling on. Reflexively, I almost jerked them away, but that would only lead to her burning them entirely.
Like the stack of childhood novellas I wrote. She threw them away, just like that. One moment they were on my shelf, the other one? Gone.
“All of your characters have hearts cold as stone and nothing but cruelty in their souls. Nobody will pity or love them- and you know how books that nobody wants to read will end up.”
I didn’t say anything and immediately felt her fingernails dig into my shoulder as a response. They were unbelievably sharp. Sharper than it should’ve been humanly possible.
“Landfill, dear. That, or a forgotten piece of fiction in the corners of the Internet. Hundreds of thousands of words? Hah! I could let an AI generate about a million. It’s worthless, Vincent.”
I didn’t remember moving, but that didn’t matter. Soon, my laptop was booted up, the blinding white screen burning my eyes. And there I was, back on the school’s website, clicking through homework, eyes scanning lecture after lecture I didn’t remember attending.
“If you don’t want to end up an utter failure, I suggest you suck it up and concentrate. Come on, you’re lagging behind.”
I didn’t dare to look up. But from the way she was speaking, I could hear her smiling.
“And as soon as you actually succeed in life, becoming the lawyer you are supposed to, you can spend the remaining time on your weird little project, okay?”
She didn’t say another word. She didn’t need to. The pressure on the back of my skull thanks to her sheer presence alone was nauseating.
Berating. Mocking. Humiliating.
“…Fine. It’s not like I’ll be able to write another proper word with you sitting there, watching.”
Just as I was about to open up the folder for the latest topic, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen. It was a text message, the profile picture that of a young, white haired girl. The sender read: “charlotte”.
Before Scarlet reacted, I had already clicked on it. Her stare burned that much deeper into my brain, but this was important.
[18:45] charlotte: Hello! I’ve read the last update you sent me. It was super amazing, as always!
I found myself smiling, for just a second. Not longer. Because then I felt a burst of pain in my chest, as if someone was grabbing my heart and crushing it in their palm. I was happy when I wasn’t doing my duty. How dare I. That was unforgivable.
“You know it’s pretty creepy to text like that with a fan, right? They don’t know you. At all.”
I bit my lip. That was Scarlet’s most recent strategy. When she realised pointing out I was wasting time I could spend studying on friends didn’t work, she made sure to attack that point directly. If I didn’t retort carefully, I’d just give her more ammunition.
“Charlotte is a fan of my work, sure, but beyond that we work on projects together. I even inspired her to write things herself!”
“And yet she keeps saying that her writing is inadequate and that yours is so much better. Are you sure you aren’t just holding her back?”
There it was. That cold hand, at the back of my neck again. I was sure it could break my spine like a twig if it wanted to. Not that it did. Scarlet only ever wanted the best for me. Ever. And everything she told me and everything she made me do was for my sake. Even that one time she made me try to take my own life. It was just to make me more grateful for what I already had.
I put my fingers to the keyboard and started typing. There was no motion more familiar to me. The mechanical clicking of keys until my joints hurt… it was as if for that moment of time, I was safe. Scarlet could try and hold me from starting, but if I managed to do so, nothing would stop me.
[18:55] C: Thank you! I’m super glad that you liked it! I write in order for people to read it, after all!
Well, that was half the truth, at least. I also wrote in order to escape the reality that settled in as soon as the chapter was over, the arc paused, but that wasn’t too important.
“What kind of a copy paste answer is that? Don’t you think you can drop the pretense? Otherwise she’ll keep on believing forever that you’re not just using her to feel better about yourself.”
She didn’t say it. She didn’t need to say it. Because like so many things she’s already droned it into my head so often that I long gave up on denying it. That I was a manipulator, an attention-whore, that I only wrote for people to praise me. At this point it didn’t matter whether that was true. What mattered to me was that regardless of whether it was, I was too tired to care. And that was what bothered her.
“If you truly want to be a good author, then perhaps stop texting your fans like a desperate loser. Look at all the good authors out there- none of them have led a life as miserable as yours.”
Not bad. At least that was something new. And of course it stung. Nobody knew me better than Scarlet.
And like an unknowing child pouring a bucket of gasoline over a forest fire, my chat with Charlotte moved up as another message appeared.
[18:56] charlotte: Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m your number one fan, remember?
The cold hand that until then rested on the back of my neck now slid up my scalp, gripping my hair and forcing my head back. I winced, but not much more. That wasn’t the punishment. Yet.
“That’s enough for today, don’t you think? You’ve already procrastinated horribly. I think it’s time we end this conversation and readjust our focus.”
Right. Readjust my focus. It was to readjust my focus. That wouldn’t be the punishment either. Not yet.
I moved my hands back to my keyboard. Normally, I typed rather fast, so much so that my classmates all commented on it. It’s one of the few things they complimented me on. I sent an apology to Charlotte in silence, for having to wait for such a long time just for a message that short to appear.
[19:09] C: I’m grateful for your enthusiasm. I feel kind of tired right now so I’ll go to sleep now. See you next time.
As soon as I sent out the message I could see Charlotte starting to type again, but I couldn’t witness the finished text as Scarlet had closed the program. Now it was just me and her again. Me and Scarlet. Me and my only caretaker. Me and my true mother.
Scarlet yanked up my head, just far enough for my eyes to land on the cup full of desk supplies. But it was neither the pencils nor the ruler nor the stick of glue, though I feared the day she’d get creative enough to use those.
For now it was just the box cutter. Just… the box cutter.
For a second, I could feel something well up deep within me. I couldn’t tell whether it was discomfort or euphoria, pain or pleasure, but it felt awfully familiar. And still wrong.
Then it dissipated again, as fast as it came.
I sighed and picked up the blade.