A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 11 | irking shopping spree

"Is that a joke?"

"You are drunk, sleep."

"Megan, wait, wait, wait. Megan?"

Oh! No!

The line went dead.

How could she drop the call?

Drunk indeed; said the person who spoke like she woke up in a ditch with one of those awful, 'last night,' club hangovers.

She'd never stopped drinking round the clock with her good-for-nothing boyfriend.

I sighed, stretched my legs, and leaned on the sink.

Little by little, I drooped to the tiles.

Running my fingers on my face and rubbing my troubled eyes; I placed Jana's mobile next to my thighs.

Did Megan walk someone home?

Sometimes, she won the first prize when it came to hallucinating.

". . . With how drunk you were when I walked you into your room last night, I knew that something weird will happen. . ."

Her words swung high and low, deep and slow; vexing me like never before.

For Eighteen years, Megan and I lived together, under one roof, but she didn't figure out that; the person she walked home with wasn't me.

Truth be told, Megan didn't mind ditching me for someone else.

She'd made mention of this on many occasions.

I wasn't the human she walked home.

Who was it?

Wait, Lisa?

Did Megan see Lisa and think it was me?

How was this possible?

The last time I checked, Megan's sight wasn't glitching.

Something wasn't right.

What could it be?

I stood on my feet and looked into the large mirror above the sink.

My messy hair fell to my face, covering my small eyes.

Why did everyone think Lisa was me?

Did we look alike?

I gasped.

Slightly nodding my head, I caressed my cheeks, touched my nose, and swept the hair from my face.

This had to be it; Lisa looked like me.

She was my lookalike.

"Get off my way, are you blind?"

Why didn't I pay attention to her face?

I shouldn't have lowered my gaze.

To gain my freedom from Dwain, I had to show him substantial proof that I wasn't Elizabeth.