Martyr Chapter 3

THREE

Despite all of my internal protests, a month later Chloe’s room was painted in stripes of baby blue and light pink. I’d been to see another grad student who worked at our campus psychology clinic, who actually went so far as to laugh when I asked her if this was an unhealthy change in my life.

“You’re happy, you’re smiling, and you’re not going to be alone any more – so what’s the problem?”

In only a few days, I was able to push the doubts away and just accept it for what it was. We clicked, in such an easy manner it seemed like I had known her for years. We liked the same foods, listened to the same music and liked to have our evening alone times. We’d hang out and talk and have dinner, then go to our own rooms to read and do homework. It was too easy, like Chloe was custom made to be the only human being on earth that I could stand for more than five minutes.

There was a part of me that questioned my sanity. The biggest part of me just wanted to let Chloe’s warmth and good nature envelop my brain and senses and just allow me to be happy. I’d compared her before as a weakling looking for a host, but the truth was that I was the parasite. I went out of my way to invoke conversation, to ask her about her family or her house.

She was so good-natured, so truly good, that it was impossible to be morose around her. My body felt like withdrawals when I went to the office and taught my classes. I found myself longing to be back home, ready to get out of my own head.

One Saturday in November, we moved all of her furniture into what used to be my guest room, and we even kept her black and glass dining room table to use instead of my barstools.

I also had to move my cardboard Brett Favre cutout into the living room, so Chloe had room for her queen sized bed. I really hope he’d be okay with my green walls.

We both loved modern décor, and her glass pieces fit in perfectly with my white leather couches and bright green walls. The only difference was I had saved every nickel and dime for years to get everything I owned, and Chloe’s dad had had all of her furniture delivered that day from some store in Kansas City.

Even better than the emotional ciphering I drew from her, was my newfound ability to talk about myself. No one had ever asked about my ability, and I’d never shared the information with anyone. The same weekend she moved in, she brought it up.

“See, I’m thankful to you for tons of things. You saved my life, gave me a place to stay and you’ve been really cool about pretty much everything.”

         “But…”

         “Yeah. But I kind of need to know more about how this brain thing works.”

         I laughed; the sound of it was still strange on my ears. “Brain thing, I like it. Simple and easy to remember. Also, I didn’t save your life.”

         I tried to play the comment off, but the truth was I was always looking over our shoulders. When we went out to eat, my eyes scanned the room. A walk downtown meant hundreds of backwards glances. More than a friend or roommate, Chloe was my second job. Everything about my day evolved around leaving her alone for the shortest amount of time as possible.  Surprisingly, it didn’t bother me at all. It was in my nature to be paranoid and off-putting anyway.

         “Whatever you say, Evie. I just want to know what you can hear. Can you hear every single thing I think? I’m just… like what if I get mad at you or something. Or what if I’m, you know, thinking about someone or…”

         “Look, it’s not like that and I’m surprised you haven’t already asked. See, I can’t hear everything you’re saying, or even most of it. Not clearly anyway. It’s kind of like the difference between muttering something under your breath and yelling at someone. I can’t hear what you’re “muttering” or just basic thoughts and everyday kind of stuff. But if you’re yelling things, like thinking about them really hard or getting really emotional, then I can pick it up.”

         “So I have a radio in my head, and you have to be on my station?”

          “Yeah, I guess. It sucks that I can’t hear everyone though. There has to be really strong emotional surge, usually directed at me.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “Well, usually I pick up things when people are mad at me, or thinking about me really hard. We must have met before at some point, because I heard you first thing. Second you walked in my classroom. You might not remember it, but I left that day with a migraine. You’re ridiculously loud, yelling practically, all the time.”

         “Does it hurt?”

         “Yeah, sometimes. That day when in your dorm, I also passed out. It’s overwhelming, like a migraine times a million. That’s why I don’t want to go into teaching. I can’t stand being on campus anymore. If my shields slip for even a second, I’m done for.”

         “Wow. Is there anything else you can do? Like move things without touching them or see the future or anything?”

         I can do this.

         She jumped up from the table. “What the hell? I could hear you! Did you do that on purpose?”

         “Yeah. It’s kind of something I’ve always been able to do.” My smile disappeared. “I can do more than that. I could make you do things you didn’t think to do on your own. I’ve had some practice. It’s not hard.”

         Her face blanched; suddenly something on the glass tabletop seemed important enough to need a cleaning product from under the kitchen sink. I scolded myself for deliberately trying to scare her.

         “Chloe, I’d never do that to you. I only use it when I have to, and a couple of times it’s saved me a lot of pain. Twice it’s even saved my life.”

         She nodded, feigning indifference. “Saved your life?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So, how exactly does that work?”

         “My will has to be stronger than the other person’s. It works well on inebriated people, or people who don’t really have a purpose to their actions. I can drive a thought into someone’s head; maybe change their mind about what they’re doing. Give them a reason to stop.”

         Her mind flooded with possibilities, and I fought hard to keep up with what she was trying to say.

         “Do you not want to live here anymore? I can understand if you don’t.”

         She shrugged and waved away my question. “You’re a bitch sometimes, and sometimes you scare me. You use a lot of words that I don’t understand and I have this thing on my phone that helps me look up words and define them so I don’t have to ask you. So you kind of make me feel stupid. Other times you’re fun, and really try to make me feel at home here. But, all in all, we need each other.”

         The old Evie sprung up as my teeth clenched together. A part of me was glad to know she was still in there. “Come again?”

         “Well, look. I’m like the exact opposite of you. I like people, I like to talk and when I talk, you listen. No one ever listens to me. Everyone just thinks I’m some bimbo because I wear nice clothes and I like to do my makeup and look nice. I’m not stupid, I’m just…”

         “Excitable.” I offered.

         She flashed one of her stellar smiles in reply. “Yes, excitable. We’re both kind of different, and just looking for a friend. You were there for me before you knew who I was or anything about my family. And Evelyn, you’re seriously messed up.” She laughed at her own joke. “We’re good together. So why stop now?”

         “Chloe, I really do like having you here. I kind of absorb your emotions. You’re usually really happy, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve had more fun.” My head fell back against the chair as I thought. “Actually, I’ve never had this much fun. You’re great. I don’t want to scare you, but it’s just who I am.”

         “You can’t scare me.” She smiled half-heartedly.

         “I’ll do my best not to.”

***

The next day, when she went shopping, it was nice to sit in a quiet apartment. No buzzing of a human brain and no dishwasher or dryer running. Though I had lived like this for 5 years, it unexpectedly felt unnatural.

However, the familiarity came back in a hurry. My home, my place. Chloe had cleaned up everything before she left that morning, and had evened vacuumed my – well our carpet.

         Without her there, it was pretty easy to go back and see the differences between the Evie of a month before, and the Evie of right then. I’d gone from spending my days trudging through school and work and spending my nights either drinking with my officemate Amber and her crew or at home by myself; to actually enjoying myself and someone else’s company.

Spending time with Chloe wasn’t the same as spending my nights with one faceless man or woman, it was more fulfilling. I had no attraction to her, probably because she looked more like me than I could possibly be comfortable with. It was relaxing to be myself around her, to dance in my pajamas to Bob Marley or stay up late talking about her childhood. I still had the all too frequent nightmares, which was embarrassing with someone in the house with me. The times I’d woken up to Chloe pushing my hair out of my face and handing me a class of water had been mortifying, and far too common.

Our differences in social class were only exemplified further by just looking at us. Her hair hung straight and silky, while mine hung down my back in unmanageable waves that required at least 20 minutes of dedication every morning. My green eyes were more muddied than hers, and her teeth had professional work, while mine were noticeably crooked. Also, her body was curvy in what seem to be perfect proportions. Mine was top heavy in a way most men found attractive, but it was far too easy to pick the wrong cut of shirt and end up looking more class than trash.

All in all, she had the upper hand on me in every fashion. Except, perhaps, that my biological father presumably had Native American heritage gave me well defined cheek bones and skin that tanned easily. Chloe was rich (and dressed like it), beautiful, well mannered and had an infectious aura around her. I knew from other’s people’s heads that they thought I could lose a few pounds, dress a bit nicer, and stop looking so generally sullen.

And, of course, she didn’t have the freak ability to be able to listen in on people’s private thoughts.

Even though she had been living with me for a month, I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the clock. Resisting the need to text her to see how she was doing, I went to the only messy room in the house and plopped down on my bed. My bedroom was my most treasured possession. I had invested a lot of time and energy into creating an overly comforting atmosphere. Three of the walls were white, but the wall behind my bed was a bright, vibrant red. The bedspread was overstuffed and white, with red pillows and a red quilt for my feet.

People who grew up in nice homes underestimate what it means to someone who never did. To someone who never really found a place of comfort where they used to reside will latch on fully and completely to any semblance of familiarity, security and comfort. My home was the most important thing I had.

Thankfully, the front door opened a few moments later. My roommate barreled past my bedroom door carrying shopping bags of all different shapes and colors. As she passed again on the way out of her room, I was amazed to hear her leave the apartment again. A moment later, she passed again carrying another armful of bags.

Laughing to myself, I got up and went to her room to watch my third fashion show in three weekends.