Pasta-Gal

  Dysphoria, dissociation, Suicidal thoughts

  [colpse]

  Petra stared at the text, further perplexed. Of course she was okay, why did people keep asking her that. She knew that there was something going on but no one would just tell her what it was. People can be so difficult sometimes.

  Petra types back; “Yes, doing well now, how about you?”

  Theoretically, if something happened to herself st night and this Maria person was there, then there is a decent chance something may have also happened to her.

  Petra didn’t want to compromise the fact she, frankly couldn’t remember anything she should be able to. It was like she was looking at her memories through a series of funhouse mirrors that were also all underwater— none of it made any sense or was understandable in the slightest.

  Maria responds; “I’m a little shook up but I think I’ll manage” “The police let me go after a few questions”

  The police? How had the police gotten involved? Police means a crime, police means she saw, or worse— did something. Petra’s heart began to race.

  Petra;“That’s good”

  Maria;“I don’t know if you’ve looked at the news yet today, but it’s already out there”“Well at least partially”“What are you going to do?”

  Petra pauses. If the news knew then they were bound to be able to track her down right? The thought to ask her what happened sits on her tongue. Maybe if she pyed dumb, if whatever happened was serious she might be able to get off easy.

  Petra;“I’m not sure”“I’m currently panicking, but like only a little bit”

  Petra leaned against the bathtub. She closed her eyes and began to wander through the rapidly spiraling void of her mind.

  What was wrong with her.

  Her trance was broken by a knock at the door.

  “Hey, you good in there? It’s been almost a half hour,” Agatha’s muffled voice said. There was also something else to her voice. Petra couldn’t quite pce it; fear, caution, concern, hesitancy?

  Petra quickly spped her cheeks. The shock pulled her further back to reality. She crawled over to the door, careful to not be seen by the wicked mirror. Petra’s palms dug into her knees as she pulled herself to her feet. She took in a quick breath, and opened the door.

  Agatha was holding her phone. It was open to an article, though Petra was unable to make out any of the words.

  “You’re crying,” Agatha said.

  “What?” Petra brought a finger to her eyes, a collection of tears clung to her skin.

  “What do you know about this?” Agatha raised her phone, tilting it so that Petra could easily read it. It was the article she had read this morning about the diner.

  “Oh, I read about that this morning, terrible thing, poor guy,” Petra responded.

  “Really, that’s it? Are you sure?” Agatha said calmly. Her eyes squinted slightly like she was trying to pry the information directly out of Petra’s eyes.

  “I’m pretty sure I would remember if I witnessed a murder. Besides we never even went over there st night,” Petra put on a fake smile. To reassure herself of Agatha, she wasn’t sure.

  “Oh god, you really don’t remember st night do you?” Agatha whispered.

  “We already had this conversation, of course I remember st night,” Petra dug herself further into her little hole.

  “You’re a terrible liar. Lucas, what did you do?” Agatha gently put her hands on Petra’s shoulders. Petra tried to squirm away.

  “Lucas? Who’s Lucas?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry… wait, what?”

  “Why did you call me Lucas? Who is that?” Petra tilted her head to the side confused. Was Agatha ok? Oh no, were they both losing it?

  Agatha took a step back. Her face swapped through a series of thoughts and emotions undiscernible to Petra.

  “Petra?” Agatha drew her name out like she was trying to verify it as she spoke. “Did you kill this man.”

  “No! What are you even talking about?” Petra started to panic. Her fingers absentmindedly began to tie themselves into knots.

  “Well if you didn’t then another vampire certainly did because people don’t usually die from bite wounds to the neck,”

  Petra’s vision became blurry. The various implications of the previous night began rushing in on her. The impossible weight of the life of an innocent man was apparently resting on her shoulders— and it was crushing.

  Her mind raced through whatever sembnce of thought and memory resided within her. Searching, scouring for something, *anything*. But there was nothing. If she did kill someone she didn’t remember. She couldn’t even picture his face, what a disrespect to his memory.

  Wait… Maria. Oh god… did she watch. If so why would she giver Petra her number. Is she crazy? Did it even matter, apparently Petra is a murderer now, just another thing to drop onto her growing list of titles; failure, vampire, amnesiac, *murderer*.

  Did the vampire aspect negate the severity of the murder? Maybe she was just really hungry, and then at that point is it even really her fault. She practically had to kill the guy.

  Petra stopped and took a breath rge enough to infte a zeppelin. She was getting a head of herself. There was still the chance that everything was a huge coincidence. Someone had died so what. Petra as of now had yet to even be pced at the diner. Sure by the way Agatha was talking it certainly sounded like she was almost certainly, definitely at the scene of the crime. But whose to say really in this kinds of scenarios?

  She shot off a quick text to Maria.

  Petra;We met diner?

  Maria;Huh? yea…

  Shit… Her blurry vision broke to a wave of tears. God, why was she so useless.

  Agatha with her composure regained took Petra into a hug. Petra allowed herself to colpse fully, her getinous legs being held up only by Agatha’s grasp.

  “I killed a man,” Petra whispered the words into the world.

  “It’s ok, we all do dumb things early on. it’ll pass,” Agatha said. But her words only aggravated Petra. This was not just some tiny issue that could be ignored like a bad ex or embarrassing event.

  “How can you even say that?”

  “Petra, I’ve already told you, I’ve killed before, and I’m fine. You will too,” Agatha paused. “Besides I feel like there is more pressing concerns, mainly you don’t remember a god damn thing do you?”

  Agatha pulled away slightly. Just far enough that she could look Petra in the eyes as she said it. Petra clearly couldn’t up the charade any longer. Not like she really ever wanted to in the first pce.

  “No…” she whimpered out. It was easily the most pathetic noise Petra had ever made. At least as far as she could remember, which is not much.

  With one arm still wrapped around Petra, Agatha walked her from the hallway and into the living room. She eased Petra onto the couch but Petra slid all the way down on the floor, her back resting firmly against the front of the cushions. Petra leaned her neck back resting her head on the top of the couch.

  “Let’s start with something simple-ish, what do you remember?” Agatha went over to the counter and after a second sat down beside Petra with a notepad and pen in hand. At first Petra thought she would be the one writing it all own but Agatha kept the tools to herself.

  “Well I remember my name, something apparently you couldn’t even get right,” Petra tried to joke but it came out hoarse and more aggressive than she’d like.

  “And that name being?” Agatha swirled the pen above the paper.

  “Petra, obviously,”

  “Last name?” Agatha prodded.

  Last name? Right, a st name. She had a st name. Everyone had a st name. What was hers? Why was this so hard! Petra’s hands curled into fists. Her nails carved deep into her palms.

  She should know this. She shouldn’t even have to think about this. She didn’t have to think about Agatha’s st name, it was… ok, bad example.

  “I don’t know,” Petra barely breathed it out.

  “It’s Wilson,” Agatha said. “Unless you lied for some reason, but I doubt that.”

  “Wilson? That sounds right I think.” Petra droned. “Wait why haven’t I looked at my I.D. that’d give me a bunch of answers.”

  “Wait! I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Agatha pushed Petra’s hand away from her pockets which held her wallet.

  “Why?”

  “If you, *Petra*, are anything to go by, you won’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, I’m looking.”

  Petra pushed past Agatha’s hand and retrieved her wallet. Plucking from one of the slots Petra procured a state I.D. for a “Lucas Wilson”.

  “This is a dream, I’m dreaming,” Petra dug her nails further into her hands, drawing as much pain as she possibly could. Maybe just a little more. Just a little more is all she needed, than she would wake up from this nightmare. In her bed, sad and alone; at least she would be free from whatever hell was brewing around her.

  Agatha set the pen down and moved her other hand over to Petra’s fist. She slipped her fingers through her grip and began prying her hand open. Agatha’s hand now rested underneath Petra’s, she gripped it fiercely.

  “You’re ok, Petra. Look at me,” Agatha spoke clearly. “Take a deep breath.”

  “What the hell is this?” Petra held up the I.D. “That’s not my name. All that information seems correct but I am not a male, and my name is not Lucas,” She sneered a little at the name.

  “Yes, we know that,” Agatha said. “It’s just a piece of pstic anyway, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  She took the card from Petra’s hand and flicked it across the room.

  “See? Gone, meaningless. It’s not you anymore, hell maybe it never was.” Agatha looked away for a moment. “But until today that’s who people thought you were.”

  Petra didn’t want to be here, on the floor, in this room, this city, this pnet. Really she just didn’t want to exist. That would be a fun experience, nothingness— would a knife suffice? Agatha seemed old and vaguely rich enough to have real silver utensils. Silver was supposed to be a holy metal or something, right?

  “I’m disgusting, I should die. I’d deserve it,”

  “No you’re not, don’t say that.” Agatha tried to reassure her but Petra didn’t believe her.

  “How can you say that? Look at me, this…” She gestured down to herself. “Is not a woman’s body, it never will be, so why try— why bother.”

  “I was married once. We had a kid, adorable little girl, sweetest thing you’d ever see. I was out with her, watching her py one day. She got injured so we went home early, and I found my spouse wearing my clothes. It was the strangest thing I’d ever saw. I confronted them about it but they were dodgy and I never got an answer for why they did it.”

  “Time went on and I caught them doing this a few more times. At one point they told me they were a woman, at first I was angry, I berated them, made fun of them, ughed at them. Not proud of that now but it’s what happened. After that they stopped.”

  “More time went on and it looked like we were going to have another kid. They talked to me again about those feelings from before, about being a woman. I tried to be a little more understanding, but I never got the chance. Both her and our daughter were killed the next day. I hate that I never got to see her bloom, and I will not let you suffer like she did.”

  Agatha had leaned into Petra’s shoulder. Petra could feel the water cling to her shirt.

  There was a long silence in the apartment. They didn’t move, or speak, they just sat beside each other holding one another for what little comfort they could find.

  Pasta-Gal