[A series of small creaks precede the low hum of bending springs within the mattress. It sinks in a bit, the extra several pounds of her metal limbs pushing down hard. It's dark––too dark to see anything. As her body settles into the frame of the bed and the creaking and humming and bending stops. There's only the sound of her breath, trepedatious and slow as she lays in darkness for long enough to make her wonder if her eyes are open or closed. She reaches out and gently touches her sister's shoulder with a single finger or in a different situation, the barrel of a gun. Not neccesarily try to wake her, but, well, there's worse ways to wake someone up when you've literally snuck into their bed. She lays beside her in silence, next to her sister. Thinking, thinking, thinking.
It reminds her of when they were especially young. You lay along your sibling and don't second guess it. You're close to your sibling and don't second guess it. Why can't she go back to that? Why can't the one person that can help her be allowed in? There's always something. Maybe she did run away, but who's the real failure of a sister? She wants to wrap her arms around her––what's left of her. And if that didn't wake her and terrify her, it would probably just hurt her. You can't hug your sister with such dangerous arms. Instead she settles for soft syllables from the tip of her tongue.]
I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
I do not know how to swim in this ocean.
[Angela moves a bit closer to her sisters, nudging her forehead against Lillian's arm.]
I am ungrateful. I am a miserable worthless weak woman. I torture you constantly.
I am not human. I do not think that I was ever human to begin with, sister. Something has been wrong with me for a long time, and I am sorry for making you part of it.
If you didn't wake up tomorrow, I wouldn't want to wake up either. I would not deserve it.
I want to be your sister.
[She's crying. A little bit. Not quite audibly so, but the finger on her shoulder trembles slightly, under the weight of tears that seem remarkably heavy. Heavier than her arms by a mile.]
The week of 3/15ish, 2:00AM, the apartment
It reminds her of when they were especially young. You lay along your sibling and don't second guess it. You're close to your sibling and don't second guess it. Why can't she go back to that? Why can't the one person that can help her be allowed in? There's always something. Maybe she did run away, but who's the real failure of a sister? She wants to wrap her arms around her––what's left of her. And if that didn't wake her and terrify her, it would probably just hurt her. You can't hug your sister with such dangerous arms. Instead she settles for soft syllables from the tip of her tongue.]
I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
I do not know how to swim in this ocean.
[Angela moves a bit closer to her sisters, nudging her forehead against Lillian's arm.]
I am ungrateful. I am a miserable worthless weak woman.
I torture you constantly.
I am not human. I do not think that I was ever human to begin with, sister. Something has been wrong with me for a long time, and I am sorry for making you part of it.
If you didn't wake up tomorrow, I wouldn't want to wake up either. I would not deserve it.
I want to be your sister.
[She's crying. A little bit. Not quite audibly so, but the finger on her shoulder trembles slightly, under the weight of tears that seem remarkably heavy. Heavier than her arms by a mile.]
So please keep waking up, Lillian.