“Wow that’s so great! That musta been a shock for you, Miranda, coming from a manwhore like him.” My voice was coming out a little faster than usual, and the words jumbled together slightly, but I still managed to act casually, jerking my thumb in Zan’s direction. “So how did …” Zan moves infinitely faster than me. He had gently pushed past Miranda to grab me by the collar, shocking me to no end, and jam me violently against the door. “Fake,” he hissed at me. “You’re being fake. What happened to you…?” My brother knows me better than anyone. It honestly had never occurred to me that he would figure it out so quickly, or figure it out at all. And realization lit up his blue-grey eyes as he released me. My body felt weak, and it took all I had to keep myself pinned in place on that door before I fell over. Half my mind willed him not to speak, and the other half begged him to let this painful secret out. My twin brother Zan had become my voice box once more. “Miranda…Dan loves you. ‘She wanted me to come over and explain why you should want to be well.’ ‘So Ms. Dorazon can cure me?’ I ask. ‘No. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t cured. The hospital wouldn’t let that happen. But you probably weren’t ever well.’ ‘Ms. Dorazon can make me well?’ ‘No. But she will release you from here when she thinks she has.’ Juirly has finished with the top two of four dresser drawers. Finding nothing of interest she turns to lie down on my bed. I am still standing by the window. I turn and sit at the table. ‘Are you well?’ I ask. She closes her eyes, and I watch her sleep until dinner time. Mimsy has cooked a feast. A country feast, which would be my least favorite kind. Fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes bathing in butter, melting robin eggs with blue pupils, chilled beetle bodies in tartar sauce, crunchy fingernail tuna salad. I look again and can’t find the fried chicken anymore, but crispy mashed worms. I know this isn’t real. I know this is real to me. Juirly had woken.
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