Riele
She has really changed, Isabella. The girl who I once saw as an older sister, back in those days.
I stare at her pathetic self, she had dyed her hair blond, probably for Jace. What a pity. "You don't remember me, do you?" I ask, my tone, so cold almost with sheer apathy. She stares at me then almost screams, "Who do you-" I can see it clearly. She is struck with realization. She blushes, embarrassed but decides to keep up the ugly act. "I do not know you, lady, so please get away from me and from my Jacey!" I promise I almost threw up at her facile use of the term 'Jacey', so unknown to me. Ew. I almost give in to the urging urge to make puking sounds right at Idiotella Moner. She should have never come into my life in the first place.
The girl got into the car and left immediately after; I am inside now. Jace is giving me a childish, yet charming smile. I hate his mannerisms, but his smile melts me. I am officially a member of the mentally ill people. I am a psychopath. He mutters something I don't hear before tripping to his bedroom.
Upstairs, I suddenly hear a loud BOOM. My gosh. What is Jace doing now? He is like a growing child, innocent, simple, narrowminded. I quickly run up to the 2-year-old's room. And there he is, on the godamn floor, tears running down his pretty face. "Jace!" I can hear a certain motherly tone in me, but I usually don't interact much with kids, they annoy me. "Baby!" He is sniffling now. holding on to me with a tight manly grip. I have the feeling this guy forgets himself a lot. He is full-on crying now, his tear staining my violet-red t-shirt. My favorite. I am concerned though; he is starting to get to concerning temperatures. He is sweating. I have to get him to a doctor.
I act along with him. Pretending to be his mother, but he still calls me 'babe'. "Jacey baby, let's go downstairs, you need to go to the doctor." He was whizzing now, as if he was pregnant and had run a-hundred meters race in 5.4 seconds. He looks up at me and suddenly stops whizzing. His heart is still beating harshly under his chest and his temperatures still breaking records. "I love you, baby", he smiles, the goofy child's smile. Then he starts to tear up. "But you want to leave me", I look at him in a rough state of horror. Is he talking to me?
The doctor looks at me with a dead serious expression which I cannot read. "Your um...boyfriend is suffering from severe PTSD and DID due to some psychological disabilities", he says it all as if he has said it thousands of times before, he only shows me the unhidden apathy in his green-grey bored eyes. "He also starts to feel physical symptoms due to these things; everything will be alright if you give him a few paracetamol capsules for the pain."
I walk into room 223, to see him. My fragile Jace. My lovely fragile Jacey.