Peter's point of view:
I am a stranger in my own skin.
This body is not mine; it belonged to someone else that doesn't exist, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. Julia was a fool, thinking that I could be saved.
A poor, wretched fool that took everything from me when she decided to sever any ties she had. I hate her and I hope...I hope...I...
She'll be back, right?
She can't leave me forever, no matter how much she wants to think that she can. She'll come back to me and I'll be snapped out of this psychotic stupor long enough to manipulate her again. It's what kept me from going insane before, and it'll get me out of it now.
But until then, I'll stay chained to the ground with my arms wrapped around my torso in an unyielding jacket of sorts, like I were giving myself a forced hug.
I rock back and forth, slowly, as I try unsuccessfully to get a grip on reality.
Your name is Peter. You are a monster, but that's okay. You are not responsible for what has happened to you.
"Not...not...my fa-ult," I try to tell myself, speech broken and hopeless. My voice sounds rougher than ever before, almost like gritty stones rubbing together while chipping at each other. Soon I, like those stones, will be so worn away that I won't serve a purpose anymore.
I throw my head back and cry out, body erupting in convulsive movements that won't stop no matter how much I want them to. Fresh, hot tears leave tracks down my face, and I try lapping at them with my tongue to soothe the fact that I haven't been given any water to drink in a very long time. But the tears do nothing, and it only makes me scream louder.
No one is going to help you, Peter. You have to calm down, or nothing will get better.
"I want...w-want out!" I shout desperately, absolutely loathing these stupid steel walls and my blurry reflection that can be seen in them. A cage is what I'm in, fitting for the animal I've become.
I even look like an animal, my hair a dull color and collecting in matts atop my head. My visage is the very opposite of healthy, skin pale and face hollow as I snarl at the person staring back at me. Red has quickly become my least favorite color, for it's all I see anymore.
Hatred courses through my veins, and for the first time, it's directed at myself: I shouldn't want to hurt people, and yet I do. I shouldn't have to apologize for what I am, but I still feel shame. I shouldn't have to hate myself for the faults of others.
I hope Julia can see me now, reduced to a mindless freak that understands nothing. I hope both she and Henley can see what they've done to me, hope that it rots them to their cores in the same way that it has me.
Wondering if someone really is watching, I slowly raise my eyes to the false wall on the left side of the room, realizing that there are usually people that can see me clear as day on the other side.
I'll know if someone's there; I always know.
But for now, I sense nothing, not being able to get a read on anyone's mind from beyond the wall. If anyone at all were watching me, I would've heard their thoughts. I'm alone.
I wonder if they intend to leave me to die in here. It would surely explain the lack of water, and I can't even remember the last time I've eaten anything.
I thought they needed me for Julia's torment, but maybe they've grown from that and found some other way to do it. They don't need me anymore, so perhaps this is the easiest way for me to go.
If only it didn't have to be such a miserable death.
A low whining sound resonates from my throat, and I find myself feeling more like a lowly dog than a human, the subject of cruelty where there should've been tenderness.
I don't want to be like this anymore. I want to be me, the real me, the boy that everyone keeps telling me I was. His life was simpler, easier; nothing was a lie for him. People loved him and cared about him, and he loved and cared for others. I both hate the idea of him, for he's everything that I'm not, and also wish that I could find him so I wouldn't be so confused anymore.
I don't love anyone, don't care about anyone, but perhaps if I did, it would fill the terrifying void inside of me that eats away at my mind. If I could learn to care for others as much as I want to hurt them, perhaps I'd be getting somewhere.
But it's too much, the need for carnage that boils inside, to act on that small wish. I'll never be able to help someone, never be able to feel real, beautiful, unmistakably human emotions that make life worth living.
And I pity anyone who thinks otherwise.
I cry out again in despair, knowing that I'm condemned to die here both despised and utterly alone. I've driven away the only person left that cared about me, and for that, I have no one to blame but myself.
But oh, how I just want to see her one last time.
I want to get one last look at what it means to live by one's own conditions, and to see what it means to love someone, if Julia still can. I also, of course, want to blame her for all my troubles, want to scream at her for all the pain she's brought me.
And if she really were to come visit me again, I know I'd do the latter.
"I want...I want to go home," I mutter, surprising even myself at my words.
Home? You have no home. Your place is here.
But even as I think those thoughts, an image, no, a memory, enters my head and consumes my void mind.
It's as if I'm suddenly transported to another planet, free from the confines of that horrible little room to a world that I didn't know I remembered. And as if I were watching a movie, I see myself walking down a street in a city with a girl next to me.
I look healthy and very happy, smiling slightly at the girl next to me when she's not looking. It's Julia, and I'm struck with the very sight of her and how beautiful she really is. Her hand is entwined with mine, and every so often, I see myself raise her hand to my lips for no apparent reason until I realize that it's making her smile.
I follow the two of them through criss-crossing streets, no one paying the real me any attention, until I see them duck into what appears to be a little coffee shop.
Making my way inside behind them, I'm startled a bit at first by shouts of welcoming resonating from a table where a group of strangers sit.
But Julia and the me that isn't really me only greet the group, smiling as we take our seats.
As everyone begins to talk, I nudge my way a bit closer as I try to put names with faces.
No, these people aren't strangers. They were my friends.
The first person I notice is a guy with bright red hair that, even while sitting, seems a head taller than everyone else.
Three heads taller than an impossibly short girl with glasses that also sits at the table.
His eyes are blue, and one look from him is enough for anyone to see that he's smarter than anyone in the room. But aside from that somewhat condescending look, he seems to be almost like the big brother of the group. And for some reason, I see myself give him a bear hug that would suggest we were friends.
I watch Julia hug him as well, greeting him with his name as she sits down.
Adam.
The next person I look to is the aforementioned short girl, who is quick to tackle the other me in a hug with a kind of strength that ordinarily wouldn't belong in such a small body. Twinkling dark eyes gleam from behind black rimmed glasses, her entire demeanor resonating a kind of unbridled happiness that seems to be affecting everyone.
And as I see myself ruffle her dark hair like a brother would his sister, I feel a smile tug at the corners of my own mouth.
I can't remember the last time I smiled.
Focusing on her intently, I try to remember her name, but it just won't come. All I can think is that it might start with an "S."
Perhaps someone will bring it up in conversation later.
I look next to another boy with red hair that the short girl seems to prefer being close to, for she returns to quickly sit by him and snuggles up to his side. He doesn't look too different from Adam; really, they could be related, but this one seems a bit more laid back with nimble hands that could be those of a doctor.
I think he was a doctor, actually.
Julia hugs him, friendship palpable between the two, and I am left to wonder what's going on to warrant so much happiness and hugging.
It's inviting and also a little repulsive, but I still continue to watch.
"I trust you've been looking after my best friend, right Kyle?" Julia asks, referencing the short girl again.
Ah, so now the other redhead has a name.
"Excuse you? I'm nineteen, you green eyed freak," The short one says, and it would've been a low insult if it weren't for the fact that she was smiling when she said it and Julia was laughing slightly.
"Very funny, Susan," Julia says.
Susan!
"And there's my other best friend!" Julia shouts as she turns to a girl that I didn't see initially, one with light blonde hair and eyes that hold the ocean.
I move a little closer to inspect her, and almost instantly a feeling of wellness overtakes my worn and beaten body, as if the girl were living medicine.
I didn't need to guess that she was also a doctor, and I have to remind myself that she can't see me. Otherwise, I would've asked her to heal me.
The blonde girl hugs Julia, years of close friendship radiating from the two. Her name hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I'm not completely sure of it.
Cassandra? Cassie?
Something with a "Cass" in it.
After all the greetings and hugs have concluded, everyone takes their seats and begins to talk about their oddly simple lives, speaking of how nice it is to hang out again after a week of building some kind of memorial. I don't pay much attention to their conversation, though.
Instead I watch myself, fascinated with the fact that I can read my own mind. This Peter is also only paying half attention to the conversation at hand, the other half of his concentration on Julia. All he seems to think of is Julia, his hand never leaving hers.
It's weird, and I don't particularly like watching myself fawn over someone I hate, but it's also a little saddening to see myself utterly transfixed over a love that undoubtedly existed.
Julia is better at paying attention to everything being said than I am, offering up her own words no matter the topic of conversation. But at the same time, I am never far from her thoughts, and every once in a while, she'll glance over at me and smile.
The atmosphere is so friendly that it's almost overpowering, but I almost don't want to shy from it. This is much nicer than slowly dying while feeling your mind unravel, not being able to do anything about it.
I begin to wonder if this memory is even a memory at all; after everything I've experienced, it seems almost like some foreign fantasy too happy for me to imagine. It can't be true; I know what the world is like, and it's definitely not like this.
But even still...
"Is this...real?" I muse aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.
I might as well have shouted it, however, for every head turns to my direction with an odd look of knowing on their faces.
I feel like cowering at their kind faces, wishing instead that they'd hurt me or treat me like something I'm used to. But no, they definitely see me, and oddly enough, they accept me.
Peter rises from his spot by Julia and walks in my direction, looking so different that he could very well be a stranger: his face is void of any flaws, and his eyes see everything with absolute clarity.
I want to punch him.
But before I can act on that, he puts a hand to my shoulder and looks at me with sympathy.
"It can be," he answers in response to my previous question, but he doesn't stop there.
"You are me, and I am you. I won't deny that you, this living nightmare, exists within me. However, you also can't deny that this version of me is in you as well. Everyone has evil in them, but everyone also has good. One can't exist without the other, and you're no exception," He says to me.
"You don't know what you're talking about. If you understood what's happened to me..." I trail off, hating this nice-guy version of myself.
"I know you better than anyone, Peter. I'm you," he pushes.
Our surroundings change, and I am suddenly whisked back to my prison cell, chained once again to the ground with my arms back in the jacket.
The other me looms above, looking out of place in this setting of misery.
"You didn't put these chains on yourself, I know. You want to blame Julia for all your problems, want to unleash all your hurt on her," he says, "but don't do that."
"Just because you're in love with her doesn't mean that I am, too," I spit at him, feeling that awful rage prickle inside me. I want to hurt him.
"If you don't love her, then that's your own choice. I can't make you love Julia anymore than I can heal like Cassia."
Cassia, that's her name!
"However, I implore you to find me, the real me. I'm always there, just as you're always with me. We're one in the same. You just have to accept it," Peter says to me.
He quickly vanishes after that, leaving no trace, as if he were never here at all.
I look around my cell, dazed and thoroughly confused at what I've just experienced.
Was that all real? Was I dreaming?
A sound quickly snaps me out of these mental questions, however, and I lift my head to see Julia of all people standing in the open doorway of my cell.
She's holding a tray of food in her hands, which are bound by power-proof handcuffs so she can't hurt me anymore than I've hurt her.
"He's too weak to kill you. Just put the food down, take off his straightjacket, and then get out. Besides, it's your fault he's like this, anyway," a harsh voice hisses from behind Julia.
I don't even have to see her to know it's Henley.
Julia is quickly shoved forward as the door is shut behind her, gazing at me fearfully. A wicked smile crosses my face at this, and I watch her keep her green eyes downcast so she can look anywhere but me.
She sets the food down a couple of feet away from me before inching the tray in my direction with her foot, ever carefully.
Julia then walks behind me to untie me from the confines of this the straightjacket, the garment finally coming off after some time of trying due to her own handcuffs.
My arms are finally free, and I almost want to cry at this small liberation. I probably would have, if the fact that Julia's close enough to finally shred to pieces wasn't the main thing on my mind.
The length of the chains that keep my feet anchored to the floor have been severely reduced in length, so much so that I can't stand anymore, but it doesn't stop me from reaching behind my back to yank Julia to the ground.
She yelps in fear as I drag her in front of me, and the door to my cell is thrown open once again as guards rush in to aim their guns at me.
"Let her go, Peter," one man orders me, but I only snarl at him in response.
I look down at Julia, who's fighting against my vice-like grip on her arms every second I hold her.
She still won't look at me.
My hands tighten even harder on her arms and she yelps in pain, the cry like a sick sort of music to my ears. I hear a guard's gun click into place, but I don't care.
I could do it, and boy do I want to. Killing Julia would not be hard; people break easier than they bend, and she would be no exception. I want to unleash all my fury on her, watch the light leave her eyes.
But before I act on my impulses, a voice that doesn't belong to me begins to speak within the confines of my head.
Well, the voice does belong to me, actually. It's the voice of the other Peter.
Remember what I told you. Try to find me.
"Get out of my head," I growl at myself, my grip on Julia not letting up.
"Peter, don't make us do this. Let her go!" Another guard yells at me, also clicking his gun in place.
You choose your own actions. So I'm begging you, choose differently. Be better.
"Peter," says the one voice I haven't heard from since she came, and I look down to see Julia's eyes watering with despair for me. "Please listen to them. Let me go."
God, the want to kill her is so strong that it's practically eating me alive. But to hear the voices of the guards shouting at me to release her with their guns poised, to watch Julia weep at my own expense, and to listen to my own two voices yelling at me to either kill her or choose differently, I scream amongst all the chaos so loudly that one guard actually does fire at me.
He's a terrible shot though, the bullet narrowly missing Julia and grazing my arm. I cry out in pain, but I still don't let her go.
I hear that very same guard fumble to reload his gun as the others prepare to fire, but I'm looking only at her.
I see myself reflected in her eyes, see my own red orbs glowing so much that they're practically neon, and I want to break something in my fury. Julia looks like a small child, paralyzed with fear at the sight of me.
Kill her. No, Peter, choose different. You hate her, but she's a part of you. You are your own person. Destroy her. Kindness. Terror. Love.
I cry out in defeat and push Julia away from me, hard enough so that she lands too far away for me to reach her again.
The guards lower their weapons and one helps Julia to her feet, her hands still bound in power-proof handcuffs that Henley so foolishly sent her in here with.
"You're...you're letting me go?" She asks, not understanding why I didn't take her life when I so wanted to.
"Get out," I order her, my mind at war.
"You let me go?" She repeats again, utterly dumbfounded at my actions.
"Julia, please...leave," I practically beg, using my now free hands to tangle into my hair and somehow soothe my head that throbs so painfully that it could split open.
I begin to cry and Julia looks like she wants to as well, but the guards are quick to get her away from me, but not before she casts one last agonizing look in my direction as she is escorted out.
The tray of food that she brought in is left forgotten on the floor, and I lay back with my hands still in my hair.
I shake my head back and forth to rattle the warring emotions within me enough to silence them, but it doesn't do anything to stop them. And so I am left, the shell of a person, to do nothing but listen to them.
However, even through all my conflicted thoughts, I have enough sense within me to know that what I did was right.
I let her go.
That was my choice.