Chapter 92: Mirror
I groan as consciousness creeps in, reality's tendrils dragging me from the blissful void of sleep. My eyes crack open, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through the gaps in my blinds. Another day in this bizarre world. 'Fan-fucking-tastic.'
I burrow deeper into my blanket cocoon, inhaling the musty scent of unwashed sheets. My mind drifts back to yesterday's graduation ceremony, a technicolor nightmare seared into my retinas. There she was Riley. But not my Riley. A cruel doppelganger wearing the face of the girl I once loved, taunting me with her very existence.
The memory of her hazel eyes meeting mine across the sea of red caps and gowns makes my stomach churn. For a split second, I thought I saw recognition flicker in their depths. But in reality she doesn't care about me at all. She just wants to fuck anything that moves. She's not my Riley.
I haven't left my room since stumbling home yesterday, a zombie on autopilot. The thought of facing this upside-down world, where everything I knew has been flipped on its head, is too much to bear. I'd rather rot here in my cocoon of misery and dirty laundry.
A soft knock on my bedroom door pierces my brooding. "Jason?" Brooke's voice was gentle, as always. "Can I come in?"
I debate ignoring her, pretending to be asleep. But guilt gnaws at me. Brooke's been nothing but supportive since I landed in this funhouse mirror version of reality. She doesn't deserve the silent treatment.
"Yeah," I croak, my voice rough from disuse. "It's open."
The door creaks open. The bed dips as she perches on the edge, her hand coming to rest on what she probably assumes is my shoulder beneath the blanket mountain.
"There's someone here to see you," Brooke says softly, her fingers gently kneading my blanket-covered shoulder. "Justin's downstairs. He's worried about you."
I groan, burrowing deeper into my cocoon. Justin. Of course, he'd show up now. Justine's male counterpart, my best friend. The thought of facing his relentless optimism makes my head throb.
"He can come up," I mutter reluctantly, my voice muffled by layers of fabric.
Brooke's weight lifts from the bed, and I hear her padding towards the door. A moment later, familiar heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, followed by a playful knock on my open door.
"Yo, blanket burrito! You alive under there?"
I peek out from my fortress of solitude to see Justin leaning against the doorframe, his fiery red hair a mess and a smirk playing on his lips. His green eyes dance with a mix of concern and amusement.
"I figured you'd be sulking in here," he says, sauntering into the room and flopping onto my desk chair. He spins once, twice, thrice, fource(?) before facing me again. "Thought you were over Riley after her whole baseball team gangbang thing."
The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. Memories of that day flood back, the day I found out that after breaking up with me, Riley had fucked the entire baseball team. The betrayal, the humiliation, the rage, it all comes rushing back, amplified by the bizarreness of this new reality.
"Can you fucking not bring that up?" I snarl, sitting up abruptly. The blankets fall away, and I glare at Justin with all the venom I can muster. "Seriously, man. Not cool."
Justin's smirk falters, replaced by genuine remorse. "Shit, sorry, Jason. I didn't mean to... I just thought... fuck, I'm an idiot."
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "I'm just worried about you, y'know? You've been acting weird ever since yesterday. Well, weirder than usual."
I sigh, deflating like a punctured balloon. "It's... complicated," I mutter, unable to meet his eyes.
Justin leans forward, his brow furrowing. "Look, I didn't want to say anything, but... Louis talked to Riley yesterday."
I nod slowly, a bitter taste in my mouth. "Yeah, that makes sense." Of course, Louis would talk to her. Sweet, gentle Louis is always trying to mend fences and play peacemaker.
'He really is a nice guy, and he gets me because he's from my old world, too. The better world where men don't have to lift heavy things all the time.'
Justin's eyes light up, clearly relieved I'm engaging in the conversation. He barrels on, words tumbling out in a rush. "Yeah, and get this, Riley says she thinks you'd make the ultimate power couple with Erica Knight. Can you believe it?"
The name hits me like a physical blow. Erica Knight. The blonde terror, the self-proclaimed "bully queen" of our high school. Images flash through my mind, Erica's piercing blue eyes, her predatory smile, the way she struts down the hallway like she owns the place.
'Truth be told, Riley and I had a talk once I realized who she really was. She said she didn't want to go near anyone who was dating Erica Knight whether in this world or the last. What the fuck is other Jason thinking dating the broodiest disgusting blonde around.'
I feel bile rising in my throat, hot and acidic. "That's vile," I choke out, fighting the urge to vomit.
Justin shrugs, spinning in the chair again. "Hey, being single is fine too, man. No judgment here."
I think back to how she was both in this world and the last, she's practically the same. A disgusting bully.
I close my eyes, wishing desperately for my first love, the original Brooke from my universe. Not this world's Brooke, my doting sister, but *my* Brooke. The girl with the soft eyes and gentle smile, who could calm me with a touch and make me laugh even on my worst days.
'Incest isn't even legal here.'
The ache in my chest intensifies, a gaping void where my heart used to be. I miss her so much it physically hurts. The way she'd curl up next to me on lazy Sunday mornings, the scent of her shampoo, the sound of her laughter. All of it, gone.
'New Brooke isn't so bad. But she doesn't seem interested in me. She also cooks a hell of a lot better than mine.' I sigh to myself.
Justin's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Earth to Jason! You still with me, buddy?"
I force my eyes open, plastering on a weak smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just... thinking."
He nods, his expression softening. "Look, I know things have been rough lately. But you can't keep hiding in here forever.
I study Justin's face, noticing the slight twitch in his left eye, his tell when he's not being entirely truthful. The gears in my head start turning, suspicion creeping in like a fog.
"Why are you really here, Justin?" I ask, my voice low and measured.
He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight. "What do you mean? I told you, I'm checking in on you. That's what friends do, right?"
I snort, shaking my head. "Nah, I can tell something's off here. Your left eye is doing that twitchy thing it does when you're hiding something."
Justin's hand flies to his face as if he could physically stop the involuntary movement. The action only confirms my suspicions.
I narrow my eyes, a sudden realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning. "You're just here to talk more about how Millicent is into CNC, aren't you?"
The effect is immediate. Justin's face flushes a deep crimson, clashing horribly with his fiery hair. He scratches the back of his head, a nervous tick I've seen a thousand times before.
"I... uh... well..." he stammers, looking everywhere but at me.
I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course, this is about Millicent. It's either about her, Michelle Obama, or some football kid from our class named Nick.
'Is Justin bi? Justine was gay, so maybe?'
Justin finally meets my gaze, his expression a mix of embarrassment and pleading. "Can we at least do this over food? I'm starving, and I bet you haven't eaten shit yet."
The mention of food makes my stomach growl traitorously. As much as I want to wallow in my misery, the promise of a real meal is too tempting to resist.
I shoot up, throwing the blanket off me with such force it nearly knocks over my bedside lamp.
"Say less, king," I declare, my voice cracking from disuse. I stumble to my feet, my legs wobbly as a newborn colt's. The floor is a minefield of dirty laundry and discarded snack wrappers, but I navigate it with the expertise of a slob savant.
I grab my wallet from the cluttered desk. "Chipotle?" I suggest, already salivating at the thought of a burrito.
Justin nods enthusiastically, his grin wide enough to split his face. "Yeah. Let's get you some real food before you start photosynthesizing or some shit."
Just as I'm reaching for my phone, buried beneath a mountain of crumpled tissues, the door to my mom's room swings open. She emerges in full police regalia, her uniform crisp and imposing, a stark contrast to my disheveled state. Her eyes narrow as they land on Justin, her lips pursing into a familiar scowl.
"Hello, Justin," she says, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "You're looking particularly... gay today."
Justin's eyes widen, a mix of shock and amusement dancing across his features. He turns to me, his eyebrows raised so high they threaten to disappear into his hairline. I can practically see the gears turning in his head, weighing the risk of a snarky comeback against the very real possibility of my mom arresting him on some trumped-up charge.
In the end, his inability to keep his mouth shut wins out.
"Well, hello to you too, Ms. Parker," Justin says, his voice dripping with sweetness to match my mom's. "I see you're still radiating that delightful 'couldn't-keep-a-man' energy. It really brings out the bags under your eyes."
Mom's eyes widen for a moment, and I brace myself for the inevitable explosion. But then, to my utter shock, she bursts into laughter. It's a rich, full-bodied sound that I haven't heard in years, echoing off the walls of our cramped hallway.
She reaches out and claps Justin on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a step. "You little shit," she wheezes between guffaws.
Justin looks as stunned as I feel, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. Mom wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling.
"Jason," she says, turning to me with a grin, "friends like him are rare. Keep this one around, will you?"
I blink rapidly, wondering if I'm still asleep and if this is some bizarre dream. "Uh, thanks, Mom," I manage to stammer out.
She nods, her smile softening as she looks at me. There's something in her eyes, a warmth I'd almost forgotten existed. "You boys have fun," she says, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door. "Try not to burn the town down while I'm gone."
'I wonder if my old mom is still a cunt too. At least this one doesn't drink.'
*****
I slump over in my chair at Chipotle, the smell of steak and grilled chicken wafting through the air. The burrito tin foil in front of me sits disheveled, missing its former friend. Justin, meanwhile, is shoveling guac-laden chips into his mouth with one hand while scrolling on his phone with the other.
"Dude, you really gotta get rid of that," I mutter, eyeing his phone screen. The AI-generated image of a naked Michelle Obama stares back at me, her algorithmically perfect curves making me deeply uncomfortable.
Justin barely glances up, waving his hand dismissively. "It's art, man. You wouldn't understand."
I'm about to launch into a tirade about the ethical implications of AI-generated nudes when Erica Knight strides in, her presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Her friend Tara trails behind, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
Erica saunters over to a booth, sliding in with the grace of a cat. She pulls out her phone with practiced ease. Tara gives her a nod before heading to the back of the line, which has grown considerably since we arrived.
I turn back to the table, determined to ignore the blonde menace sitting just a few tables away. But Justin has other ideas. He kicks my shin under the table, not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to get my attention.
"Dude," he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially. "This is your chance. Go ask her out."
I nearly choke on my burrito. "Fuck off," I hiss back, glaring at him over my half-eaten meal.
Justin's eyes are narrow, and a mischievous glint appears that's eerily similar to Tara's. "If you won't, I'll do it for you," he threatens, already half-rising from his seat.
The thought of Justin approaching Erica on my behalf sends a wave of mortification through me, so strong I can practically feel my soul trying to leave my body. The embarrassment eats me alive, my cheeks burning hotter than Riley's pussy after she probably got the clap.
"Fine," I growl, setting down my food with more force than necessary. "I'll go talk to her."
Each step towards Erica's booth feels like I'm walking to my own execution. The Chipotle suddenly seems impossibly large, the distance between us stretching like a football field.
As I approach, Erica looks up from her phone, her cold blue eyes locking onto mine. A smirk plays at the corners of her lips, and I have the distinct feeling that I'm a mouse that's wandered into a cat's territory.
"Oh," she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You're the kid whose girlfriend got gangbanged by the baseball team, right?"
I sigh, already losing the conversational high ground. The fluorescent lights of Chipotle suddenly seem to buzz louder, casting harsh shadows across Erica's sharp features.
Erica's smirk falters for a moment, replaced by something that almost looks like genuine curiosity. "What's up?" she asks, her voice losing some of its edge. Her eyes flick to the empty seat across from her, an unspoken invitation.
I hesitate, my fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against my thigh. Before I can decide, Erica leans forward, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like a golden waterfall.
She cups her hand around her mouth, her breath warm against my ear as she whispers, "You looking for fent?"
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. I recoil, disgust, twisting my features into a grimace.
"I have absolutely no fucking idea what he sees in you," I spit out, my voice trembling with a cocktail of emotions, anger, revulsion, and a deep, aching sadness for the other Jason, who's apparently fallen for this trainwreck of a human being.