Status: This is the strangest story you will ever have the pleasure of reading.
The Entanglement of Cat and Rin Schrodinger
Ch. 15
Chapter fifteen
Rin
I run my fingers over the shelves and shelves of books that stretch from one wall of my apartment to the other. They’ll be here in half an hour. The smooth bindings grabs at my hands and pull me this way and that, twirling me, spinning me. My head tips to the side and I savor the touch, the feel of the old cloth bindings. They bring me in closer, make me drop the knife my mother forgot to put away. I hardly notice when it clatters to the floor; I only cut a little before the books called to me. A very thin stream of blood makes its way across my palm, and I keep spinning.
A harsh noise cuts though my self-created silence. I pull my hand away from the shelves like I’ve been bitten. The doorbell. They’re early. Felicity is early. There’s no time, no time time time time time need time time time. I feel dizzy. Somehow I reach the doorway and lean against it. If I don’t open the door, Felicity’s mother will for me. They’ll see me. How I am right now. They can’t.
I bash my hand against the white curtain by the window and leave a smear of poppy crimson. At least my hand’s clean now. The doorknob gleams as I reach for it. A congregate of words stand at the edge of my tongue, ready to whisper, and I let them. Quantum limbo complete: Purgatory, over. I’m here. I close my eyes and fling the door open.
And there I am.
My heart hammers and I stare around, trying to find the corners of the mirror. It’s not there. Empty space. The girl who is me with the long dark hair looks scared and shocked, like I am something tangible that she thought only to be imaginary. But I am real. She has to believe that—
“Katherine,” She says. It’s a statement, a proclamation. She knows I am real.
“Yes,” An assertion also.
“Thank god,” And she pushes past me into the apartment.
She’s walking around now just touching things. She wants to discern who I am, trying to find a clue somewhere, that’s why she’s looking. This I know.
“My name is Rin,” I burst out. “Katherine Harp Schrodinger.”
“I know,” The girl smiles crookedly. “Rin. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. It’s in the Katherine.”
I nod slowly. She understands.
“So...Rin,” She’s so nervous, completely unsure. “Do you live here alone?”
It would be so much easier to say yes. “No.”
“With just your mother?”
“Yes,”
Something clicks in her eyes. One puzzle is untangled. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen in August,”
“You mom’s name?” She presses.
“Nora,”
She stops for a moment, then: “Okay, sure. Ella. Nora. Eleanor. It works. Absolutely bloody fascinating.”
I’ve had plenty of people say that before, and it always makes someone cry. Or storm out of the room. But when she says it, it’s like a phenomenal discovery that only she has just discovered.
“What’s your best friend’s name?”
I trip up. This was unexpected. “I...children don’t usually—I’m not—I don’t have one,”
“Oh,” She’s found a flaw in her new discovery, but I have too. I take a sharp intake of breath. “Who are you?” I order, stepping forward. She’s closed the door already.
“I’m...you, I guess you could say.” She smiles like this is a joke. She can’t be me, or then she won’t be real. I need her to be real. It promised me, promised me: Purgatory, over.
I bring myself in closer. She raises her hand slightly, as if to me ward me off, and I grab it fiercely. Her wrist is a tiny bit thicker than mine, and she’s taller. I force her backwards.
Her head bangs against the wall, but she never takes her eyes off me. She stares at me calmly and coolly, watching and taking notes. Her brown eyes pierce mine and her intellect hits mine like a wall. I’m here. Stop fighting it.
Chocolate colored eyes that match her hair. Our hair. Brown. Not turquoise. Brown, like the color of dirt. Good dirt that can grow green, healthy things. Unlike, but incredibly similar to mine, the color of air, up where my world is vague and confusing. I look down sharply at our hands, the contrasting skin, my tone an infinitesimal shade darker than hers. So I find my proof and stop fighting.
I release her arms and fall backwards onto the floor. She catches me and sits down next to me. I curl my arms around my knees and hang my head between them. She’s finally here, the promise that brings me out of purgatory. I feel like crying or laughing hysterically, I don’t know which.
“It took you long enough to get here,” I whisper, looking up at her.
The girl grins. “You know, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
Rin
I run my fingers over the shelves and shelves of books that stretch from one wall of my apartment to the other. They’ll be here in half an hour. The smooth bindings grabs at my hands and pull me this way and that, twirling me, spinning me. My head tips to the side and I savor the touch, the feel of the old cloth bindings. They bring me in closer, make me drop the knife my mother forgot to put away. I hardly notice when it clatters to the floor; I only cut a little before the books called to me. A very thin stream of blood makes its way across my palm, and I keep spinning.
A harsh noise cuts though my self-created silence. I pull my hand away from the shelves like I’ve been bitten. The doorbell. They’re early. Felicity is early. There’s no time, no time time time time time need time time time. I feel dizzy. Somehow I reach the doorway and lean against it. If I don’t open the door, Felicity’s mother will for me. They’ll see me. How I am right now. They can’t.
I bash my hand against the white curtain by the window and leave a smear of poppy crimson. At least my hand’s clean now. The doorknob gleams as I reach for it. A congregate of words stand at the edge of my tongue, ready to whisper, and I let them. Quantum limbo complete: Purgatory, over. I’m here. I close my eyes and fling the door open.
And there I am.
My heart hammers and I stare around, trying to find the corners of the mirror. It’s not there. Empty space. The girl who is me with the long dark hair looks scared and shocked, like I am something tangible that she thought only to be imaginary. But I am real. She has to believe that—
“Katherine,” She says. It’s a statement, a proclamation. She knows I am real.
“Yes,” An assertion also.
“Thank god,” And she pushes past me into the apartment.
She’s walking around now just touching things. She wants to discern who I am, trying to find a clue somewhere, that’s why she’s looking. This I know.
“My name is Rin,” I burst out. “Katherine Harp Schrodinger.”
“I know,” The girl smiles crookedly. “Rin. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. It’s in the Katherine.”
I nod slowly. She understands.
“So...Rin,” She’s so nervous, completely unsure. “Do you live here alone?”
It would be so much easier to say yes. “No.”
“With just your mother?”
“Yes,”
Something clicks in her eyes. One puzzle is untangled. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen in August,”
“You mom’s name?” She presses.
“Nora,”
She stops for a moment, then: “Okay, sure. Ella. Nora. Eleanor. It works. Absolutely bloody fascinating.”
I’ve had plenty of people say that before, and it always makes someone cry. Or storm out of the room. But when she says it, it’s like a phenomenal discovery that only she has just discovered.
“What’s your best friend’s name?”
I trip up. This was unexpected. “I...children don’t usually—I’m not—I don’t have one,”
“Oh,” She’s found a flaw in her new discovery, but I have too. I take a sharp intake of breath. “Who are you?” I order, stepping forward. She’s closed the door already.
“I’m...you, I guess you could say.” She smiles like this is a joke. She can’t be me, or then she won’t be real. I need her to be real. It promised me, promised me: Purgatory, over.
I bring myself in closer. She raises her hand slightly, as if to me ward me off, and I grab it fiercely. Her wrist is a tiny bit thicker than mine, and she’s taller. I force her backwards.
Her head bangs against the wall, but she never takes her eyes off me. She stares at me calmly and coolly, watching and taking notes. Her brown eyes pierce mine and her intellect hits mine like a wall. I’m here. Stop fighting it.
Chocolate colored eyes that match her hair. Our hair. Brown. Not turquoise. Brown, like the color of dirt. Good dirt that can grow green, healthy things. Unlike, but incredibly similar to mine, the color of air, up where my world is vague and confusing. I look down sharply at our hands, the contrasting skin, my tone an infinitesimal shade darker than hers. So I find my proof and stop fighting.
I release her arms and fall backwards onto the floor. She catches me and sits down next to me. I curl my arms around my knees and hang my head between them. She’s finally here, the promise that brings me out of purgatory. I feel like crying or laughing hysterically, I don’t know which.
“It took you long enough to get here,” I whisper, looking up at her.
The girl grins. “You know, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”