Jennifer Two

FOURTEEN.

June 16th, 2016

[Six days ago]

My parents always had a habit of saying how much I reminded them of my 'deceased sister' back before I knew the truth. They would tell me how much I act like her. They would tell me how much I sound like her. They would sometimes call me Rose – a habit they still occasionally trip over. Looking back at old tapes of Jennifer One (which I also found hidden in the attic), I can understand why they can't wrap their heads around me being someone else. I watch the videos and it feels like I'm staring down at a film of myself that I wasn't aware was being filmed. Our voices are identical, indistinguishable. It's something that made me want to claw at myself, something that made me feel like an oddity. But sometimes you have to find the usefulness in your quirks, because they could help you out more than you'd think. Well, at least this worked out in my case.

◆

I would find myself constantly flicking through Jennifer One's diaries, reading them over and over again until I knew how she felt on a particular day. I read them like school textbooks; I studied each page. I tried to put myself in her position; I delved into her psyche. But sometimes I would read things that I was sure I would have written myself. Then I wasn't sure if I would do the things she had done. I wasn't sure if I really am a unique being, or if I'm Jennifer-Rose in another life – in different circumstances. I've always hated this idea of alternative universes. The fact that I'll never know about what never happened. What could have happened – what should have happened. The fact that different possibilities spiralling out of one single event like tributaries of a river can't ever exist simultaneously annoys me.

I decided on how I should execute the mission. I would drive down to Presley, book a hotel and stay for a week at most. I would find a way to meet Bret. I would find a way to convince him that Jennifer One is still around. That she - I - never left. I decided to add him on Facebook using a made-up profile; Gertrude Joy. I was surprised to see him accept the request, despite us sharing no mutual friends. I got to see more of his life – where he works, how he lives. Though he was from a rich family, I didn't see him stunting and balling anymore like he would or like he used to. He looked like he lives comfortably by himself. He looked so... unbothered. Something needed to shake his world. My hand trembled as I pressed his mobile number into my phone; I got access to it once I was accepted onto his profile. It's quite scary how easy it is to obtain personal details of somebody. Then again, most people don't live thinking they're being stalked or examined, so it does make sense. Of course I had hidden my caller ID. To him, I would just be Unknown.

Until he heard my voice.

"Hello?" A voice boomed curiously down the line. My heart was racing so fast – I felt like I could hang up without thinking. I could see myself freezing over. Say something, I thought. Oh God Oh God Oh God this was not a good idea, is all that swung through my mind.

"Bret?" I managed to utter. My tongue felt heavy. My mouth was dry.

"Who is this?" He asked, concerned. Unaware. Stupid idea. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid-

"Bret, do you remember me?" I sat on my bed, hands quivering. Parents were out. I was home alone. Even still, the hairs along my neck crept up like the house was full of apparitions.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea who this is."

"Rosie. It's me, Rosie."

"...Sorry?"

"Jennifer-Rose. It's me. Don't you believe it?" I hoped he could hear Jennifer One's voice. I hope he felt something. I hoped he fell for it, however absurd it may have been.