Jennifer Two

TWENTY-EIGHT.

July 20th, 2016

The building towers over us in the midday sun, glinting where the light hits the windows. I walk up the stairs steadily with my parents following closely behind, and a crowd of cameramen snap photos and record my every movement. It's odd to think that this is probably being broadcasted somewhere for everyone to see - for everyone to find out if I am who Farrow said I am.

We're visiting a top-of-the-range biological science facility in California, specialising in genetics. I'm going to run through some tests, match my DNA to my parents and see if it is the same as Jennifer One's (my mother still has a 'baby's first curl' box from when she was a couple of months old, and also a box of mine – gross, I know, but it's no surprise from someone who can't seem to let go of her children in any way). Luckily, with some trace of Jennifer One still around, it makes it much easier to run accurate tests. Otherwise, I would just be their last-born who looked an awful lot like her – I don't know if they would ever go as far as an exhumation of her body just to prove that Farrow isn't a crazy old man or that our family are fraudsters.

Once we're in the building, the noise of the press fades into muffled sound behind glass, though still loud enough not to notice. I feel like something of a celebrity, though not the way one would want to be celebrated. I mean, if I turn out not to be a freak clone, I'll be ridiculed and berated by the masses for pulling some sort of stunt (despite Farrow instigating it all) and if I am... well, then, I'm not sure exactly how I'd be treated. I know that the current response (since five mornings ago when the world found out) is of pure shock, curiosity and wonder. But how long will that last? What if I just become a strange headline story and I have to sink back into normality - what would I do?

Not to mention the people I've fooled. I know Bret is no longer scratching his head or narrowing his eyes. He never thought it would turn out this way, but it did. He never thought the one answer to his questions was simply that I was a goddamned clone of Jennifer-Rose. Maybe it justifies why I did the things I did - it's better than me being a curious sister. But still... it doesn't exactly paint me in the best light.

Kal tried calling me many times once the news got out, but I never had the guts to answer. I am already too exhausted to explain everything. Even finding out this new revelation wouldn't really clarify the journey to Presley, where I bumped into him – there are still gaps in the story.

Abby and Miles and a few other acquaintances have tried hitting me up too, and my social media has exploded into a frenzy. I'm just not used to this much attention. I love company and I love being noticed by people, but when I know there's an ulterior motive or it's just my fifteen minutes, I think I'd rather do with solitude.

The media has been a whirlwind for the past couple of days – though nothing has been officially confirmed before today, it's almost as if it has. News and TV outlets are competing to get an interview with me as if there's sufficient proof. I just don't know if I'm really willing to put myself out there. And say... what? Talk about what? At the end of the day, I'm still a human being. I don't want to be idolised or dehumanised in any way, shape or form. Adhering to any social status or responsibility will do that. I'm already having a hard time settling on my identity - this would just make everything worse. I need more time to reflect on the direction my life is going.

"Hello, Miss Middleton." A researcher in a lab coat smiles when we reach the belly of the building, into the quiet and away from the noise outside. "How are you feeling?"

"...There was a time where I felt relatively normal once, but I can't remember when." I say. He just nods in response, as if it was a regular way to answer such a simple question.