"If you had taken my advice, we could've stayed home and played together," her other self said.
“Not now,” Taylor said. She managed to stop herself from slamming the door to her room and waking her parents.
"This has happened three times now. You obviously have a problem with the guys around here."
“It's only been three.”
"What's happened all three times, though?" it asked her. "You dress up so pretty and colorful, their jaw drops at seeing you, and then-"
“Then they think I'm easy just because my skirt is a little revealing for once,” she said.
"That's not what I was going to say."
“Then what, Ash?” her voice trying to remain quiet. “What am I doing wrong, because you wouldn't be saying that if the problem wasn't me!”
"Well maybe the first guy got away when you jumped at his hand touching your thigh during a movie?"
“He felt me up!”
"No, that was the second guy. The quickest way to a girl’s heart certainly isn’t her butt."
“Thanks for the sympathy.”
"But what happened tonight? Sure, he was awkward, but-"
“He put his arm around me, and I didn't want that.”
"Well what do you want, then?"
She shook her head. She didn't have a clue.
"Taylor, why am I here?"
“Ash-”
"Why am I here?" it insisted.
She sighed, trying to remember the exact words. “Because I have no confidence,” she stammered.
"And?"
“And I don't know what I'm doing. I've lived a sheltered life because I don't want to get in trouble and if I'm not sure I want to do something, I don't do it. I protect myself like I'm Fort Knox, and I don't let anyone in but you.”
"Yes, and we're both thankful for that."
“What do you mean?”
Ash took control of her body, and pulled out the nightstand's drawer. "I'm going to show you something," it said. It took an old hairbrush out before pushing the drawer back into place. "Do you recognize this?" it asked, making her look it over.
“That's sis' old brush,” she said. “Why do you have it?”
It moved her body onto the bed. It grabbed the pillows, and set them up against the backboard. She watched as it positioned her, keeping her legs together as it pulled them in halfway.
“Ash, what are you doing?”
It ignored her question and left the brush in her lap, sitting vertically against her skirt and between her legs. She felt familiar with this position, blushing over what it meant, but couldn't place what that was. It moved her hands over her heart, tucking her wrists under her ample breasts. The contradiction it created was unwelcome: the pleasure of Ash’s touch was undeniable, yet the fear of where it was taking her seemed palpable.
“I feel so weird,” she told it.
"This isn't weird. We've done this a few times before."
“We have? When? What did we do?”
Ash slowed her breathing, and fixed her gaze on her heaving chest. "I didn't let you in on what I was doing because you weren't ready."
She thought for a moment about what that meant, and said “You did things to me behind my back?”
"Not to you; for you. Like this."
It took over her arms again, pulling them out enough to cup her breasts in her hands. With a slight squeeze, her eyes opened wide, and she began to hyperventilate.
"Relax," it told her. "It's just us. This is what I do when it's two in the morning, and you can't sleep."
“You violate me?”
"Don't tell me such lies. If that's what you believe, you can end this right now, and I won't dare try this again. It's as easy as letting your chest go. This is your body, after all. You should be the one in control.
"Yet I'm still kneading you, aren't I?"
She gulped, not wanting to accept the truth. Her face was flush with need and shame, yet her breathing slowed back to normal, accepting its touch. It's not that she didn't like this—the way Ash was massaging her bosom felt nice—it's that she thought such self-indulgence was wrong.
“Isn't this a sin?” she asked.
"Not to me," it said, "What could be so bad about making you happy?"
“But I'm masturbating!”
"Are you?"
Her hands moved to her décolletage, the other self directing her to unbutton her cardigan. It took off one at a time, teasing her with its sluggishness. She could see her puffies—protruding through three layers of clothes—and feel her flower blossom below. Her body liked the attention, but what was Ash getting at? Regardless of which of the two was doing this, it's still the one body. This was one girl, giving into a desire that a good person ignores.
“I'm still responsible for this.”
"No," Ash said. "There's nothing to be responsible for. I'm caring for you where you neglect yourself. That's all." It sounded so reassuring as it finished unbuttoning her.
"Do you see how rock-like your nipples are right now? You get so stressed when you think about love, or romance." It sat her up just enough to take off her cardigan. "I can't stand seeing you so worked up, especially after you've denied yourself so much."
“Ash-” She was interrupted by a small squeeze from her freed arm, gasping at its audacity.
"Think about it," it said. "I'm here because there are things you can't do on your own, right?"
“I think so,” she said, watching it slip the other arm out of the sleeve.
"What kind of things were those, anyway?"
She saw her other hand go to mimic its sibling, and tensed at the thought.
"Now, now. You know I won't hurt you."
“You're hurting my feelings,” she said. “I didn't think you would ever do something like this to me.” Her eyes shut as Ash used her hands to pinch her nipples through the dress. “I thought I could trust you.”
"You have before. Why not now?"
“Because” was all she could say, enjoying her other side and most intimate partner despite herself.
"Let's start with yesterday. We went to the store, remember?"
. . .
Looking over the shelf, there were so many good-looking tights that Taylor couldn't decide on one pair.
"It's just one date," Ash said, "why is this always so difficult for you?"
I want to get this right, she thought. Even the smallest part of an outfit can be the key that unlocks the entire puzzle.
"I know that," Ash told her.
“Well if you know that, then you know why I'm having trouble,” she muttered under her breath.
"We both know this date's going to go south," it said, its jaded non-voice designed to aggravate.
We don't know that, she thought. What if he likes everything up here, and then his eyes go down there and he thinks I'm a disaster? See, look.
She grabs two pairs, one black and one white.
“If I use these black ones, he might think I'm boring,” she says, trying to stay quiet. “If I go with white, he'll think I'm trying to be more innocent than I am, and he'll wonder what I'm really going to be like alone with him in his car.” She puts those back and grabs two more. “If I go with this navy pair, he'll think I'm all business and unapproachable, yet if I go nude, he might think I'm easy.”
Ash didn't understand the last assessment. "That's not what that-"
“And look at the legs in the picture on this one,” she said, straining harder to keep her volume in check. “Do you know what sheer black tells a guy when you couple them with a miniskirt? 'Come and get me.' I'm not a prostitute, and I'm sure not going to look like one.”
It was the one aggravated now. It could tell when the gears were spinning too fast, so-to speak, and she needed a breather.
"Here's an idea; what if he doesn't care?"
“Uggh.”
"Think about it," it said. "What do boys know about fashion? Zero. As long as you appear to have the basics down, he's not going to care."
She rolled her eyes, grabbing three more pairs. “Okay, he doesn't care,” she assumes, “but it's not like he's going to ignore the message. If I use these pinstripe ones, he might think I'm cagey because of the bar motif. If I go fishnets, I might as well go stand on a street corner.”
"Fishnets are fashionable these days-"
“Not for me,” she quietly snapped. “And what about this one with the black hearts? He might think I'm an emo or something. What am I supposed to do?”
"I like the hearts one."
“You do?” She put the others back, her train of frustration derailing.
"I think you're wrong about the emo thing," it said. "They're sheer, the hearts are small and endearing, and we have a choice of nude or black. Sheer is sexy, but the hearts make them cute. You're cute and sexy. It's a good match for you."
“You think I'm sexy?” She thought she could see Ash's smile in her head.
"You love to go plain, I know. These would be a perfect baby step outside of your comfort zone."
I don't know, she thought. Being sexy means guys want to make love with me, right?
"It means you have qualities that make you sexually attractive," Ash said. "I've told you that a dozen times. It doesn't mean they want to have sex with you per se."
“Ma'am, may I help you with something?”
Ash took over before Taylor could say anything. “Yes, I'm looking for these in size A?”
The clerk started thumbing through the selection. “Black or nude?”
“One of each.”
What? You know money doesn't grow on trees, she thought.
"You're going to look great in these, and you can use whatever we don't wear tomorrow for another occasion. I think this is a fine investment."
“Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Ash said.
“Okay, I can getcha over here.”
Why are you doing this?
"You want them, don't you?"
Well, yeah, but-
"No buts. The color would take you forever to decide on. Thank me later."
. . .
“I could have decided on the-mmm....” Taylor was silenced by the other's pinching her again. She looked down, and saw her dress and bra pulled down, exposing her chest.
"After an hour, at least," it said.
“You decided for me, though.”
"Why did you let me?"
The distraction was irrelevant. She had no answer.
"You don't make decisions very easily. You consider every angle, ad nauseam, until you settle out of frustration." One hand started to slide down her tummy, and the other went to replace it. Her breathing was heavy and deep, her body fully in the moment, while the other revealed its truths to her.
"I’m here to help settle things for you. It's one of the ways I help you every day."
Her fingers inched toward the brush.
“Is this another way?” she said, her eyes barely open.
"Yes."
How does sinning help me, she thought.
"It's not sinning."
You say that, but-
It shushed her, then moved the brush off of her lap. "I see what you do on your own. You always look great, but you always keep to yourself. You only have friends and dates because I step in and make you sociable. You-"
“I know that,” she said. “I live my own life, you know.”
"Not entirely."
“I wish I could.”
"Shh." It lifted her hips, and pulled up her skirt with both hands. "The thing is, I worry about you. Your isolation without me would be akin to a prison." It stroked the insides of her legs, from crotch to knees, and she shuddered with forbidden delight. "You're such a lovely girl," it said. "So many people would love to be with you, and yet you shun them constantly. I truly wish you wouldn't. It saddens me to see you so lonely."
You know why though, she thought. It's because I can't trust them. They'll do something to me, like you're doing now.
"It's possible." It began pulling down the panty of her hosiery. "You could be right, and they could do something terrible to you. On the other hand, what if they want to do something good with you? How will you ever know when you don't take the chance?"
She shook her head. It's bad enough right now, she thought. A real person could do so much worse.
Her body stopped moving. "You have to remind me, huh?"
Her bottom fell back onto the bed; she had control of herself again. “Ash? What's wrong?”
"You know what you said. You're right. Maybe you're not ready for this. Maybe you should be alone."
She was taken aback. She knew her other side wasn't that happy just being in her head, but why did it react like this all of a sudden?
Taylor rolled off the bed. They've had fights before, and there was a way to settle them. She pulled her hosiery back up, her bra into its proper place, and her dress back into position, trying to correct the mess it was making of her. The sensations from doing so while aroused were nicer than she believed they'd be, but Ash’s feelings took precedence.
A full-body mirror stood against the wall, opposite the nightstand. She walked over to it to face herself. Her appearance was still a little off, puffies in full view in the dim light and her hair in need of brushing, but Ash was the one who messed her up.
Do you like me like this, she thought.
She held her wrist behind her back, and shifted her upper body around, drawing attention to her chest. Ash seemed to enjoy that area the most.
No response.
I'm serious; do you see me that way, Ash?
It refused to answer.
“I'm sorry,” she said, sitting down on the floor and looking into her own eyes. “I didn't know you wanted to be real that badly. You know I would never hurt you, Ash.”
The silence was taking its toll sooner than expected. This was the last thing she ever wanted. “Please talk to me,” she asked, trembling at the thought of losing it.
"I want to be with you."
“What? But you are with me.”
"I want to be with you."
“I'm sorry, what do you mean?”
"I want to BE with you!"
She didn't know what to make of this. Was it confessing to her? Why would it do that?
“You want to be with me in real life?”
"Yes."
“Why would you tell me you want something impossible?” she asked. “That kind of thing hurts us both, you know?”
"I know. I know, and I can't take it anymore.
"Taylor, I've watched over you for years now. I've stepped in countless times to protect you, from the first fight against that bully, to getting you through that date tonight. In that time, you've grown so much in some ways, yet you've regressed in others. You've grown reliant on me, and as much as I should hate that and want you to become more independent, I'm also thankful for it. I'm thankful that I'm still useful to you; that you see fit to let me live. I'm thankful that you still talk to me about everything, and that I get to share your most memorable moments, good and bad. However, we know words come easy to me, so I've been trying to show you how I feel."
“Like what you're doing now?”
"Not just that," it said. "Remember that nap two weeks ago? How you woke up to a little pick-me-up?"
She got up, and went to the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Ash had done things like that before, even before she got into high school: origami birds with hearts all over them, a new hairstyle she hadn't thought about, or the one time she woke up with a new necklace on. Before the card, there hadn't been any instances of that in at least a year, if not longer. She thought her friend was only trying to make her feel better during an intense bout with self-pity.