The SAT results are out. I scored 1580, and both Harvard and Yale are knocking on my door. At the same time, the doctor's report arrived. They say I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. But I know I don't. There's just another person living inside my body. Someone who protects me. She has my face. She says we are "The Two Me's." 1 That day at school, I got beaten up again. The bullies pinned me down next to a filthy, overflowing toilet stall. They screamed at me to take a good look inside, saying the filth was just as disgusting as I was. They tried to shove my head in. That’s when She arrived. Violently, ruthlessly, she kicked them away. Then she grabbed the ringleader by the hair and shoved her head into the toilet bowl. We were called to the principal's office. The girls were sobbing. I stood there, lips pressed tight, silent. When my mom arrived, her face was dark as a thundercloud. I looked at her, and before I could speak, she slapped me. Slap! Before I could even react, She raised my hand and slapped my mother back. Her lips curled into a cold sneer. Everyone froze. Including my mother, who stared at me like she was seeing a ghost. Yes, she’s here. She’s in my body, wearing my face. 2 My mom went crazy. She started screaming hysterically, calling me an ungrateful wolf, an animal, a money-loser, a whore who only knows how to seduce men. In front of everyone, she poured all her resentment for the world onto me, as if I weren't her daughter, but her worst enemy. Everyone around us was laughing, especially the girls who bullied me. Usually, I would lower my head, quietly and cowardly enduring it all. Then I’d find a deserted place, take a blade, and cut my arm over and over. Or stand on the highest ledge of the roof, swaying in the wind. But right now, it wasn't me. It was Her. For every curse my mother spat, She replied with a smile. My mother called me an animal. She said: "Animals are born from animals." My mother called me a waste of money. She said: "You're a waste of money too. Takes one to know one." My mother called me a whore. She said: "At least I'm not someone's dirty little mistress." Her words were toxic and sharp. My mother lunged to scratch her, but She pinned her to the floor. My mother's face hit the tiles. She wailed and screamed. Finally, security pulled me off. No, not me. Her. The Dean’s face was black. She had seen my mother humiliate me many times without batting an eye, but now she looked terrifying. She told me I would be suspended. I didn't look at her. Wait, She didn't look at her. Instead, She gave a chilling sneer. The Dean shut up immediately. There was fear in her eyes. She pulled my mother aside. I vaguely heard her asking my mom if I had mental issues and suggesting I see a doctor. 3 When we walked out of the school, the sky was so blue. My mom walked beside me, face grim, silent the whole way. This was rare. Usually, she would curse me all the way home, using the filthiest words. Passersby would stare. And she would curse louder, like she was performing for an audience. My mom didn't take me to a mental hospital. I'm a "money-loser." She wouldn't spend another dime on me. The next day, I went to school as usual. The moment I walked into the classroom, everyone went dead silent. Their eyes were full of curiosity, disgust, and rejection. After all, I was the "psycho who hits people." I was used to it. In elementary school, I had a best friend. But my mom came. She dragged me by my hair and slapped me in front of everyone. Face twisted, she glared at me. She called me a slut and said my friends were little sluts too. Since then, I had no friends. All the girls stayed away from me, looking at me with fear. Later. As I grew up. They weren't afraid anymore. They joined the boys in calling me a bitch, a dog, a slut. They spread rumors that I slept around. I couldn't refute them. After all, those words came from my own mother's mouth. I could only lower my head, trying to bury myself in the dust over and over again. I thought about dying, but I was afraid. They say suicides go to hell to suffer eternal pain. I didn't want to go to hell. I wanted to go to heaven. My grandma must be waiting for me there. My body was snatched by Her again. The chair scraped back. She leaned back, crossing her legs, shaking her foot. With a cigarette, she would have looked like a mafia boss ready to cut someone. Her gaze swept over the girls from yesterday. Sharp. Piercing. And they actually dodged her eyes. I was stunned. Usually, if I accidentally made eye contact, they would curse me out, hit me, or tear up my books and stomp on them. But now, they avoided me. They looked scared. Scared I’d walk over and beat them up. 4 The world felt upside down. Because of yesterday, for the first time, no one bothered me during the ten-minute break. I kept my head down, doing homework. Suddenly, a hand slammed onto my desk. SMACK. It was jarring. I knew it. Peace never lasts. The moment I looked up, control was snatched away again. It was the class bully, Brad. Behind him stood the girl She had dunked in the toilet yesterday. They were glaring at me. "You got guts, huh? Daring to hit Jessica?" He raised his hand. He was going to grab my hair and slam my head into the desk. He had done it before. But this time, he wasn't facing me. He was facing Her. Before Brad could touch me, She raised my hand. The pencil sharpener blade stabbed straight into his palm. "AHHH!" Brad screamed like a pig being slaughtered. Blood gushed out, the metallic smell filling the air. She leaned back, frowning slightly. I knew she didn't like it. I don't like blood either, but I often make myself bloody. The Dean and the homeroom teacher arrived. Seeing me, their faces sank. Brows furrowed in undisguised disgust. She just sat there, legs crossed, nonchalant. The teacher asked what happened. Brad pointed at me, screaming that I stabbed him, that I tried to kill him. She just sat there smiling at them. A mocking smile, like watching monkeys at a zoo. My mom was called again. Before she even entered, I heard her vicious cursing. All directed at me. Saying she had eight lifetimes of bad luck to give birth to a trouble magnet like me. The teacher glanced at me. Eyes full of loathing, as if I were a virus, a cancer. My mom finally came in. Without a word, she raised her hand to hit me. She lifted her chin, smiling provocatively. In that instant, my mom's hand froze. She must have remembered yesterday. Her expression went from cold to fearful. The hand that never hesitated to strike my face dropped to her side for the first time. 5 Brad's parents arrived, aggressively pointing at my mom's nose and cursing. My mom, who was just a fierce tiger a moment ago, shrank into a kitten, not daring to make a sound. She leaned against the wall, legs crossed, watching and laughing. Like watching a good show where everyone is a clown. She even laughed out loud. "You have the face to laugh?" "Get over here! Kneel and apologize to them!" My mom finally found a target to vent on. She rushed over to drag me, trying to force me to kneel like a dog, just like before, begging the bullies not to pursue it. But this time, my mom wasn't facing me. Before her hand could touch me, She lifted my leg and kicked her flying. THUD. Everyone's eyes popped out. The silence was deafening. My mom lay on the floor like a dog. After a second of shock, she started wailing about giving birth to a beast that hits its own mother. She just sneered. Her cold eyes swept over everyone, and then she walked out. Just walked out. And no one stopped her. The teacher, who was blocking the door, actually stepped aside. I realized for the first time that adults could be so cowardly. I don't know how it was handled. When the bell rang, She went back to sit in class as if nothing happened. The shocked and disgusted stares felt like knives, but she didn't care at all. I don't know how she did it, but it worked. During the break, no one dared to touch me. When the teacher came to class, she avoided my eyes. Disgust mixed with fear. In the afternoon, Brad came back with a bandaged hand. He didn't come to trouble me. I heard them whispering that I was a psycho. "Killing isn't illegal if you're mentally ill." That's what the class monitor said. Their eyes became even more fearful. I felt like I discovered a new continent. Adults and kids alike are terrified of crazy people. Especially crazy people who fight back. One look could make them tremble.
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