Tales from the Night - An Apple Most Forbidden

April 2067. After a long while, Amy and Lejl can finally seat together for a tea. Once parts of the same person, now split and forced to live as separate individuals, but still as close as sisters can be.

The wall clock is ticking, one tick, one tock at a time. I lose myself in watching that pendulum swing left and right, right and left, with impossible, mechanical precision. So ordered. So regular.

So unlike me.

Tick. Tock. And there it goes again. Forward and back. Back and forward. It’s hypnotic, positively fascinating. I can’t take my eyes away from it. The decor of the wooden case, the fine veins on the shiny metal. Artisan made, not a cheap reproduction. Not something I’d expect to meet in the wild. But this is Aylin’s house so maybe – just maybe – I should have expected it.

“Would you like some more tea? I would be most happy, if you took one more serving.”

Her voice brings me back from the realm of thoughts, that wild, tangled mess of a brain nature gifted me. A brain capable of focusing on so many things at once and – at the same time – completely unable to connect simple facts into a coherent narrative. The marvels of high-functioning dysfunction.

“Sure, pour me one more. With lots of sugar...”

I’m going to close my sentence, as I realize I’m missing something important. Just one word, but that word makes a world of difference, for the girl, the woman sitting in front of me.

“... please.”

She smiles and nods, as I say those syllables, arrange them into artificial courtesy. And I can’t help myself from drawing a comparison between her and me – again. That smile is so polite, so refined, and naturally so. She doesn’t force herself to smile, it just happens – and she’s absolutely dashing when it happens. When I smile, it mostly looks mischievous, forced or pitiful, nothing in the middle. I cannot think of two people more similar than she and I, yet so fundamentally contrasting.

“The babies are sleeping soundly. They should not wake up for a little while.”

She smiles again. Her babies. The kids she bore with Tiger. Jill and Lein, two beautiful twin catkin cubs that share so many traits with their father but took some of their mother’s humanity. They are three months old now. They have already grown so much since the last time I saw them.

“Your kids are totally adorbs, Amy. Do they purr?”

She gives me a look. I can’t really discern what she means with it, but it does look slightly annoyed.

“Tiger cannot purr, so I assume they will not either. But you should already know it, do you not?”

Her voice tone has shifted a little, her irises, those heterochromatic irises, stare at me quizzically. I have probably asked something I shouldn’t have. It’s always like this, when I meet with Aylin.

“Forgive my rudeness, Lejl. It is indeed still quite unsettling to hear my own voice talking with me from outside of me.”

And spouting such nonsense.

That’s the untold part. The most important one. While not telling it, she pours the tea in my mug, adds four sugar cubes. I giggle, while mixing all of it with a small spoon, looking at the white grains disappear into the hot, light brown beverage.

“Point taken. It’s the same for me, at times.”

Listening to Aylin feels like listening to some very old fashioned book on good manners, but told with my voice. It would sound funny, if I read something like that aloud. Yet, if Aylin did it, it would feel completely natural. Such is the difference between us.

Yet, she’s one of the few people I regularly hang around with. Aside from hanging out with my small circle of friends (partially with benefits, but that’s something for another day), I’m not one for social activities. And my babe Cyphy, well, she isn’t either. We are really good at being alone together. We are both stubborn as heck, always wanting to have the last word or one-up each other... but almost every quarrel of ours ends with a laugh, a kiss, and an intense workout session.

Those who don’t are the dangerous ones. We are very good at stonewalling each other when we are angry or pissed off. For me, this means having to wait until Cyphy cools down and put together an apology, if it was my fault. For her, this means cooking me dinner and pulling me to the sofa to watch a movie together. Yes, she has it waaaaay easier, because I can’t hold a grudge for too long. Life is already ephemeral, wasting it on petty misunderstandings is stupid.

“Nevertheless, I find you well, Lejl. Though, I must say, your tastes in clothing have not improved in the slightest.”

I shrug at her remark. Under my leather jacket, the police tape I used on many occasions is not on show today – traded for a semi-transparent white t-shirt with nothing underneath. I bet she’s having a good look at my shapes, shapes that mirror hers in more than one way, wondering what went wrong with me. I know my attire sounds unreasonably, desperately horny – I won’t deny it, because it is. Besides, it’s not that I find the tape so much more comfortable than a normal bra, even if it can be when wrapped correctly: I just love to see a reaction in the eyes of the people around me, having them register my presence as real. And showing what isn’t supposed to be shown is a good way to elicit such a strong acknowledgment. It’s my way to scream I’m here! I’m alive! I’m among you!... which is probably the same reason why Vince wears such bright colors.

We both want to be noticed, to be seen, to be registered. We both feel like errors, tiny mistakes in the matrix of reality, and we do our best not to be overwritten. It’s our silent rebellion, which – in a way or another – bore fruit. Vince has opened his own cafe and is going to be married soon. And I have Cyphy, and Chai, and Paddy, and even that dumb, larger-than-life sharkman who treats me like a little sister. We have both earned the right to live. We won’t give it up so easily.

Aylin, though, do be judgmental with my apparent distaste for traditional underwear, but I can’t let her get away with it. After all, it’s not even something that originated from me. So, I smirk at her, in the most mischievous Lejl^TM way, and prepare my retort.

“Rich coming from someone who reeled in her husband by showing her sideboobs and underboobs at once, the first time they met.”

She blushes, averts her gaze for an instant.

“... that is not... totally incorrect, yes.”

I see her trying to recover from her blunder and I can totally predict what she will say.

“But I...”

“Lemme guess – you have grown out of that phase. Which is cool, and fine, and dandy, but I’ve not. I’m still in that phase and I see nothing wrong with it.”

She glares at me. Bullseye! Having been part of her for so long wasn’t all for show!

“There is... nothing wrong with it. It is just that...”

“Don’t waste your breath, I know what you mean. But, say, would Tiger be upset if you’d dress more like when you two met?”

I force myself not to say met because of me, which would be a true, but most likely rude, remark. I don’t want her to feel like she owes me something.

“From what I know of Commander Pussycat, he defo wouldn’t mind. Heck, he might enjoy that too.”

“I... indeed he does. When we spend quality time together, that is.”

Oh, so it really was the pot calling the kettle black, huh? Guess there’s a reason why we were one and the same, once. Only, current-Aylin tries to keep up a picture of perfection, of conformance. She’s getting better at not doing it, but I can see her needing years to improve and leave that part of her behind. Her strict upbringing and her rebellious teen phase didn’t do her any good, as she seems to oscillate between her two personas at regular intervals.

Like that pendulum.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Now, she’s in her mother phase, which made her swing more towards her own rendition of a classic “good wife stereotype”, probably unconsciously. Still, I know Aylin is much more than that. She just needs a little bit of practice to find her new equilibrium. Which is good and bad at the same time. I don’t like balance. When you find your balance, you settle down and never move again. I want to be always moving, I don’t ever want to stop evolving.

Tick. Tock.

My own life pendulum wouldn’t swing like that. It would be something more like...

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tock. Tock. Tick. Tock.

And so on, and so forth. An irregular cacophony of contrasting motions without rhyme or reason, unpredictable, ever–changing. Dangerously so.

Aylin stares at me again, this time without shame or animosity.

“Despite our differences, I am glad we have time to meet, at least once in a while. I could not bear the thought of... losing you forever.”

Oh, I know what you mean. I was born inside you, Aylin. I was a part of you, the part that collected all the personality quirks you discarded. The part that painted a picture of what you wanted to be, but couldn’t get yourself to accept. It worked, it worked well, because when you were transgressing, that was Lejl’s fault. When you were conforming, that was Aylin’s merit. It was so easy for you to split yourself like that. You didn’t even have a name for me, back then. I had to create my own name, from fragments of information scattered around us, when I finally became sentient. Still, it was fascinating. I was a part of you you didn’t need, but you desperately wanted. I was all that you couldn’t be, your forbidden apple. And you grew comfortable in having me around, even before I learned how to take over your body.

This is why it was painful, when we were forcefully divided.

When you got back to the world you came from and my mind lost itself inside the Shadow Gallery.

We had never been separated. Yet, that was it. We couldn’t feel each other. We couldn’t hear each other. We couldn’t whisper to each other. We couldn’t be each other’s mirror. That broke the spell, precipitated both of us down an abyss of loneliness. You survived because of Tiger. While I...

I completely lost my mind.

I was gone.

To think I have to thank the most horrible human being ever born for saving me. If it weren’t for Silman Simmerik, I wouldn’t be here today. Knowing I have a debt with such a disgusting monster makes my skin crawl. Yet, coming back felt good. Being alive felt good, in a way I had never experienced before. My body. My own body. Not Aylin’s, not anybody else’s. My own.

“Oh yeah, I totes remember your face when you saw me and Cyphy together.”

Together wasn’t really the correct way to put it. I was literally hiding behind her, unsure on how to approach Aylin. Cyphy promised to help me talk with her, after our – huh, impromptu one night stand. I’ll say that felt good too. Cyphy and I had teased each other so much, during the short time we interacted... and all that teasing suddenly erupted in an uncontainable frenzy, as soon as we met again. As soon as I got back from the dead. But Aylin... I didn’t feel ready to meet her. I needed help. Cyphy’s help. And, oh girl, if she delivered. Not even twenty-four hours after our fateful reunion at Le Coq Heureux, she was already bringing me to talk with my better half.

I can’t forget Aylin’s face. She jumped at me, hugged me. And cried. And I cried too, like a baby. Because this is what I am, what I was. A baby. Someone who has never experienced life, whose mental age isn’t matching her body’s age. Yet, I was such an important part of Aylin that she wouldn’t reject me. She scolded me for going away, sure, but I would have done the same.

Aylin is a sort of big sister for me, now. She feels like it. She’s the one person I go to, when I need some advice that I can’t – or don’t want to – get from Cyphy, Paddy, Chai or Shaz. Even if we are that different. Or, maybe, because we are that different.

“I still do not get what you found in that snake-tongued girl. She is so obnoxiously hot-blooded and stubborn. Attention-seeking. Jealous too. And pretty immature.”

“I see you haven’t grown out of your distaste for her.”

“I guess the sentiment is reciprocal.”

“Well, duh, no dice. But Cyphy really does like your body!”

“I can see that.”

Ouch. That hurt. But, hey, I can’t blame her. Cyphy and Aylin are polar opposites. Brash, venom-spouting, sentiment-above-reason versus polite, reasonable, careful. The Venn diagram of their personalities has just a tiny overlap, in that they both like me and Tiger. Which, surprisingly, is enough for them not to throw stones at each other every time we meet.

I notice Aylin staring at my t-shirt again, at that diaphanous white fabric with black ink spread over it, enough to add some opaque spot, but not enough to hide what should be hidden. I know what that stare means. I smirk, waiting for her question. She smiles, waiting for my answer.

We know each other so well, we can anticipate what the other will do. It’s funny being in sync with someone so much, while also being so different.

“Where did you buy that shameless t-shirt? And how much did it cost?”

“Oh, so you are interested.”

She blushes a little. Conforming Aylin must be dying of embarrassment, at the moment.

“I am, indeed, intrigued. Seeing it on you made me wonder... whether it would look as good on me.”

“Wear it with nothing underneath and you’ll quickly reach certified MILF status.”

She almost spits her tea, starts laughing maniacally, uncontrollably. She’s almost crying with laughter, and I’m almost cracking up at seeing her like that. Almost. But I can control it. I can control it. I can...

No dice, I’m laughing too, from the bottom of my lungs. On her side, Aylin is trying her best to recover, but she can’t, she won’t.

“My, my! That is one way to put it!”

“Dammit, Tiger would totally start purring if he saw you wearin’ that!”

I break down as bad as her, wheeze as I try to stop my words from coming out.

“Hey you! She’s MY MILF! Keep your eyes off her!”

As my very low quality imitation of Tiger echoes in the room, I notice her going down even harder.

“Lejl! Oh my goodness gracious! You...”

She can’t resist, she just goes on and on, and I love adding fuel to the fire, as the chaotic gremlin I am. So, my Tiger voice comes out again, because apparently I can’t stop myself from wanting to watch the world burn.

“I’m Commander Furry, leader of Dildo Team! I’m going to kick your ass and go back home to bang my hot! Half-Asian! Wife!”

And, as before, she breaks down again, bent forward, her hands on her belly.

“Lejl! STOP! I am dying! Stop! My stomach hurts!”

“Okay, okay! I quit! I promise”

I slowly regain my composure, see Aylin doing the same, even if with extreme difficulty. Then, we burst into laughter again, at the same time, for a short while, only to finally be able to calm down, wipe our tears. She takes a deep breath, inhales, points her finger at me.

“You scoundrel! That Schwanzerblitz quote was uncalled for!”

“So, you’ve watched the movie!”

“Indeed I have! Come on, I needed to see what Mr. Daevka cooked!”

“Chad Harder. I’ll stop at this.”

Leave it to a greedy alien bastard to take a story told you by your acquaintances and turn it into a low budget porn flick with gross parodies of said acquaintances. Vince would sue him to the ground, if he had enough money and time. He’s still not over his appearance as Notorious Dickson, the man with all cock sizes at once. One time, at Jackson’s, I heard him asking around if shooting someone’s kneecaps with a sawed-off shotgun was punished with time in jail and if being libeled could grant him some mitigating factor. I’m happy he didn’t go through with his intent, but he has definitely not taken it well. If I were Mr. Daevka, I would hire a couple bodyguards, just in case.

And I wouldn’t show my face around Jackson’s.

Not when Vince is on shift, that is.

Aylin looks at me briefly, then she starts talking with a high-pitched voice, bringing her hands to her cheeks.

“Yamete, Octopus-chan!”

And we both burst into laughter again. There’s nothing to do. We broke the wall between us. Under the surface, we are still the same dork we were once – only, multiplied by two. Twice the dorks, twice the fun.

Until we hear it.

The cry.

A horrifying mix between an air-raid siren and the meowing of a wild leopard in heat, in two competing frequencies. I turn my head left, right, try to discern the source of that deafening noise. Aylin, though, simply wipes off her tears and stands up from her seat.

“Someone here is hungry, I take it.”

It falls on me then. The twins. That’s the twins’ doing? How does Aylin manage to sleep at night? Does she even sleep at all?! Watching her reaching for those little furballs and sitting near their cribs, I somehow feel a little bit better about the deficiencies of my body. I’m Aylin’s mirror, but not everything was reflected correctly. Unfortunately, I’m... no, I don’t want to deal with this topic, right now. Seeing how those little creatures have the power to break my force of will just by means of existing, maybe it’s for the best.

I walk to her, look as she brings them to her chest, wrapped in those tiny newborn suits. Jill. Lein. They both look like tiny cats in human form, but their eyes... their eyes are unquestionably those of their mother. So, here they are, my little furry nephews, the son and daughter of my sister, of that other part of me that is breastfeeding them as we speak. They are so cute, when they are not bursting my eardrums. Those hungry little critters, avidly sucking their milk, growing bigger and stronger by the second. I pat Aylin’s head, chuckle again.

“Next time, you leave the cubs to your husband and I’ll take you around for some shopping. You’ll be back as the best lookin’ bitch ever!”

“Lejl style?”

“Nah, Amy-style!”

I smirk, drawing circles in the air.

“There’s a new Bird of Blizzard collection you should check out! I’ve eyed some urban pants that are so revealing and yet so stylish! I bet you’d look wonderful with them! Look!”

I unlock my phone screen, quickly browse through the catalog and show her a picture of what I have in mind. Aylins looks at it, blushes a little again, shakes her head, as her little kittens are finally being tamed, sated by their latest meal.

“That’s... quite too much.”

“Oh, come on! You should trust me more!”

“Last time I trusted you, we had dinner in a male stripper club, while I was pregnant.”

“But didn’t you have a blast there?”

She’s smiling again, while strategically, carefully avoiding to nod. But I notice it. Her eyes. She’s keeping her glee in check. Then, she speaks, after drawing a long breath.

“Tiger will be home next Friday and can take care of Lein and Jill for a while. Do you have perchance time around noon? I am asking you to come alone. I am not ready to spend an entire afternoon with Ms. Wolfchild without respectfully wishing to twist her neck.”

She sees through me. I see through her. I’m her forbidden apple. But the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“Deal! After I’m finished with dressing you, get ready to become a mother again in nine months!”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Two babies are already enough of a challenge for me!”

“Twice the kids, twice the fun!”

She gives me the look, before going back to tend to her children, those cute, furry hybrids that resemble the best of both worlds, wagging their short, striped tails as they hug her chest. I will never be a mother myself, most likely. But I can be the coolest aunt they’ll ever know. And I will always be there for Aylin, as the voice of the feelings she wants to keep, but doesn’t want to listen to. With that thought, I find myself looking at the pendulum again.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tock.

A hitch. A small imperfection in the perfect rhythm. One in one thousand equally spaced repetitions. A crack in its veil of regularity. With that realization, I start sipping my tea once again.

Friday cannot come soon enough.