I’m just a mess?

Her name’s May Vane. Vane… It’s like I should know that name, like it should make me feel slightly uncomfortable and give me the feeling that I’m about to be subjected to hours of rants about meaningless things, but I can’t attach it to anything that isn’t her. And yet… I know that I didn’t know her until today. That’s one of the only things I’m sure of.
I tried going outside today under pressure from my mom, who thought that it would be good for my health and that it’d reduce the amount of time I spend in my bed with my brain having the mental capabilities of mush, but it just ended up with May Vane coming over and I getting a massive headache from the light that my eyes weren’t ready for.

“May… May? Do I know you?”
“You know me now.” And she tosses her long glossy hair over her shoulder, unnaturally red like she dyed it. “And you are?”
“Constance… I think. I’m not completely sure, you know, being that I basically had the brains of a vegetable a day ago.” Nausea flows in, and I grip the sides of the bench swing a little harder, trying to keep myself upright. “Does it matter what my name is, really?”
“Man, you really are a mess, aren’t you?”


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