“You’re not wrong.” I pushed down the driver’s seat and slung my backpack into the backseat. Aisha pushed down the passenger’s seat and did the same. Only then did she look back and see the backpack I was using, and look at me with concern.
“How’d you get a designer backpack?”
“It’s not mine. None of this is mine.” I started the car. Aisha finally closed her door and put her seatbelt on. I glanced over at her and said the words aloud that I hadn’t been able to say to anyone else. “It’s my sister’s.”
“You don’t have a sister.”
“I do now.”
She searched my face for a long moment. I started to drive. At least it gave me something to focus on while she was psychoanalyzing me. We didn’t say a word during our drive and when I parked in front of the building to her next class, she just sat there, looking out the window quietly.
“I don’t understand,” she said after a long moment.
“I don’t either. I really don’t. Friday and Saturday are totally blank in my memory. I don’t remember those days at all.”
“Were you that drunk?”
“On Friday? I must have been.”
“How did you end up with this car? With this backpack?” She eyed me closer now. “With those clothes.”
I explained to her what happened, beginning at the mental institution and ending at The Manor, though I was careful not to go into detail about that. I only said that it was where they’d dropped me off and where I’d been staying. When I finished the recount, I looked over at her, expecting to find a look of disbelief, and sure enough, it was exactly what I was rewarded with.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.” She said the words slowly, as if preparing for my impending blow. I practiced patience, focusing on my breathing and reminding myself that sometimes reacting to negativity wasn’t the smart move. I needed her in my corner.
“I love you, Eva. You know I do. I always will. You were the only one there for me when my mom left us. You put our names on the prayer list at church and dragged me there every Sunday until I couldn’t help but go willingly. I will forever be grateful to you for a lot of things. But you need help. I don’t want to blame all of this on Karen. She was never a fit mother. She wanted to whitewash you and change you into something you could never be. I get that. I do. Some parents suck, but at some point, you have to take accountability for your own actions. You need serious psychological help. You’ve always wanted a sister, so you’ve created one.” She paused to look around the car. “You created a rich, perfect sister. The daughter Karen always wanted.”
“I didn’t.” I shook my head. “She’s real. Dr. Thompson gave me all of these things so that I’d help find her.”
“Dr. Thompson.” Aisha sighed, taking her phone out and tapping. I watched as she googled Dr. Thompson. When his face appeared on the screen, she glanced up quickly, eyes wide. “That’s the guy.”
“What guy?”
“The one you were arguing with at The Institute.” She looked at her phone again and clicked on the first profile. “He works closely with the Maslows.”
“I know. He’s a neurologist there.”
“Do you think there’s any chance they slipped something in your drink while you were there?”
“The Maslows? No way. Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and looked at the screen again, then back at me. “Maybe they’re trying to help you control your disorder by allowing you to live two different realities.”
“I’m not schizophrenic.”
Aisha pursed her lips. I knew that look. It was her judgmental no comment. I hadn’t been on the receiving end of it often, but when I was, I always felt myself shrink. She had a way of making people feel inferior and according to Dr. Maslow, I had a bit of an inferiority complex thanks to events in my past.
“Are you saying you don’t believe what I just told you?” I asked after a few seconds of maddening silence.
“I’m not saying I don’t believe the events that took place, but you said it yourself, you don’t even remember what really happened those days. For all you know, you never left The Institute on Friday and by the time you woke up on Sunday, they were able to feed you whatever they wanted your reality to be.” She looked at her phone again, then at me. “Shit. I have to go. Listen, I think it’s best if we take some time apart. You sound like you have a lot of issues to work through.”
She grabbed her bag and left the car. I didn’t move.
On my way to The Institute, I thought about what Aisha said. What if this was one of their innovative experiments? What if all of this was a lie? What if I had been kept in The Institute all of those days? If that was really the case though, how had I been at Karen’s on Friday?