Project Aidan: Ego & Id

Black. All I see is black. There's nothing here but me in this sunless sky and land of ebony. I can hear nothing but my own heart beating like an endless clock where the seconds never add to a day, but the seconds tick on their own accord. Thump thump, it beats, thump thump, it replies.

But out of the darkness, I hear that voice from before, from exotic whispers in tongues unknown, calling me from a distance. Over and over, my name echoes. I want to answer it...but it's too far away. No, I was wrong. These weren't echoes; these were the chanting of my name, again and again, with the same crystal clarity of annunciation. Louder and louder they got, each time my heart would beat wildly and my breath cease. I was suffocating. I needed release, but the chanting continued; was it teaching me a lesson? My mind pleaded for mercy, but there was no relent. Please...
I screamed and everything faded to white.

It was only a dream; the same nightmare I've had since I've set my revenge plan against Richelle. Reia and I dubbed it Project Aidan, at least to sound like an organized arrangement. No one else knew about our plan, because now there was no one else to tell, we kept to ourselves these days. We started posting on one of Richelle's favorite message boards with a fake account. With wit and dry flirting we'd snare her into our trap. The poor unsuspecting lamb sent to slaughter; this would be easy.

To even sound more credible, we set Reia as a good friend of Aidan on another fake account. It's too easy to get such an identity these days; such a trusting place in an artificial world, where suspicions always take a backseat. There the two "boys" applauded her in her glory, comforted her in her sadness, and approached her with choices of love.

My Aidan was mysterious. Sweet and gentle, brooding and obscure, oh if he had been real he would have been absolutely delicious. He was everything I had ever hoped someone I loved could be; he surpassed Errol's faults but he succumbed to the one flaw, loving Richelle. But I controlled it. I controlled love, an emotion so strong and choking I had wanted it for myself.

It sickened me as I played a lover. Every time I hid behind Aidan's mask, I bit bile back as I spewed sweet words to her or consoled her petty misfortunes of the loss of friendship of Reia or her grievance of a horrid ex-boyfriend. Soon I could tell Richelle had fallen for Aidan. Her comments became flirtier, sultry, almost clinging; I fell deeper into disgust.
Phase two was in motion now; Aidan had to love her back. Syrupy fake words poured itself into a drippy chain of emails. Love became a word used irrationally, unrealistically, and idiotically; and she drank up every bit of it. Oh if Aidan was real, and I had no control over him, he would never love a girl like Richelle, I was sure of it; at least that was what I had assumed at the time, but little did I know any control I had had vanished when I vowed my vengeance, and I had already fallen into Aidan's predetermined games.

And the first hint came after receiving an email that sprouted confessions of love from Richelle, addressed to Aidan. I then saw an email in my own mailbox, an email from Aidan. There was a panic and immediate confusion that fell over me. I felt there had to be a mistake. It couldn't be what it was, or could it? No, it couldn't be. There was no way...unless it was the makings of a cruel joke. Oh Reia, it's not nice to tease, I felt my thoughts scold; but a shiver slivered down my spine. Reia doesn't know the password of Aidan's email account to send it. The only person who could send it would be myself, as I am the only person that knew the password and I would never write an email to myself, that would be the product of a mad person, and I am not a lunatic. Oh I see. I must've addressed it wrong. Instead of replying to Richelle as I had thought, I must've sent it to my own email address, a stupid and careless mistake. I'll forward it back to the Aidan address and then cut and paste in a new mail to Richelle. Yes, that must be it, an honest mistake, that's all. I'll just open it, look over it, and send it back.

"Rosalie," It had been addressed to me. There must be a fluke. There has to have been or else this mail should not exist. It should not exist.

"I know what you're doing, Rosalie, and I don't like it." The words trenched themselves in unknown crevices of my brain, lingering in a breathtakingly painful manner. "I'm going to make sure you regret it." Who could write such a thing? Why would they? How would anyone have known about my plans aside from Reia?

"You'll see you can't use me any longer. I can move on my own accord." The email was unsigned. Immediately I checked the Aidan mailbox, but the password was changed. I was locked out of the game I created. I could see I was slipping, returning to my dreams, the nightmares, of hiding in the void of black where I wouldn't be missed and screaming until my throat and lungs became bloodied, hoping that everything would fade to white again and I would wake up.

I didn't tell Reia about the email. I was sure she wouldn't believe me. Aidan kept emailing me. Taunting me of a plot I couldn't work right. He sent me replies that he received from Richelle, replies to emails he wrote to her, of elegant love letters and cruelty of being love's slave. My mind began to forget he was a work of fiction. Richelle emailed Reia telling her she had found someone. My Aidan was taken. When was he mine? I'm locked in glamour, locked in adoration, and no one ever notices.

It happened with Errol and now my fictitious Aidan. Why have I become so possessive of my own creation? How did I get so obsessed? He's taunting me still. Mails that say, "Rosalie, the bringer of vengeance", or "Rosalie, the non-daisy". His venomous words bite, and they poison my mind as they succumb to quiet pain. He knows my memories, my grief, and my joys, the malicious bastard.

I decided I needed to take control again, even if Aidan had become real, which was highly unlikely, I should not be harassed in this manner. I began deleting his mails before reading them. After a week of unread mails I had a different dream.

It was sunny out. I was in a meadow during the summer, and under a shady tree I sat, quietly enjoying the newfound sense of peace and control I had. I was free of Aidan. There was a creek nearby where I could hear the slight rustles of the currents, and I felt the cool soft breeze that grazed my cheek and danced with my hair. Then I saw Him. That same face from that drawing of what seemed like so long ago; but I did not stir, no, that would cause too much attention. He walked to me and sat next to me. He leaned over to my ear, so close that I could feel his warm breath upon my neck, "You aren't rid of me just yet, sweet one."

Not a single sound escaped my throat as the wind transitioned it all to blinding milky white and the silent, voiceless screams loitered that amnesiac memory before I finally found that I was awake.

Too many screams in dreams, when could I wake with barely a whisper? Fortunately, Aidan knew when I would; it was only a matter of time before I would know as well.