I didn't hide anymore.
Not the way I walked.
Not the way I stared too long.
Not the way I spoke when no one else was in the room.
Let them hear.
Let them look.
Let them wonder if I was dangerous.
Because now… I was.
The kids at school whispered.
They said I was "off."
That I talked to the walls.
That my smile was wrong.
They were right.
One of them laughed at my sweater.
Said it smelled like mildew and rot.
I looked at him for too long.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
Just stared.
Until he stopped laughing.
Until he walked away.
Lucas stood beside me the whole time.
Not smiling.
Not proud.
Just there.
He said:
"Do you feel better?"
"No."
"Good."
At home, I left the attic door open.
Hung the drawings on the hallway walls.
Drew new ones.
More honest ones.
A face made of hands.
A bed full of teeth.
A mother with no eyes.
My real mother asked why I was acting this way.
I said, "This is how I've always been. You just didn't look."
She didn't reply.
She never does when I tell the truth.
At night, I didn't wait for Lucas.
I called him.
Out loud.
Clear.
He came.
And this time, he wasn't a shadow.
He sat at the edge of my bed.
Laid his head beside mine.
And whispered:
"You're almost ready."
I asked, "For what?"
He didn't answer.
Not with words.
But I saw it in his eyes.
The same eyes in the mirror.
The same ones from the drawing.
The same ones I was born with.
Because maybe I was never pretending to be Daniel.
Maybe Daniel was pretending to be me.