Twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. I frowned and wondered where she could be, I opened the door expecting to find her standing there with a smile on her lips. Instead, I've met a tall man dressed in a police uniform.

He looks me over before he clears his throat to speak, “Were you staying with Marcella Tee?”

I shyly nod as I try to figure out what trouble she's gotten herself into.

The man shifted his weight before continuing. “Ms. Tee was found dead across the street. A witness claims to have seen her jump from the sixteenth ledge.”

His voice echoed hollowly in my ears. Dead. My darling Marcella dead. I'll never again hear her laugh or see her shy grin; never again will I comfort her. “Dead? Ledge? You mean--” my voice gave out as I stared at him.

The man nodded before he continued, “We are ruling out homicide. It's clear that she jumped. I'm sorry, but this was a suicide.”

I tried to choke down the sobs that are working their way out as I slowly shut the door. I couldn't figure out if the banging noise is my heart, my legs knocking together or the officer pounding on the door. He kept talking but I could no longer hear what he was trying to explain to me. I thought it was something along the lines of counseling for me, but I wasn’t sure. However, I could hear him say how sorry he was for my loss.

“Sorry.” It's funny how a simple word is supposed to mean so much. However, do they really mean it or is it just a way of being polite? The sickening thing is that you never know. I shiver as he continues speaking to me through the door. I closed my eyes and my shivers turns to shakes. I clutched my head and gasped for air before I could finally stand.

I opened the door and the man is still there.

“You’re not sorry.” It started as a whisper directed to him, but as I started to repeat myself, it became more than a whisper. In fact, I’m was screaming hysterically at him that he wasn’t sorry and that Marcella wasn’t dead.

He cleared his throat and spoke into his walkie-talkie. It crackled to life and he looked at me and grumbled something inaudible. I pick up words that made my head hurt. Fag, crazy, deserved it. Finally, he stepped toward me and took ahold of my arm. “You need to come with me.” He paused and looked at me. “Sometimes...” he stopped, unsure of what to say to me. I just stared blankly at the wall behind his head. “Sometimes, people like you- people like you aren’t accepted in this society. And when you people get sick of it, you think that if you kill yourselves that it would make it all better. But truth is, when you do that, there’s just one less outcast.”

Shock radiated through me at his words. To keep myself from smacking him, I just stare at the elevator doors until they open and I walk in. I was still staring at the wall when I finally spoke again. “She had done nothing wrong. There was no need for her to die. If you think that she did it just because she felt bad because of whom she loved then you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”

He didn't reply and the short burst of strength I had now dwindled. The doors open and I walk into the lobby, hoping if I stay ahead, he won't see my legs shake. The front desk was empty. Gone was the short brunette that was there earlier today. I turn back to the police officer confused before it hits me. That girl was the witness. She saw Marcella die.

I turned and walked over to the door and looked out the window at the neighboring street. Caution tape was set up in a square and I knew that’s where she had hit the ground. The last bit of strength I had was now gone, and as I fell I heard Marcella’s soft laughter just before it all went black.

nd but every little movement hurt. After awhile, a door opened and a man in scrubs walked in. I stared waiting for him to speak. He glanced at a chart at the foot of the bed where I was sprawled out.

“Miss Nixon, I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you.” He paused and checkd the chart again. “I’m sorry for your loss today. I’m going to prescribe a household painkiller to deal with the pain.”

I opened my mouth but I shut it again as I tried to figure why he called me by Skilar’s last name. “My last name isn’t Nixon. I’m not Skilar. My name’s Marcella. Marcella Tee.” I looked him right in the eye, “What loss are you talking about? Why does my head hurt so much?”

Ryan just stared at me confused. He made note on his chart before he said, “You hit your head today. The loss I’m talking about, Skilar, is that your partner, Miss Tee, killed herself today. It’s on the news.”

I rose off the bed ignoring the pain and stared at him. “You’re wrong. When do I get to leave? I’m sure Skilar is looking for me. We were supposed to have lunch today.” I walked toward the door but Ryan grabs my arm gently pushing me back to the bed.

“Now, Skilar, don’t be a pain. This isn’t funny.” His voice darkened. “If anyone hears you talking that way, you’ll be locked up in a loony bin.”

I snarled at him and made a run for the door but a blond was standing there, blocking the hallway. I shoved her aside and ran into the hallway. I heard them shout Skilar’s name and I ran. I’m looking for an escape the way out but the white walls have blended with the grey floors. Blocks of sunshine broke up the pattern of the tiles but they are only there to confuse me. They are a false hope, a false hope that led to a room to be imprisoned. Finally, I saw the doors and sprinted to them.

Free of that horror behind me, I ran into the street trying to find Skilar. When I passed our favorite diner, I guessed she must be at Kenna’s store. I walked blindly through the throng of people listening for the music. A smile broke across my face when I hear heavy metal music that poured into the street. Kenna’s store itself didn't have a sign but those who knew of it knew to listen for the music that led you to an alley. When in the alley, I walked up the middle door with a painted X on it.

As soon as the door opened, I could hear Kenna chirp that she would be there in a second. I could hear a man’s voice signing just before an explosion of drum patterns that hurt my head swallowed his voice. I spied a chair and pulled it up to the counter where I waited for her. After five minutes, I heard high heels clicking on the tiles and secretly hoped that it’s Kenna walking towards me and not the man.

“Oh hi!” Kenna chirped when she entered the backspace of the counter pulling out a notebook, “You must be here to pick up your order.” She grins at me.

I frowned, “You mean Skilar’s.”

Kenna blinked in surprise before she giggled. “Jeeze, Skilar, you think that's gonna fool me?”

I rose from my chair meaning to leave but Kenna grabbed my arm from across the counter. She pointed to a small TV I had never noticed before. The news anchor was talking and I saw my face flash across the screen, then Skilar's.

I turned to Kenna with confused tears in my eyes. “How can that be? If I'm dead, how can I be right here talking to you?” My voice was now just a simple whisper as I watched her searching for an answer.

“Sweetie,” Kenna walked around the counter and hugged me. “Skilar, sweetie, you're just confused okay?” She hugged me again. “I know you loved Marcella and I'm really sorry but if anyone else hears you talking like that, they'd have you locked away.” She patted my head and wiped away a tear that had broke free. “You can stay here for the night, or however long you want. The reporters will be looking for you I bet. Probably want an interview. You might want to find a way to avoid them.”

I nodded and looked around her store. “I'm going to need red and black hair dye.”

Kenna grinned and walked down an isle. “I know the perfect colors!” She grabbed two boxes and looked back at me. “Should I find a pair of scissors? You're hair is getting really long.”

I grinned. “Yeah, bring the scissors. I think it's time for a change.

The porcelain was a strange color of red and black. It looked like someone killed at rabbit and drained the blood down the sink. After I wiped the water away, I looked into the mirror and Skilar's pretty, grey eyes were staring at me. I don't know if people would believe me when I say that I'm Skilar. Nevertheless, I know that I can keep just a simple secret like this. Skilar always said that sometimes it was better to fit in than to be different. Only now did I know what she meant. A frown comes across my face as I think of just how simple this lie is to keep.

Kenna knocked gently on the door. “Hey, Skilar, are you done? What's your hair look like?”

Just pretend. Do it for Skilar.

I opened the door and planted a fake smile to my lips. “It's great! Thank you so much!”

She grinned and shrugged. “Well, you know anything to help a friend in need.” She reached out, touched the shortened, damp locks, and sighed. “Why haven't we dyed your hair like this before? It looks amazing with that new pixie cut!”

I laughed and glanced down the hallway she was standing in. “That guy, is he still here?”

Kenna's own gaze followed my own and a sheepish grin danced onto her lips. “Yeah, James lives with me.”

“Oh.” I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. Skilar had always said that Kenna never was going to settle down.

She laughed softly and tapped my shoulder. “I need to talk to you. I feel like there's something you're not telling me.”

I nodded and followed her to her living room. I sat on her grey sofa. James walked in with a bottle of sparkling apple juice clutched in his ringed fingers. He sat down beside me and with a nod in my direction, took a large drink of the juice.

Kenna gently cleared her throat as she ruffled through some papers sitting on her stone coffee table. She pulled out a blue notebook and a pen before sitting in an armchair opposite of me. “Skilar, why were you and Marcella at the hotel to begin with?”

My name's not Skilar.

I glanced at James for a brief number of seconds before I closed my tired eyes and leaned my head against the back of the sofa. “We went there because our families don't accept us for who we are.”

She started to write in her notebook. “Skilar, do you know why Marcella left the hotel room?”

I told you my name's not Skilar. I left the hotel room to find her.

I was trying to keep tears from forming a waterfall on my face. “She was going to get a movie to watch.”

Kenna stopped writing to stare at me over the edges of her notebook. “Skilar, the hotel provides movies for you. Besides, the movie rental store isn't across the street.”

My name's not Skilar! I saw Daddy and had to convince him to leave Skilar alone. It's my fault. It’s my fault!

“Its downtown.” I whispered as tears flow silently down my face.

James looked at me and his eyes showed hints of confusion. “Wait, who are you again?”

My name is Marcella Tee and my girlfriend Skilar Nixon is missing.

“My name's Skilar. And the woman we are talking about was named Marcella.”

“Was?”

Are you stupid?

“Marcella committed suicide.” Kenna's voice barely reached above a whisper.

Suddenly, James rose from the sofa and walked away from us. “You know, it's only right that you kill whoever killed her.” His voice floated towards us as he moved farther down the hallway.

Daddy did.

Kenna scoffed. “Please, Skilar, ignore James.” Quit calling me that! “I don't think he's right in the head sometimes.” She finished with a sigh.

“But you still love him?” The words had tumbled from my lips before I had the chance to think.

She gave me a sad smile. “If you can call it love, then sure.”

I nodded and stared at the wall. Seems to be my favorite past time right about now. “We met at a party.” I paused and wiped away a rogue tear away. “Her father's party.”

Kenna sat there staring at me. She was waiting for me to finish talking. When I didn't say anything else, she got up and flopped down on the sofa next to me. “What else?”

I shook my head. “There's just too much to say. Can I write it? I would never be able to say it all anyway.”

Kenna handed me the notebook and walked away with a smile. “Take your time, Sweetie.”

Dear Marcella,


We met on July 24th 1999. Your father was hosting a party that my family wasn't invited to. My father had beaten your dad out a job and he was still angry with him. Isn’t it funny that they were fighting over something that no one will remember in five years?  Only our fathers that didn’t get along; our mothers were friends when they were in school.


Before I had met you, I didn’t know if I would ever fall in love given who I was and the fact that we aren’t accepted. That all changed when I laid my eyes on you. Under the pretty splashes of color, you seemed to be an angel trapped here on Earth. I just wanted to know you’re name. When we actually met, I started following you around like a puppy and you loved it.


Our love continued to grow as we grew older. I only wish we were able to live the life you wanted for us. I only wish our parents could have accepted us the way we were. But they took you away from me. They pushed us away from each other even though all we wanted was to be together. Now, you’re forever sleeping in the morgue. I think the most ironic thing about that is if we had left this city and our families behind, you would still be alive and I wouldn’t be writing a letter to myself.


It feels weird writing a letter to myself. I ask questions that I already know the answer to but Kenna thinks that I’m Skilar so I have to pretend. If I don’t I will never find her.


Now here we are, May 17, 2012. You’re supposed to be dead and I’m supposed to be Skilar. Isn’t it strange? I don’t understand the thoughts that race through my head. It disturbs me that it’s Skilar’s eyes and face that watch me in the mirror. Maybe Kenna was right. I’m just confused that’s all.


I think this is where my letter to myself ends.



Goodbye for now,





Skilar/Marcella (whoever you think I am.)

I shook when I put the notebook down and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. I leaned against the closed door and finally let out the hellish sobs that have been tugging at my throat since I woke up in the hospital. My hand clamped itself over my mouth as I listened to see if Kenna was looking for me. When I heard her giggle and moan, I knew that she wouldn’t be looking for me in a while.

I opened a cabinet and found the prize I had been looking for. It was a razor still wrapped in its plastic bubble. A sad smile touched the corners of my lips as I ripped open the packaging. The blade cut my thumb when I dragged it along its metallic surface. Blood quietly dripped onto the tiled floor as I finished taking the razor out.

I tossed the package into a small trash bin. My eyes closed as the blade began to bite my wrist. Warmth seeped down my arm as I found the rhythm I had been searching for. I whimpered as I moved the blade to my right hand and began to make artwork on my left wrist. Tears began to slip down my face as the blade dropped out of my bloodied fingers and hit the ground with a slight clang. My eyes flew open when I leaned down to grab the blade.

The pretty, tiled floor was now a painting of blue and red. My fingers danced across the floor as they searched for my salvation. The razor was the only way out of this mess. I brought the razor to my neck to finish what I had started. I needed to leave the place where my identity has been stripped from my body.

Who am I?

“I am Skilar Nixon. I am thirty-one years old. I was in love with a woman named Marcella Tee.” I whispered to myself as I let the razor’s blade dig into my neck.

The blade continued to leave its signature across my neck as a single tear fell onto my hand.
Just before I can make the final cut, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“My name is Skilar Nixon. I was in love with a woman named Marcella Tee. She committed suicide on May 17, 2012.” My eyes roamed around the room where I was sitting.

Dr. Hilruc nodded and wrote notes of my so-called progress in a black notebook. “Great. Now Skilar, today is your final day here at Mellowlane, but I wanted to talk to you about the day you tried to commit suicide.”

I nod. “After I woke at the hospital, I became confused. I went to my friend Kenna’s house thinking that I was Marcella.” Tears slowly slid down my face as I thought of my beloved friend.

“And what happened to Kenna?” The only sounds in the room was our breathing and the scratches of his pen on the paper.

“I killed her and her boyfriend.”

“Did you know her boyfriend?” More scratches.

“I only knew his name; James.” I paused and looked at the sky blue walls that painfully reminded me of Marcella. “I think he was in a rock band. At least, he looked like it.”

Hilruc nodded and looked up at me. “Skilar, what else happened before you killed Kenna and James?”

“Kenna helped me. She cut my hair and offered me a place to stay while I found my bearings.” I waited for him to say something. Anything. He never did so I sighed. “She asked me about Marcella. I couldn’t tell it to her face so I wrote a letter to my darling.” I choked down a sob. “After I finished writing the letter I went into her bathroom and found a razor. Then I slit my wrists and tried to slit my throat.” My fingers lingered on the scars on my wrists before moving up to my neck. “I almost finished the job but Kenna opened the door and tried to stop me.” The tears I had been holding back had now exploded into the dreaded waterfall down my face.

The scratches continued. “It’s good that you are showing emotion instead of locking it all away.” He looked up at me. “What happened after she tried to stop you?”

“I panicked and slashed her throat trying to get the razor back from her.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Just the fact that you were able to fight her after losing that much blood is very impressive.” Hilruc had leaned forward in his chair.

I stared into his green eyes for a while as I tried to think of something to say to him. “The human body can do amazing things when put into extraordinary conditions.”

He smiled and nodded. “Nicely put. What happened after you injured Kenna?”

I tugged at a loose string on my sweatpants. “James walked in to see what was wrong and why were we screaming.” My voice broke and I looked away from him. “He saw Kenna laying on the floor and me covering her neck with a washcloth and he attacked me from behind.” My eyes burned from my tears and me staring at the wall. “I twisted away trying to tell him that I was trying to save her but I must have bumped his hand. The blade he had been holding wound up in his neck too. When he fell to the ground, I turned back to Kenna but she was already dead.” My voice kept breaking as memories of May 17 flashed through my head.

“Skilar, Kenna’s neighbor called the police after she heard you screaming. When the police got there, you were the only one alive. Had he not have called when he did, there is a huge chance that you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I kn-know.” I stammered. “I always wanted to thank that man but I don’t know who he is.”

Hulric nodded and looked at the plastic clock that hung above my head. “Skilar it is now 12:23. Your final session ended three minutes ago. However, if you ever want to talk, you have my number.”

I nodded and got up from my chair. After shaking the brunette’s hand, I walked to the door.

“Before you go.” Hilric had turned in his chair to look at me. “Why did Kenna dye your hair?”

A sad smile embraced my clammy lips. “She did it so the press wouldn’t figure out who I was.”

Hilric chuckled and I left his office.

I walked into the hotel where Marcella and I had stayed on May 17. I smiled and asked for the keys to room 666. The blond man smiled and handed me the keys. I walked away to the elevator.

When I was in my room, I looked in the mirror. “My name is Skilar Nixon. I was in love with a woman named Marcella Tee. Two years to this day, she committed suicide and I went crazy. I killed my best friend and her boyfriend when she tried to stop me from repeating Marcella’s actions.” My grey eyes were bloodshot and my face was blotchy. “I was put into therapy by the police where I have been for the past two years.” I walked to the only window in the room. “My only wish is to be back with Marcella.”

The sound of broken glass hitting the concrete blended with my frantically beating heart as I fell. My eyes closed as I waited to be with my darling again.