The Last One

“Go ooooon! Eat it!” She nipped me in my neck for good measure to get her point across.

Although her size made the bite feel more like a pinch, it was unexpected enough to make me yelp and bring my hand to the affronted area. I looked down to my right shoulder and gave her the best glare I could muster, but her black eyes simply stared right back - perhaps a bit through me - and her toothy grin showed that she felt no remorse for her mischief. 

“I told you to stop biting!” 

“I’ll stop biting when you start listening.” In terms of appearance, she was a carbon copy of me - save for her pitch black eyes - reduced to 5 inches in height. (Sometimes she insists she is really 5 and 3/4 inches, so we might as well round up to 6! But she is a mere 5 inches - I should know, I checked while she was sleeping.) 

The only other differences between her and the original are her long twists that reach down to her butt. My hair, and by extension her hair, isn’t really that long, but she insists that the weave she’s added gives her the desired “Medusa effect”. Her arms are crossed as she stares me down, and the stiffness of her red leather jacket works to her advantage of making her seem more dangerous than she is. When I realize that her black pants are also leather and her combat boots have actual pikes on them, I roll my eyes at her dramatics, forfeiting a win in our impromptu staring contest in the process. I can tell how happy her victory has made her from the jumping up and down that follows.

I look over to my left shoulder to see why she’s been so quiet. 

“And you’re ok with all this?”

She looks up at me with those cream colored eyes, of which always remind me of two miniature oyster pearls. Her white, oversized sweater dress practically drowns her but I know that is just the way she likes it. She also prefers for her natural hair to be out and growing in all directions “as God intended”, as she’s told me on several occasions. 

“Of course I’m not okay with it, but I doubt anything I say will stop you. You’ve been listening to her so often.” Her voice sounds like what cotton candy would sound like if it could talk, very sugary sweet and soft, but there has always been a slight echo to it, barely noticeable, no matter what room we’re in, even if we’re outdoors. It reminds me of the echo a whale’s call might make deep underwater, and it is the only thing truly unsettling about her - besides her eyes - which gives her more of a Siren energy rather than that of a Mermaid. (She’s neither of those things, which is obvious from the cloud-like, wing-shaped appendages on her back, but I’m sure you know what I mean.) 

I take in her reaction for a few more seconds as I can’t tell if she is truly hurt or trying to manipulate me. Of the two, I prefer when she manipulates me because her outcomes are usually more favorable in the long run, as opposed to Ms. Medusa over there who thinks my goal on earth is to be here for a good time and not a long time. 

“I don’t always listen to her-“ 

“Yes you do!” The outburst is followed by a perfectly timed sniffle, as if she is fighting back tears.

Ah, manipulation then. 

“So, you don’t want me to eat the last cookie?” 

“I’m not saying that, I quite simply think you should ask your sister first since she is the one who baked them.” When she crosses her arms it’s more like a pouty child and nowhere near as stand-offish as the other. 

“But what’s the fun in that?!!” I look back over to my right shoulder to see that her mood has definitely soured from the participation of her rival. “You haven’t been sneaky in days, no, weeks, and the goody-goody act is going to be the death of the both of us!” With that her hand flies to her forehead and she collapses to emphasize her point. If I wasn’t already confident that both of them are not going anywhere, I would have been fearful that she could have fallen off. 

“Alright, you both are being ridiculous as always, so I guess I’m going to make a compromise.” 

To my left her hands were clasped together in front of her chest and her already wide eyes somehow became wider. To my right there was no reaction to what I had said, instead she remained splayed out on my shoulder with her tail wrapped around her throat and her tongue sticking out, her eyes open but looking nowhere in particular. Her playing dead didn’t surprise me though, because if she was nothing else she was an acteúr. 

Hours later, as I laid in my bed and scrolled through my phone my sister knocked on my door. 

“Come in.” 

“I just wanted to say, uh, thanks for leaving me half. I really enjoyed this batch so I was glad to get another taste before they were gone.” 

I looked at her, scanning her face for anything other than sincerity. Finding nothing but genuine gratitude I said, “Of course. They were really well made man, excellent job.” 

That made her smile. She doesn’t smile at me often so I took a moment to enjoy it before saying, “Now get out!” and throwing a pillow in her direction. 

She closed the door right before it could hit her. Shame. But the lack of response from either side let me know that both parties were satisfied with that exchange. 

“You should’ve thrown it sooner-“ 

“She shouldn’t have thrown it at all!” 

Or maybe not.