Lucky Me – Caduceus Part 3

Seven's Tattoo

By Brian A. Lynch

Not sweet, I thought. 13,400,000 results?

I sigh and click the first one. It’s some Russian guy. I hit the “back” button.

Number two. Russian. Back.

Number three. Again, Russian. Nothing familiar. Argh.

Hey, whatcha lookin’ at? The words shock me out of my seat, and I scream a little bit.

Tre looks at me like I’m crazy – just a little – and laughs.

I try and smack him on his shoulder, but he just keeps laughing. That’s not funny! I growl through my teeth, but he still can’t stop. I go in for a second smack, and it just makes him laugh harder.

It takes a couple of minutes, but he eventually stops. Good. I hate it when people do that to me.

So, what are you looking at? Porn? He kids.

Oh. Not really. I try to hide what I’m looking at.

He pauses. You know, I can still see the screen through your fingers.

Damn it.


He sits down.

Look. I don’t know what you remember, or what’s coming back, or any of that stuff. I do know what you don’t want to remember. I would’ve loved it if you could have just forgotten about that stuff and been the old you. But it was your choice, alright? You wanted to leave that part of you behind, and I have to respect that wish. He hasn’t been this serious in months.

Do you know what it’s like? What it’s like to know that you had a whole life before you just gave it away for a new one, only to decide that one’s no good either? I ask him.

No, I don’t. His reply is short, and sad. I don’t know at all.

Of course you don’t. You still remember everything you did, everything I did, and all of that. But I don’t. And I know I told you to keep it secret, but how do you think it feels to know that your whole life is in somebody elses’s head, and it’s something that you didn’t even want yourself to know? All I’ve got is anger, confusion, sadness, and it all comes out, all over the floor, in little tiny droplets.

How messed up is that? I don’t ask him, so much as I ask the room. How messed up is that?

There’s a knock at the room door.

Hey, it’s Polly, are you ready to go yet?

I wipe off a few tears. Huh?

We’re goin’ to the hen party, remember?

Oh yeah. Alright, I’ll be out in a bit.

You better, bitch, it’s my room! She laughs as she’s saying it.

I look at Tre, and he smiles weakly.

Maybe you just need to get out of your head for a while, he says.


Brian A. Lynch is a 23-year old writer from Pennsylvania. In his spare time, he enjoys reading comics, taking walks, and imagining what vampires would be like with Pennsylvanian accents.

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