You're My Only Star

Chapter Two: Solidified Nightmares.

I had a bad dream.

Do you know how it feels like to dream of dying? For some, it’s peaceful, like tasteless poison, while for others, it’s violent, like a car, or plane crash. For me, well…

Listen, I am not really in disagreement with dying. I mean, my life isn’t exactly going the way I wanted it to, and I am open to any reality change that might happen. However, I always envisioned my death to be peaceful, even in my dreams.

Somehow, I would reach old age, and pass away quietly in my sleep, and my grandchildren would stand over my coffin and think; wow, grandma really lead a badass life, and I can’t wait to follow in her great footsteps. Maybe some people might shed a tear, maybe a clarinet might be played which will anger my soul, and maybe my best friend would look at my wrinkled but peaceful face, take long swig of alcohol and say “You promised we would die together, you bitch.”

A violent car crash, my soul being lifted into a different body, instead of being transported to heaven, and waking up in that said body to see my ugly passport on the news, announcing my death to the world when I am very much alive, in another person’s body.

I know, it sounds too crazy to be real; which led me to the conclusion that it was all a horrible nightmare.

My eyes shot open, and I just knew something, whatever it was that had gone wrong, was still wrong. To my left, the man I had labeled as the bodyguard dozed off, snoring lightly. He was the only person in the hospital room with me.

Quietly and very carefully, I got off the bed and tiptoed to the connecting bathroom, despite feeling like I was made of paper and glass, an expected side effect of the sedative they probably gave me after I passed out. There was one thing I had to confirm.

After I shut the bathroom door without waking the sleeping man, I noticed, for the first time how grand and expensive-looking the hospital is. The doors alone could possibly buy the little rented apartment that I lived in together with Boomi.

Or used to live in, since I am now dead… physically speaking, I think.

Anyways, I stood rigid in front of the large mirror, trying to make sense of the situation I am in. This body, the one I am able to move now, belonged to Amelia, a starlet I’ve written many hate articles on.

But this couldn’t be real, right?

I mean come on, body exchange or whatever freaky stuff this is, only happens in movies and books, right? So, I tried to review my options, and weigh the possibility of all of this being real.

It could still be a dream.

A sharp sting graced my cheek, as my palm landed on it repeatedly, trying to wake myself up. It didn’t work. Not a dream then.

What do I do? What would the doctors think if I told them this isn’t my body, and that I am Amy Park, the woman who died in a violent car crash? There is a high possibility that I might be taken to a mental hospital, but I decided I would risk it and take my chances.

“Miss, are you okay?” A voice asked, knocking urgently on the door.

I unlocked it, and stood back, as the bodyguard stared at my reddened cheek in horror, unblinking, and slowly moving towards me.

“I need to speak to the doctor in charge.” I requested, my voice steady but slightly obnoxious. I’ve always hated Amelia’s voice. This is probably some sort of twisted karma.

The man nodded. “Okay, miss. But I need you to stay calm and follow me outside, back to your bed, okay?” He instructed slowly, as if I was a wild animal who could at any moment attack him, or hurt myself.

“I’m calm.” I replied, almost pissed off by his unnecessary and somewhat rude behavior.

 “What happened to your cheek?”

I blinked back up at him guiltily, before looking away and glaring at the ceiling. “A failed experiment…” I muttered, and brushed past him, out the door, and back to bed like he had instructed.

With one eye watching me, the man dialed a number on the telephone, speaking too quickly and too silently for me to decipher what he was saying to the person on the other end of the line.

“What’s your name?” I asked, after he had replaced the receiver back and took a seat.

The man, visibly startled, stared at me like I had grown an another head. He blinked once, then twice, then almost five more times, before answering skeptically “Woo Bin, Lee Woo Bin, miss…”

I nodded, and was about to ask if he is my bodyguard when the door burst open, and three doctors, flanked by three more nurses, entered the room. I recognized one of the doctors as the balding man from the previous day.

“Good morning Miss Amelia. Do you feel any sort of discomfort?” One of the doctors; a tall, handsome young man asked, jumping right into business and checking my pulse, along with my temperature.

“My stomach still feels weird, and I think the sedative you gave me is too powerful.” I replied, mindlessly playing with the edge of my hospital gown.

“Oh, we didn’t give you any sedative, you passed out.” The doctor that had been there the previous day stated. Which, to be honest I found very unprofessional and insensitive of him. I’m pretty sure telling a patient they passed out wasn’t part of the doctor’s code. If they even have something like that.

“I have to tell you something…” I began, glancing at each of the concerned faces of the doctors and nurses, taking my sweet time to capture their attention before adding on. “I’m not Amelia. I’m Amy Park. I died, or I’m supposed to be dead anyways, but somehow I ended up in this body, in her body. I know it sounds crazy, but you have to trust that I’m telling you the truth.” I explained.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room.

And then the handsome doctor cleared his throat. “Do you remember what happened, three days ago Miss Amelia?” He asked, looking at me closely to take note of my reaction.

I tried to remember something, but my head was blank. As Amy Park, I had gotten ready and gone to Vincent’s concert, and on my way back, that fateful accident happened, and I died. Or I should’ve died. As Amelia, I couldn’t remember…

“I –I, I don’t… I can’t…” I stammered, my brows furrowing together and shooting up and down.

“You can’t remember right? Don’t push yourself too hard. There has been a slight alteration to your frontal lobe, which might have been caused by the poison you ingested. This is possibly the reason why some of your memories are lacking, and you’re having an identity… well, crisis…” The third doctor, a middle-aged woman who hadn’t spoken up since she came in explained, patting my shoulder with an easy smile to lessen the blow of the seemingly bad news.

“But don’t worry, they’re not gone forever. Something will eventually trigger them, and you’ll remember. As for the identity crisis, all you need is rest, and a little therapy. We suggest you take a break from work, and focus more on relaxing.” The handsome doctor added.

I looked from one face to another in the room.

I wasn’t just having an identity crisis. I was having an existential crisis. And not the type you usually have at three am when you can’t sleep and start questioning reality itself. No, this is way more complicated.

I am dead. Or my identity and body are dead. I am still here. I am still Amy Park, but in the body of Amelia. Where is the real Amelia? If my body and previous identity are both gone, what happened to Amelia’s soul, and consciousness?

Had the poison killed her? No, if it did, I wouldn’t be here.

I had zoned out completely, trapped in a world of questions and cryptic, unsure answers. But I didn’t realize this, or that I had stopped breathing entirely, until the oxygen mask was being pressed to my face, and a transparent liquid injected into my arm.

Yet again, the welcoming darkness of obliviousness engulfed me; a temporary solution to a very unrelenting problem.