THAT COULD HAVE BEEN ME!!

I was not asked.I was not invited.But the door was open—Two bodies on the floor,two souls untethered,and I was faster. She should have been faster. Do you think I planned this?Do you think I studied the layout of her ribs,memorized the pitch of her voice,waited for the exact moment her pulse stutteredso I could step in and wear her like a dress? No. But I do not apologize for speed.I do not apologize for wanting. When I opened my eyes—her eyes—and saw him bent over her body,screaming her name,I made a choice. I said I'm here.I said I'm okay.I said don't leave. Every word true.Every word theft. ---- At first, I thought I could learn her.I studied the way she tilted her head.I practiced her laugh until it no longer caught in my throat.I let him hold me and tried not to freezewhen his hands found placesmy hands had never been. But she was not difficult to replace.She was quiet.She was gentle.She did not know how to want the way I wanted. I do not break.I burn. And he liked it.He liked the new edge in my voice.He liked that I no longer flinched at his silence.He said you've changed and meant I love it. He just didn't knowhe was saying it to me. ---- Sometimes I forgot.Not who I was—I always knew that.But whose life I was living. I would reach for a memory and find hers.I would feel grief and not know if it was mine.I would dream of my mother's faceand wake up in a body that had never seen it. Do you understand?I was not in her.I was becoming her.And the worst part? I Was Better At Her Than She Ever Was. ---- Then he met her again.Not the body.Not the face .Her. I knew immediately.The way his voice softened.The way he looked past meat something I could not see. He was falling in love with a ghost,and the ghost was her.And I—I was still here.Still wearing her face.Still warming his bed.Still answering to a name that was never mine. But he was not looking at me anymore. He was looking through me.At her.At the woman I had erasedbut could not kill. And I learnedthat being chosenis not the same as being loved. ---- So yes...I let him drown me. Not because I am good.Not because I am sorry.But because I am not stupid. I saw what he was willing to do to get her back.I saw his hands around my throat—her throat, always her throat—and I knew.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/139010.png"/>This was not my body.This was never my body.It was a room I had broken into,and the owner had returnedwith keys I did not have. So I stopped fighting.I opened my mouth.I let the water in. And when I rose—not drowning, not dying,just leaving—I watched him press his mouth to hersand breathe her back. She coughed.She wept.She said his name like it had been waiting in her chest for months. It had. And I? I was already cold.Already elsewhere.Already NOTHING. --- Do not mistake this for regret.I wanted.I took.I lost. That is not a tragedy.That is Tuesday. But if you ask mewhether I would do it again— Yes. I would still be faster.I would still wear her voice.I would still let him love mein the body of a womanwho loved him first. Because here is the truthno one wants to say: She had him.And I wanted him.And wanting does not carewhose name is on the lease. So call me monster.Call me thief.Call me the woman who crawled into another woman's skinand refused to leave. I have been called worse. I have called myself worse. But late at night,in whatever dark I am now,I still hear his voicesaying I'm hereto someone else's face. And I think: That could have been me. For a while, it was.

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