Her Better Half
By: Salena Casha
Before KG, Sam had tried everything that was legal and some things that weren’t to get rid of the twin only she could see. CBT, Xanax, Trazodone. Ayahuasca once; the twin had disintegrated under that and then, she’d heard her dead grandmother say she loved her and puked her guts out for four days. There was electroshock therapy. Light therapy. Deep meditation. Deep space VR. Deep crying. She even tried to lock her secondary self in an imaginary box and bury it in the yard.
No matter what, every time her alarm went off in the morning, she’d feel her before she’d see her: the weight of her other self sitting on her chest. A soul extracted and knitted into solid form. Canine teeth, sly eyes. Smelling lightly of a citrus musk she hated. The shadow was heavy enough to pin her to the mattress and most days, it took all of Sam’s energy to get them both vertical and then, energy she didn’t posses to make it through a day of client meetings at work. She snorted, looking the twin up and down. This shit was cousin to some antibiotic-resistant strain of mental mis-chemistry.
The day she saw the ad, she’d already missed her first meeting, and the pair were sweating their way to work on the BART. Someone had written “can suck a dick” over the name of the hospital, but she made out the requirements:
Depression. Anxiety. Women. Aged 25 – 35. No dairy allergies. Paid opportunity for those who qualify.
Her shadow narrowed its eyes as Sam scanned the QR code, signed them up for an appointment. One day, this twin of hers would grow teeth and swallow her whole. Become solid in a way that would make Sam less so. It was only a matter of time before she ended up buried in the yard. Disappeared.
So, she dragged them to Unity Health and sat on the wax paper of Dr. Julianne Lawson’s hospital room. Her twin leaned against the wall in the corner and inspected her nails. Both their eyes snapped up when the doctor walked in.
She was short, in both height and words, and it didn’t take long to blow through Sam’s medical history, take routine measurements, draw some blood, and assess her qualifications before she got to the goods.
“Have you heard of KG?”
Sam shook her head. “Is it some sort of Ketamine derivative?” Because that had not worked for them.
“No,” the doctor said, but didn’t elaborate. “I’ll be supervising the trial. Keep you here for thirty minutes to ensure no adverse reactions.”
It sounded intravenous, which was not Sam’s favorite. The shadow in the corner smirked. Give it your best shot.
Dr. Lawson uncreased her white coat and moved towards what looked like a chiller. Donned a pair of waxy gloves.
Then, unexpectedly, the doctor withdrew a pristine cube of ice - about two inches across - and mounted it on a metal deli slicer. She gave the handle a few cranks and the ice decomposed into paper-thin sheets. It gave a hushing sound as it hit a metal cup below. The texture was goose feathers and almost-water. It reminded Sam of early Christmas slush. Of her grandmother’s hands and the blue slurpees they’d get on Fridays after school. Once the cube was shaved down to nothing, the doctor unbolted a milky vial and poured the contents over the top. Rivulets seeded the sides.
“It’s for absorption,” she explained. “Cherry or Lemon?”
“Cherry,” Sam responded as the shadow whispered lime. The doctor removed a scarlet vial. It bled the mixture to a bubblegum pink.
“You should eat it before it melts,” she said.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
The doctor furrowed her brow. “It’s KG,” The shadow laughed, and Sam’s cheeks turned a comparable pink hue.
“Is it a placebo? Like, you’re trying to trick me into having a snow cone?”
The doctor shrugged. “It’s a clinical trial, so you may never know,” she said.
“At least tell me what it stands for.” Sam could google the chemistry later when she was home, crushed beneath her shadow, and disappointed that it had, yet again, not worked for her.
“It won’t tell you much: it’s the initials of the dessert it’s named after from Japan. Kakigori.”
The cup was so cold in Sam’s hand, it burned. She took the doctor’s offered gelato spoon and skimmed from the top. Lighter than she expected, more cotton candy than ice. A few interconnected crystals hovered off the rounded edge, suspended in space.
Down the hatch, her twin muttered.
The ice vibrated on her tongue as it changed from solid to liquid. Syrup coated her throat; the layer of pale pink sugared and crystallized, pop rocks in reverse. The smell of her grandmother’s J’adore perfume filled her nose. I love you, Sammy. She hadn’t heard that nickname in years. She took another bite. Her shadow flickered.
Dr. Lawson’s eyes shifted towards the corner and then back again to Sam. She wondered, briefly, if the doctor knew. It didn’t matter though, nothing else mattered except lifting another spoonful to her lips. Her shadow’s eyes widened.
Now I’ve got your attention, Sam felt the words slip through across her tonsils and evaporate in a cherry mist. Her twin took a step forward and then froze as cold coated Sam’s throat, her intestines. Goosebumps peppered down her arm.
Don’t do this, it whispered. You’re nothing without me.
But the numbness was already behind her eyes. An icy compress rubbing against her brain. The guilt, the weight, the less thans, trapped like flies in amber. She took another and another and another and then, she lifted the bowl to drink the runoff and when she came up for air, her twin was gone.
Dr. Lawson watched as Sam inventoried her body. Two hands. One mouth. A nose. She blinked once. Twice. The corner remained just two walls meeting and so, one last time, she let herself hope.
Salena Casha's work has appeared in over 100 publications in the last decade. Her most recent work can be found on HAD, Carmina Magazine, and Club Plum. She survives New England winters on good beer and black coffee. Subscribe to her substack at salenacasha.substack.comIG | BlueSky