Agony wasn’t a foreign thing on her land. And as she looked at her, deeply baffled, the agony struck the brunette once more. It felt like she was splashed with a tub of hot water. Cate, the woman, she deeply loved, was there, in flesh and she couldn’t be mistaken. She was in front of her, standing like the goddamn beauty that she was, yet, the words coming out of her lips were a litany of torture.
“Miss? I think you are mistaken.”
“Mistaken? How? You’re Cate!” Sandra’s voice broke, her throat shook with fear as she looked at the blonde in front of her.
“I’m not Cate, okay? I’m Lou. Lou Miller.”
Sandra shook her head. Her tears had ran freely across her face as she kept on shaking her head like a helpless kid. Disbelief and grief slowly wrapped the brunette like a flimsy sheet of paper and with her pain, she wanted to snatch and tear it off her body, but she couldn’t move a muscle. Cate held her arms like how a person holds a rat by its tail – pure horror, utterly disgust. And she wanted to wept even harder. Why?
“How about I give you water? Okay?” The blonde spoke as she slowly backed away and went to get water from the cooler before handing it towards the brunette, “Here.”
“You’re not Lou.”
The blonde, who claimed that she was Lou and not Cate, let out her deepest sigh. As if having to talk to Sandra was a burden and an itch on her skin. The blonde then guided the brunette towards the backroom of the bartending area full of unopened liqour and boxes.
“Look…” Lou exlaimed as she closed the door behind her, “Whoever that Cate is, I am not her.” She then proceeded to get her wallet from behind before giving it to Sandra, inside was her ID with her name as Louise Miller, “See?”
The brunette didn’t speak. She held the wallet tightly and Lou could see how her tears fell and how she tried so hard to control the shaking of her hand. For a moment, the quiteness sealed the whole space, so solemn that Lou felt eerily awkward.
“I’m sorry.” It came out of Lou in hopes of pacifying the brunette, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not –”
“You are!” Sandra stood up from her seat and held Lou by her arms, “How come you have the same eyes like her? You fucking look like her! I know it!” To say that Lou was shocked was an understatement, there was fear in her eyes crepting like a slow burning fire as the brunette held her so aggresively, “Please…” It came out like a whisper as Sandra bent her head down – an embodiment of defeat – and there, she cried once more, “Please tell me you’re her, please…”
The silent crept like shadows and Lou gulped. Her throat was tightening at Sandra crying before her; she felt nothing, but pity. The sound of her sobs were too heartbreaking. The brunette was an uncomforted child begging for her mother’s love, but Lou – she was no mother.
“I’m sorry.” Lou spoke, and as those words came out of her, Sandra fell on the floor; her knees too weak to even handle the baggage of her heartbreak and there, she sobbed.
—–
Sandra Bullock
The sun shone brightly like a sunflower on the morning sky. Its rays – gold and bright – reflected its presence on the glass walls of my office. The day began, leaving me and my heartache trapped in a closed casket. The coffee my new assistant had prepared for me had gone cold. I had been holding the mug against my palm, trying so hard to feel its warmth, but nothing was there. The events of last night sprawled into my mind like heartwrenching polaroids pasted against a thin wall of an apartment. Each scene, each moment held a yearning so strong that I couldn’t feel the beating of my own heart anymore. Lou Miller. Louise Miller.
She was a replica of Cate. Her eyes – the same cerulean and dulcet eyes I loved. They shared the same face, the same alabaster skin. It felt like Cate; to me, she felt like Cate. But the tragic story was: she was not her. Lou claimed that she was not Cate, and in her eyes, I saw the sudden urge to prove to me that she was really not her. And I, like a sadbone, twisted my heart once more. If only I could gut her open and rip away all the skins on her, and if it would reveal that she really wasn’t the woman I loved, then I might pack my feet away.
Louise Miller. Catherine Blanchett. Two different names, might be two different people, but why do they feel the same?
As the frustration started to rush down on me, I grabbed my phone and opened my social media account. It was not a habit of me to stalk people out, but I just couldn’t brush it off. I opened my Facebook account and searched for Lou Miller. In just a second, her profile appeared on top. I clicked on it; there wasn’t really much there, except for a few photos of her, her bike and the bar. She shared a photograph of a motorcycle and that’s just it. I clicked her profile picture and stared at it. I couldn’t see any signification that could somehow tell me she wasn’t Cate, except the fact that Cate would have probably hugged me upon seeing me sobbing last night, Lou or whoever she was, didn’t. She just looked at me, abandonment in her eyes, like how an executioner looks at the victim to be killed.
“Dr. Bullock?”
The million thoughts swirling in me was interrupted as my assistant peeped on my door.
“Will you be staying until 10 this evening? I’ll be preparing your dinner if you’ll be.”
I paused at the question. On my desk were countless paperworks that I still needed to go through. For all I knew, I could be here ’til midnight if I wanted to finish everything, but a big part of me wanted to just dash out of the hospital to go see Louise once more.
“Uhm no.” I smiled at her as I shook my head, “I’ll be going home in an hour.”
“Okay, Dr. Bullock.”
I nodded and mouthed her a ‘thank you’ before she gave me her sweetest smile and disappeared of my sight. I didn’t know what the night would bring; what I did know was that I wanted to see her. I wanted to see Louise or whoever she was.
***
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