Chain Reaction 3.80: Alien Emily

      My heart hammers. It's not her. I know it's not her, but it's too plumbing close for how I've lived these past... months? A year?
      "You're not Emily."
      "I pulled this image from your mind, Alex. I want you to be happy, and if seeing me look like your past wife is what you need, I'll do it."
      "But you're not her."
      "Oh, silly, we both know that. I'm just pulling up what you think is attractive. This is still my facial bone structure, but I changed quite a bit." She looks down at her clothes.
      "That dress..."
      "Hm." She looks down again. "A bit frilly and girly for me, but I don't mind."
      "That's not Emily's dress."
      Addie gasps. "You're right! It's... her mother's dress. Alex! You bad boy: imagining your wife in her mother's dress! What kind of mess is going on inside that head of yours?"
      I take a tiny, physical step back, not wanting to think of the implications.

     "You loved her too, didn't you? Wow, you're a cornucopia of psychological trauma trying to right itself. I knew there was a reason I liked you."
     "Psychological trauma: yeah, that's me." I try to take another step backwards, but the virtual reality set gets in my way. Addie presses herself against me, and my senses get assaulted. No, it's not real.  "Smell my hair, Alex. It's her shampoo."
     Oh plum. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. She's right.
     "Feel the dress' fabric. How many times did you wish you could wrap your arms around... Brielle?" She pulls my arms around her waist, and I melt into this figment of my imagination.
     Emily... Brielle... No. You're not real. I still don't want to let go, though. She's pulling all this straight out of my head! I cry and hold her tighter.
     "Shhh. Shhh. You poor, poor man." Her hands stroke the back of my head.
     "Oh, maker, I miss you, Emily." I bury my face into her hair. Fine. I'm hooked. How can I possibly stand a chance when this... thing... can get in my head like this? I just don't want to stop smelling Emily's hair.

     It's Emily.

     Emily.

      I keep telling myself she's Emily. It's even easier when I remove Brielle's dress from her. I keep my face buried in her hair as much as possible to deal with the different face I see.
      She even knows how Emily acts. I hate this alien creature, but I'm desperate for an Emily fix.

      Perhaps I can blame it on senility. Maybe I'm just that pathetic after everything I've been through, but I convince myself she's Emily. And I don't let up on her for days. I don't want to escape the illusion.