11.3: Parallel Universe
"That makes no sense whatsoever," I say. "Why would we 'forget' each other?"
"Because we're wired to," Tobias says, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. "I-I have those stories-" He taps his forehead. "-inside my head. Stories that I certainly didn't create and didn't live. Stories that must've belonged to someone."
And all I can think of is that my eyebrows must be south because all they do is get attracted to the north of my head. And it's really unpleasant to have your face frozen, to not know if your lips are bleeding words or if your ears are singing Latin. Because, hell, nothing makes sense.
Because, God, I cannot afford it making sense.
"You really think I wouldn't have more 'friends' over 30 years if I was allowed to?" Tobias asks like it's the most obvious thing ever.
And you know, what he says does hit me. It couldn't have been mere coincidence that Tobias chose me as a 'friend' over the previous decades.