Chapter VII, in which Adele is awaken

It's late in the night and I can't sleep. I've got this e-mail from this Henry guy. He asks me to be his penpal. Maybe he found my e-mail here. I should've predicted it. He also sent me a photograph of him on the beach with his daughter. They are both so beautiful it actually hurts and it makes me wonder if it's a real picture. It must be, of course, it exists. I'm guessing he took it from some database or something. Really. Guys like that are not real. They don't talk to real people. I'm real. Right?

Adele Louise Jameson. It's hard not to have an ID card. Or a passport for that matter. I could just leave here, go somewhere else. Somewhere I could create memories instead of dwelling among them. The cup on the sink waiting for some soap and water, the book on my shelf (with a little note on the front page saying he used to see my face on the covers of every book he saw), my blue blanket spotted with Noelle's hair, this blue pen on the table, the white sheets of paper in the drawer. Everything. Everything is so beautiful it hurts. Too real. I think I really don't mind if Henry is lying about his appearance and sent me a pic of some model. Henry is as real as myself.