"Fix" is a relative term

Ashley’s long since departed the house and you can hear silverware clanking in the kitchen as mom cleans up. The yellow pencil resides in your mouth, chewed contemplatively. Your eyes flicker across the laptop screen.

"Hm..." *click*

An optometrist's nightmare, the screen sits mere inches away. You lay on the living room's beat-up, well-loved corduroy sofa. The efforts in discovering it on the side of a road and narrowly avoiding a collision driving the truck home had all become family lore at this point.

Guilt and doubt gurgle in your mind as you review the text you'd written. If you’re going to make taboo, fetishistic, life-altering commands, you concede to annoying ethics, then you at least shouldn’t use the first draft. This affordance has not lessened your reservations.

Fixing your sundry grammatical errors and issuing silent praise to the inventor of spellcheck, you then heave into a sitting position and begin committing text to notebook. You take your time writing each line, ensuring that you get spelling and punctuation correct. Silently, family portraits hanging in the living room swirl and reshape after each sentence.

Minutes pass as you write. The clanking in the kitchen stopped.

Shame beats like a drum in your ears all the while. You look up at your computer and transcribe two all important lines:

While the Elizabeth Academy faculty and student body will still react with normal ridicule and horror to romantically and incestually bringing a family member to prom, they’d never think to stop them.

No one will ever gossip about or publicize this happening.

It's always erasable. You repeat it as an explanation for behavior. It's always erasable. Then you add the final line with a flourish:

Once I finish writing this line, today will restart, but with all of my notebook additions still present.

Hand vanishes. Body lurches. Body vanishes.

Body thaws. You awake. Sunlight streams in on the morning of your 18th birthday. The incessant shame has lessened.

There's a knock at your door.