An Infestation.

Mirror, Mirror

Depression can be somewhat interesting as what Anxiety has noticed. This leads him to the theory that everything she wears has to do with what she feels, this would explain why some days she dresses daring by using revealing clothing and why some days she dresses with a motherly undertone, explaining why she sometimes wear pencil skirts or long coats. But there's a things that he has also noticed: she always wears long sleeves, no cleavage, and sometimes covers up the scar on her throat. Leading him to wonder where she got it.

"Honey," she called to him from the kitchen, "you want some cake?" Anxiety turned to see that she was holding a plate of vanilla cake with pink frosting and with rainbow sprinkles.

Anxiety felt his stomach growl and nodded. He walked from the living room to the kitchen. Depression wore a black pencil skirt with a white button up and her hair was picked up into a tight bun; she looked like a mother with two teenage boys that one just got accepted into Princeton and the other is in a alternative band. But this was the first time that he actually got a good look at her scar.

She handed him the plate of cake and pat his head. This made Anxiety a bit nervous but he felt comfortable with her doing it. "Depression," he said. "Can I ask about the scar on your neck?"

She froze and seemed hesitant, being torn apart by wanting to say and trying to protect. Protect who? Asked Anxiety. She took a deep breath and put her hand around her neck, with the other hand still on the knife.

He could almost imagine how she would use that knife to slit his throat. In fact, the image seemed to dance in front of his eyes of her sad look suddenly turning into a wicked smile, walking towards him, slitting his throat, and feeling his blood running down his neck, collarbones, and staining his clothing. With a gasp, he snapped out of it to see her still in the place she was before.

"Anxiety, darling," she said, still rubbing her neck. "You know that I love you, right? No matter what I do or say I never do it on purpose to hurt you; and yes, I know that you still might be at edge with me after the...kidnapping matter but I swear that I--I didn't know what I was thinking when I was doing that to you. But, like I said before, you know that I love you, right?" A tear slid down his cheek as he nodded, letting her to continue. "How--How well do you know your friends, Anxiety? What do you know about them?"

He was surprised that she asked that. But he had to answer to get his own answer in response, "Very well, we've been stuck together for as long as Thomas has been alive. So when you spend a lot of time with them you tend to know a lot about them. Why?"

She didn'tanswer and only continued to ask. "Do you love your friends?"

The question stayed in the air like a fly buzzing around. Then Anxiety said, "Yes? I--I don't know anymore. I mean, they treat me like shit sometimes but they don't mean it..."

"They tell you that they mean it, right?" She asked, almost hissed. "But you can tell that they're lying. Am I wrong? You feel it, you notice it, you know it-- but they always deny it even if they show it so clearly in front of you; with no shame; with no hesitation; with no pity nor mercy. So why do you still love them?" She kept on asking and a tear with no sudden notice, she noticed this and continued but her tone soften. "Honey, my dear, would you believe me when I tell you that they did this to me?" She pointed to her scar. "Would you?"

Tears were streaming freely from brown eyes and Anxiety began to sob harder and harder with every shaking breath. Depression ran to him and cupped his face with both hands as he cried into his hands. He leaned into her and she began to hug him, rubbing gentle circles on his back as she hushed him.

"Shhhh... Shhhh... It's okay, hun." Depression whispered into his hair and he continued to sob. "What I'm about to ask you might shock you but I just wanted to tell you that we can get them back if you want. I know how to."