The Game

Connie and Theresa decide to play a game.

Connie's POV

"I'm worried about them, Theresa," I sighed. It had been going on for far too long now. The lies. The secrecy. The deception. My daughter was very manipulative but as her mother there was only so much that she could get past me. Hence the reason for the increasingly regular late-night phone calls between Theresa and I.

Theresa sighed. It was late.

"I understand, Connie, I do. Alex... She hasn't been Alex lately, it's like she's a shell of herself. The smile doesn't reach her eyes anymore." I could almost see her rubbing her temples in distress. Too often now we were discussing the well being of our inseparable daughters, too many times we had shared our concerns for them. "I'm at my wits end with her, I just don't know how to reach her. She won't talk to me, she won't even sit in the same room as me. I don't know what they're hiding but it's terrifying me." The glare of the street lamp outside the apartment window was blinding in the early hours of the morning.

The aforementioned girls were tucked up in bed, presumably fast asleep given the tranquil snores that were emitting from Mitchie's bedroom. "Mitchie is unreachable too..." I trailed off, twirling the tassels of the cushion between my fingers. Matching Theresa's former sigh, I swallowed harshly and made a suggestion I never wanted to have to make. "The last time Mitchie was acting like this I found cuts dancing across her wrists. She was starving herself. I won't let her go through that again, I can't let my daughter hurt herself again. I'm going to search her bedroom whilst they're at school tomorrow. If she's hurting herself again I'm going to put a stop to it before it's too late. If the counselling didn't help her enough before I'm going to send her to a treatment facility." I explained shakily, willing desperately for the tears that were pooling in my eyes to stay where they belonged.

I'd never forget the day I found them.

The screaming, the crying, the blaming. Mitchie promised me that it wasn't my fault but how could it not be?

"Don't do this to yourself, not until you know for certain. Alex never did that. They're both the same with the way they're acting at the moment... I'll ransack Alex's room tomorrow too. It's late now, Jerry went to bed hours ago. I'm going to turn in." It was silent in the living room disregarding the incessant ticking of the clock and Alex's light snores. "You and I can meet for lunch tomorrow if you'd like, we can discuss this further. If we don't find anything we'll stage an intervention for the girls."

"I just want my little girl back, Theresa."

*

They skipped breakfast. Again.

"We're going to eat at the cafe by school, mom," she told me with that huge fake smile that she always conjured when I was around. "I love you." A peck on the cheek and they were gone.

The bedroom door was locked, just like it usually was. She didn't know that I held a spare key. A spare key that until now I had never had to use. Mitchie didn't like me invading her personal space and I respected that. Until now.

It looked the same as it always had with the exception of a few new photographs hanging on the walls. The bed was unmade and there were clothes strewn over the floor. The perfect excuse, I thought to myself as I shakily began to fold the offending articles to place them inside the closet.

I couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped my lips as the closet door creaked open. My fingers numbly traced the silhouette of the first photograph that was taped inside the door. I was surprised but not shocked. It made perfect sense.

There was a letter taped beneath it, Alex's scrawled handwriting adorning the crinkled page of lined paper and a pair of lips printed in the top right hand corner, blood red lipstick. I couldn't help the twitching of the corners of my own lips as I skimmed the letters that were staining the page.