Me & Her

Me

Sunset gathers at the base of my window, but I am in too much pain to notice. 

The cuts retching over my palm and wrist are starting to sting. More than sting. The ones that pepper my right hand are not so bad, but they might as well be. Pain merges, like a catalyst in the blood, and before I know it I can't tell one injury from the other. I'm on the floor, though I'm not sure why. Remembering the Mp3 Player, I tuck it back into the drawer. It's just a fluke, it must be a fluke. She can't come back. She'll always be here, in the back of my mind, but I made sure she couldn't return.

Seconds later, the door is rammed open and he's standing there, as if he cares. Dr. Light. With his suit plastered to his body as if it's a second skin, I am reminded that he's only here to do a job. To 'help' me. Bypassing my shaking hands, I struggle to match his stare. In the end, I lower my head. He doesn't speak to me, doesn't ask if I'm okay. Why would he? He's just another suit with a degree in tearing people apart.

Eventually, Mum joins us with a plastic bag and Dr. Light sets about picking up the glass.

"I, I didn't mean to" I mumble, stumbling over the words. "I just caught the glass by accident". As Light disappears, he slams the door behind him, leaving me and Mum in our little pocket of the world. My shoulders deflate. Here, I feel safe.

"Honey, it's okay. It's just a glass," she says, unboxing the contents of a first aid-kit. She cleans my smaller cuts with a cotton bud before running the tap in the bathroom to clean the ones on my hand and wrist. The pain blooms under my skin, so much so I wish I could untangle the veins to stop the itch. Instead, I let her wrap my lower arm in a bandage, wincing as the callouses of her hands brush the angry red lines.

"Sorry," she whispers. I shake my head. 

Unlike me, my mother has nothing to be sorry for.