Me & Her

Her

Our Mother drugged us. 

It doesn't surprise me as much as it should. 

Though, to be fair, I've worn out all those surprises over the years. The other me, I think, has wavered into shock, let her barriers down. This is where I come in. 

Above, the cherry-red sedatives blink at me, inviting in every single way. When people need a taste of their own medicine – literally – I dole out the dose. Standing on my tip-toes, I snag the edge of the bag, yanking the pills down to ground level. They're not the usual sedatives, either. Not these. These things are hardcore. I don't bother trying to read the side effects. I'm angry enough already. Sedatives like that, they're bloody bullets penetrating your mind, your limbs. Every single part of you. Well, now it's my turn. 

Grabbing four out of the bag, I shove two tea bags into their adjoining mugs, setting up the microwave. Pouring in the water from the tap, I grind the pills into the sludge, adding a couple extra teabags to mask the crimson fluid as it seeps in. Punching the buttons on the microwave, I snatch another few pills, kneading their powdery contents into the rest of the teabags as well as the instant coffee mixture just in case. 

While the mugs are trapped in the microwave, I decide to replace the pills with fake ones made from kitchen roll and food colouring to avoid suspicion. I'm really holding back, I must admit. It's hard, nearly painful, but it'll be worth it in the end. When I see them kneeling, begging, beneath me. It will be worth every breath. Every speck of blood that has drenched my hands these past few years. Adrenaline is no joke. As the microwave pings, the soft sliding of the kitchen door vibrates behind me. Masking my smile, I manhandle the cups out of the microwave.

"Sweetheart? What are you doing in here? I was just coming to make myself a cup of tea," our Mother smiles. I fight the grin that grabs my lips.

"I, I wanted to apologise". Mimicking her voice is a nightmare to say the least, but I manage. We do have the same throat after all.

"About what?"

"Everything. I... I made you – and Dr. Light – some tea. To say that I'm sorry for causing so much trouble". My weak smile mirrors hers exactly, so much that I'm almost impressed. But as our Mother takes the cup without batting an eye, I find my own smile – bared teeth and flaking lips – piercing through. Thankfully, Mum doesn't notice.

"That's very kind of you but you didn't need to bother," she breathes. "Dr. Light is at the dining table, reading something or other. I'm sure he'd be grateful for the tea". I'm sure he will.

"I don't think he likes me," I speculate, and Mum turns to face me.

"Don't say that. That's not true. He only needs to adjust, like you I suppose. Maybe he's scared". Of me. I should hope so since I've worked very hard to maintain my murderous reputation. 

Offering my Mother an even weaker smile, I exit the room, pursuing the path towards the dining table across the entrance hall. Seeing Dr. Light in the flesh, with eyes that are my own, makes the hair on my arms stand up. Killing him has crossed many of my thoughts, but not this many. Maybe it's because he looked at us that way. Looked at the other me that way. As if she wasn't human, as if she was a thing. I dare him to look at me like that. One thing's for sure, his degree won't be able to save him. 

Upon my entrance, I lower my head, morphing into a closed posture. Usually, body inclination is subconscious, but since I'm – to put it mildly – different from other people, I can shift from one to another to maximize the façade. A closed posture, which is how the other me is always inclined, demonstrates victimisation and vulnerability. Fitting. As I adopt her stance, Dr. Light glances up, the lines of his face growing hard as his eyes meet mine.