Me & Her

Her

Good thing I spiked the teabags and the coffee mixture. Honestly, what am I like?

Dr. Light will be out like a well, like a light.

Mum however... there's no guarantee. I'll have to wait and see what happens, see if she takes a cup of tea to bed. Still, if I'm honest, being a spectator is beginning to lose its perks.

I can't believe the other me just sat there while he talked up a storm of lies. They might not be lies, but I'm not exactly inclined to believe him either. It's that look, I can't get it out of my head. No. Like hell he knows what we've been through. She doesn't know what we've been through. I, also, am struggling to remember. What a pair.

It's as if we're one of those fake reality shows, slapped-together by a bunch of half-drunk writers who've missed out our backstory.

Swiftly, I swing off the sofa, slotting the book onto the shelf. She's folded the pages – another thing to hate about her.

Tuning in to the noise from the kitchen, a smile locks onto to my face.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Dr. Light says to Mother. I strain to hear her reply.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you". If he makes it, suspicion won't come knocking. It's like having my own personal minion, but without the constant idiocy and slapstick. Actually, it is just like having my own personal minion.

The drugs won't knock them out for another half an hour, but I decide to initiate the start of the bedtime train. To avert suspicion if nothing else. Here goes.

Stepping out of the living room resembles the sensation of standing on a roof of an abyss, waiting to jump. Adrenaline swirls across my back, sends a chill through me. Oblivion, here I come.

Mum exits the kitchen straight after, cradling a steaming mug of tea. Her brown hair hangs limp, testament to a stressful day. She should try being me every once in a while.

"Night Mum," I call out, using our throat. I wonder if even she's even noticed that I've taken over.

"Are you going to bed? I suppose it is quite late and you've had a long day. Wait, I'll walk up with you. I'm tired too," she says. We meet at the foot of the stairs, where I clutch my hands to my body, acting as my dress of naivety.

"I hope Doctor Steele is okay," I mumble. I can't believe they haven't bothered to check the dumpster. I thought they would have found him by now. It is where he belongs after all.

Mum reaches up to pat me on the head, causing heat to rise. If she touches me like that again, I'm afraid there's no telling what I'll do. I'm sick, so sick of being treated like a child or a pet. I am not a china doll that falls victim to a breeze.

I am not a possession.

"I'm sure they'll find him. He'll be okay".

Somehow, I doubt that.

We continue to climb the stairs in silence, with Mum peering at me every so often as to check if I'm real. Every time she looks my way, I force my legs to shake and I fake a stumble on the top step. I don't have to act really – I'm already weak at the knees.

Mum doesn't even reach out to steady me, so I'm reduced to crawling up with the banister.

Finally, we reach the top. Pretending to be out of breath, I brace myself on the nearby bookcase.

"Goodnight," Mum breathes.

I don't expect her to, but she pulls me into a hug. It must be so difficult, to be confronted by a shell of a daughter instead of a laughing bouncy Queen Bee with five dates to the prom. I'm sure it's a nightmare, being on the outside.