Me & Her

Me

I wake up covered in dirt.

My pyjamas are ripped at the edges, while my skin looks as if I've crawled out of a grave.

This can't be happening.

I lunge upwards, jutting out of bed to further inspect the damage. A few scratches on my arms, hardly noticeable. Otherwise, I'm a mess. A patterned rug of mud, dust and cobwebs.

The scream that has been working its way up my throat briefly pauses.

I close my mouth, covering it.

I can't scream. I'll wake Mum and Light and they'll see me like this. Oh god. This can't be happening. She isn't coming back, she can't come back.

I start to pace, but my legs are shaking so much I have to sit down. I'm aching all over. Sitting down resembles a crane trying lower a ten-ton pipeline.

Outside, the sun hasn't risen properly. It's barely dawn.

That means I still have time to forget this ever happened.

With a fair amount of hyperventilating, I open my bedroom door, padding across the landing to the bathroom. If I have a shower and dump the clothes in time, I can forget about this.

I'm not letting her ruin my life, not again. Once was enough.

Stripping off my ruined clothes, I step into the tiled shower, bask under the glow of the hot water. Maybe it will wash me away. Wash away whatever she was up to last night. What was she even trying to do? Dig a grave? I wouldn't put it past her, that's for sure.

After drying myself off, I lug the bundle of clothes back to my room. I can't go outside, even if I want to. Even thinking about it leaves me with a hole in my chest. I can't.

Instead, I try the next best thing: hiding them under my bed. It's pretty pathetic – even for me – but I don't see any other choice.

Forcing myself to blank out the truth, I dress in a white blouse and blue jeans. Even though the jeans are skinny fit, they hang off me like a bedsheet on a TV aerial. Maybe I should ask Mum about buying some gym equipment, just to build myself back up again.

Rubbing the worry from my mind, I creep downstairs.

Dr. Light and Mum aren't awake yet, so I head to the living room to read. Somehow, the book I was reading yesterday has ended up back on the shelf. It must be Mum. She must have put it away.

Gradually, I lift it from the shelf and walk over to sit on the couch.

My body sinks into the pillows like a ship onto the waves. If I could spend the entire day here, reading, I would. But two hours soon slip away, the dew leaching from the grass outside, and I hear footsteps echoing across the hall. I understand what Light meant yesterday – to want to help myself. But has he considered that maybe, I don't want to feel okay? I might never feel okay again, no matter how many sessions I have.

Talking about feelings doesn't always change them.

Folding the page, I sit up, relieving my chin from its concertinaed position.

I peek over the cushions, meeting my Mum's stare as she enters the room.

"You're up early," she remarks. Her open smile makes my toes tingle. Mum.

The gravity of everything I've missed because of those three years finally hits me. Three years without getting ice-cream in the park with my Mum, three years without eating a takeaway sandwiched in front of the TV, with the one person who understands me better than I could ever understand myself.