Me & Her

Her

Several days being the backseat driver flash by in a whirl. The sessions with Doc' become more like a book club, where the other me gradually settles into untainted ignorance.

I made a mistake. I should have washed those clothes from my explosive adventure. Should have been more careful. But I am sick of being careful.

We've been practising with our new dumbbells, putting a little bit of muscle on day by day. Bit by bit. They're now so light we barely register them.

She still can't go outside, no matter how many times Mum or Light try to convince her. It's all part of the game.

A few nights after the whole C4 fiasco, I take back control. We're in her bedroom, about to undress. Our arms are poised around the hem of the T-shirt.

Dr. Light and Mum have long since retired to their rooms, no drugs this time. I think they might start to notice if I dose them again.

However, in the absence of the drugs, I have to be extra careful, which is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

She's dressed us in a grey cardigan, because of course she has. No taste. There're also white leggings and a blue cotton shirt to add to the mix. Goodie.

Tonight, I don't plug myself in. I need to be fully alert, on the ball. If they hear me, it could be game over.

I need to check Light's room and the floorboards in the study, so I pocket my electromagnet just in case. Light's room is the closest.

As I enter, my heart skips ten beats. Maybe more. His bed is empty. Normally, I tend not to panic in these situations, but his bed isn't just empty, it's a mess. His whole room, in fact, is a mess. It's as if a wolf has climbed out of the plughole in the sink.

Speaking of, the bathroom door is shut. Locked. If I listen hard enough, I can hear movement. A sharp snap shatters through me. Abort mission, abort. Time to go.

Hurriedly, I escape to the study for my quick midnight sweep. Taking the electromagnet out of my pocket, the light on the lock blinks to let me know of its temporary malfunction.

Wasting no time, I pile into the room.

A picture of Light's bedroom flares inside my head, telling me to go to sleep. But I can't. I have to find out what's going on. I have to get my life back.

The study is practically bare, with a black swivel chair and an old PC. There are a few filing cabinets, but they're as bare as the basement. A stapler, which I pocket just in case. Someone might need, well, stapling. Ooh, a penknife. Sadly, I'll have to leave that. There's nothing else of interest in particular and I know I can't risk altering Light to my presence. The floorboards will have to wait. Unless... No. It's too dangerous—

'What are you doing?' Her voice – my voice – is so unexpected I nearly drop to the floor to take up arms. It's the other one. Now is a fantastic time to panic.

'What are you doing?' She repeats the question over and over until my head feels like it's going to split. She knows, she knows. I've got to do something, anything.

In most cases, dual personalities are run by separate parts of the brain, so they can't communicate. Obviously, in our case, it's quite different.

But I can still use separate areas of my brain to interact with hers. Basically, I can make her forget whatever I want. It's like being a supervillain with one of those mind-wipe guns. I've always wanted a cool mind-wipe gun. Sleep will help too. I'll sort this out. I must sort this out. Otherwise, I'll lose everything.

'You can't do this!' Her screaming is really starting to put me off. I'll never get anything done at this rate. 

She's wrong anyway. I can do this. 

I can do anything I want.