Me & Her

Her

Now I'm waking up in our bed in the morning. Talk about role reversal.

After a night of eating takeaways and deducting puzzles before the TV detectives get a clue, she's left me in control.

I can't believe she's willingly left me in control.

The sun hasn't risen yet, with only a few stray slivers peeking out from behind the curtains.

Time to take another look at those files. The important information is probably on the second page or something seeing as I didn't have time to read them before. This morning, my other self has actually put a scrap of faith in me.

Cool.

The prospect of school is proving to be a bit of a nuisance, not to mention a set-back in the relationship. School? Seriously?

Number one: we're practically too old.

Number two: the summer semester has nearly finished and it's gonna look pretty weird if we show up with one month to go. Finals will be commencing. Need I go on?

We're three years behind anyway, we'll never catch up. I'm not being a pessimist, I'm being realistic.

One of us has to be.

There's no point wishing for things you can't have, wishing to be able to do what you can't achieve.

Besides, I don't remember the education system being a walk in the park before the coma, never mind after. It was all labels, labels, labels. Not a scrap of human decency to be found – what a surprise!

Slinking across the room, I want to slip into the black body suit Mum bought us, but I can't. Not yet. If this Doctor is coming, the suit might be a bit of a giveaway. But did my other self really have to choose pastel pink?

As slowly as I can possibly be without morphing into a sloth, I put on the shirt and dungarees. Help me. Why, oh why, did Mum have to take her shopping? Socks next – bumblebee yellow to be precise. Wonderful. This day is getting better and better.

Rummaging around our headspace, I can sense she's still asleep.

The trip must have taken a toll, not to mention the Dr. Light scare. Well, I wasn't going to kill him in broad daylight. I'm not stupid. Still, I'm getting desperate.

Soon, I won't be able to hold back.

It was that look – another of one of his melancholy stares. There was something different about it. It was as if he knew. Knew about me. Or perhaps that's just my raging paranoia. One of the two. Never mind. I have other things to worry about this morning.

Tiptoeing to the beat of my heart, I head down the stairs to the basement. The new muscles in my legs and arms from my constant workouts and dumbbells make it easy for me to break the lock of the basement door. They might notice. They might not. It's not as if Doc' sneaks around at night to check the locks.

No one is my warden or my jailer. No one ever will be.

Leaving the lock hanging like a broken neck off the door handle, I enter. The basement is just as dust ridden as last time, but there's something different now. Something in the air, the odd shoe print. Not one of mine, or Mum's.

Brilliant.

Picking up the pace, I rush to the couch, shove it to one side, revealing the hole in the wall. I half to crawl on my hands and knees, shovelling dirt away from my face. Eventually, the mud opens up into a cavern of interlocking woodwork and earth. The layout of the house has acted as a mould for my evil little lair. All I need is swivel chair and a huge supercomputer with lots of red buttons. Oh, and a white cat to sit on my lap.