Clutching the knife against my chest, wretched cries escape my parted lips. The red marks start to appear rapidly on my arms. The pain expands from my arm, bathing me in agony. An animalistic screech tears through my throat, and I clench my tearful eyes. Hands wrench mine apart, and I thrust my body wildly in protest when I am moved from my safe spot. The gleaming knife is placed out of my reach. Gentle words console me, yet I remain in my circle of distress. Salty tears enter my chapped lips. A needle stabs my arm, and my cries become silent.

“It’s okay; she can’t bother you anymore,” a voice whispers in my ear, but I am numb to the world.

“She did that; she tried to kill me,” I shakily confess, my eyes glued to my arms.

Faintly, Mom trails her index finger along my arms, and bewilderment fills her brown orbs. “There’s nothing there, Fey,” she tries to convince me. “You’re imagining the marks.”

*

That’s right… look at yourself. Pathetic. Undeserving. Worthless.

I whimper to myself, unable to control the berating voice. I longingly gaze at the pill in my hand.

No, you don’t want to do that, little Fey.

Oh, but I do! The voice taunts me, ruins me. I want it gone.

My bedroom door opens, and in walks Mom cautiously. She lingers by the door, and she weakly smiles at me with pity. “Hey, Fey, how you feeling?” she asks with sympathy.

Tell her you’re fine.

Submissively, I squeak, “I’m fine.”

Apparently, my lie wasn’t believable enough since she grimaces. She replies, “Ya sure?” Her brown eyes that are surrounded by wrinkles flicker to the medicine. Strolling to the spot where I am frozen, Mom gingerly pries my hand open to access the pill in my palm. “Honey, did you forget to take the medicine?”

Don’t take the drug, Fey. Don’t get rid of me. I’ll be back. You know I will be.

Eagerly, I scarf down the pill. Eventually, the drug takes its course and does its job, and thankfully the evil voice fades, but I know it’ll be back soon. It always is. Yesterday, the demon was gone for almost two hours, but I am never lucky enough for it to die out completely.

*

“Fey, will you please eat?” Dad coaxes with a stressed smile. “You’ll feel better.”

I solemnly shake my head. “The problem isn’t with my appetite,” I mutter grimly.

Mother forces a smile, but it comes across more like a scowl. “Did the medicine work?”

I nod silently before nibbling lightly on the steamed broccoli. While Mom and Dad converse, I convert into a bystander, yet I don’t mind. I prefer being left with my thoughts, the good ones that is.

*

After dinner is finished, I disappear upstairs to get ready for bed, hopefully beating the monster. Thankfully, my inner demon doesn’t arrive during my shower, and I seem free. But, the vicious voice fills my ears as I tuck myself cozily in bed. Bile rises in my throat as I struggle to not become docile to this malicious creature.

Hello, little Fey, my other side taunts, venom dripping from its voice.

Too frightened to reply, I shut my eyes harshly, willing the fiend to leave. She’s back. She knows she is the dictator. She knows she has the power in this relationship. I know.

Yes, little Fey, I’m in control now, the wicked monster confirms my worst fear.

The screams cascade from my trembling lips; coal dots speckle my vision. I feel like I am going to hurl, yet the vomit won’t rise. Horrific yelps make it near impossible for air to enter my gasping lungs. Curled fingers encase my throat, threatening my life.

Now, you are going to listen to me; aren’t you?

Yet again, I am rendered helpless and vulnerable to the other girl.

Tender hands pull down the comforter that surrounds my quaking figure and try desperately to wake me from my trance. “Fey, it’s alright. We’re here. She can’t hurt you,” a faint voice reassures me, but the woman’s attempts to comfort me are futile.

“No,” I screech, panicked, “she’s back. She’ll kill me! She will!” Not bothering to listen to a word Mom utters, I insist that the make-believe being in my distorted mind is truly real and dreadful.

The despicable voice argues with my mother’s sensible reasoning, she’s just trying to ruin you, Fey. She doesn’t want you to succeed. The voice poisons my mind. It needs to leave, to vanish.

“Make it go away,” I whimper.

Oh, little Fey, you can’t get rid of me. I’ll never go away.

When Mother offers me the tiny pill, I eagerly swallow it without a glass of water. Waiting anxiously, my senses prick as my mind is filled with nothing, pure emptiness. I gratefully throw my arms around my distraught mom’s neck, and I glance behind her to find my father remaining by my door, worried out of his wits.

“I want to do the surgery,” I admit in a hushed tone, causing her to pull away from me in order to see my exhausted expression.

Shocked, she replies seriously, “Are you sure? This is a big decision, and you really need to think about it.”

Hearing my proclamation, Dad joins us on my bed, while contemplating his wife’s answer. “I think if Fey wants to, then she should do it. Honey, we can’t keep living like this,” Dad adds to the discussion. Nodding, I take his side in the debate, praying that she’ll agree. He continues persuasively,

“Obviously, the pills aren’t working like they should; the poor girl hasn’t been able to sleep in weeks.” Mother’s coffee brown eyes focus on the blush of gray under my eyes that disclose my fatigue.

Fortunately, Mother begins to fathom how much I want this, how much I need this. “Well, if I let you get the surgery done, you have to promise me that you won’t do it again,” she states, and I agree without a second thought. “Fey, you need to understand that there is a very slim chance that this surgery will work. It’s a new process, and I don’t want you getting your hopes up.” There goes Mom, worrying like she normally does.

Yet again, I nod. “Mom,” I assure, “I know. I’ll be fine. If it doesn’t work, I’ll just get a boost on my meds.”

“Okay, are you sure? Because, if you aren’t then—” she jabbers.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, halting her aimless speech.

“If you say so,” she reluctantly abandons the subject.
After a minute or so, I leisurely pull out of her embrace.

“Honey, we should let Fey get some sleep,” Dad tells Mom. Hesitantly, Mom listens to him, and gives me a kiss on my forehead before leaving.

*

“Fey, you need to eat,” Dad sternly reminds me; worry lines appear on his forehead.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumble groggily. The sugary coffee greets me invitingly, waiting anxiously for my next sip.

How could I possibly eat when my mind is glued on the procedure I’ll be the subject to in practically a week? With the success rate barely thirty-five percent, I’m more than iffy towards the surgery. Mom made an appointment for the operation in four days. Tomorrow, we leave for the New York. I’m frightened out of my mind. With the excuse of packing, I scurry to my room.

Little Fey, the voice mocks, did you sleep well?

I shudder, trying to block out the deceitful voice by busying myself. The dominant side of me continues to pester me while I dig through my closet. The fiend becomes infuriated that I’m not responding, so she spews profanities at me. Yet, I continue to gather my things like nothing has happened. After thirty minutes of mutely hearing the voice, I swallow two pills impatiently, grinning as the voice diminishes.

*

Lying perfectly still on the bleach-white bed, my racing mind tunes into the steady beeps of the machine. While my concerned parents discuss the procedure with the trained doctor, I am forced to be alone with my panicked thoughts. Sweat forms on my brow, and my breathing becomes shallow and labored. Waves of nerves overwhelm me. Calm down, Fey. It’ll be fine. There’s no reason to get upset. The anxiety is replaced with tranquility, and I glance up through the fog to find the doctor leaning over me, his sterilized gloves fingering a needle. Darkness welcomes me.

Weakly, my eyelids flutter open to meet a cloud of white. White walls, white bed sheets, white… everything. I moan as a stab of pain flickers through my throbbing head, and immediately, several people flock to my bedside. It takes a bit more energy to focus on the woman clutching my hand desperately.

“Mom? Where am I?” I hazily murmur.

Compassion defines her features; her other hand cups my cheek lovingly. “You’re in the hospital. The surgery worked!”

“Surgery?” I mumble to myself, trying to jog my memory. Oh! The surgery to get rid of her. The dull ache in my head worsens when I attempt to remember the past hour, so I stop. A few silent minutes, save for the incessant beeps, pass before I speak again. “How’d it go?”

“It worked! Honey, you’re okay!” she exclaims jubilantly.

*

Well rested for the first time, I let the water droplets run down my body, savoring the sensation. At last, I am by myself with my moral and decent thoughts. For once, I’m not being tortured by my dictator. I’m free from myself.

Humming a random tune to myself, I wrap a course towel around my damp body. With a smile on my face, I pad to my room and prepare for the day. After throwing on a sundress and turning on my radio, I sit at the vanity table against the wall, gently brushing my hair.

Speaking loud above the music, a hostile voice hisses me, Did you miss me, little Fey?