Home again.

I fidget in my seat as Doc' pulls into the drive, aggravating the cuts on my hands that Emma mistook for self-harm. Who am I kidding? I enjoyed the pain those cuts brought, enjoyed the fire on my skin as it split. It shouldn't come as a surprise. Whatever happened three years ago, I think it broke me. No, not broke me. Made me or re-made me in some brimstone way so now I find violence the only escape from feeling powerless. I must admit, sticking a knife in someone's chest is ecstasy for stress relief. Doc' cuts off the ignition like snapping a neck and I'm reminded once again of everything he isn't. As soon as I infiltrate the Foundation again, as soon as he finds the time, gets the chance, he'll run off to whatever drug lord fashioned him those blue suppressant pills. And I will lose the only person in this world I have ever liked. The only person I've ever loved lives inside my head. Oh wait. Or do I live inside hers?

"Are you going to get out of my car?" Doc' shatters into my train of thoughts, his words caught on the tracks.

"No, let me stay in this beige insult to driving a while longer," I snap and slam the door as I leave. Mum's car isn't in the driveway, so it's just us. By us, I mean my alternate personality Alice, and Doc's little brainchild. Mr. Dark. For now, anyway. Until he thinks of a name or I manage to scrape some time to search for one on Google. Every time I find myself in front of keyboard, my fingers freeze up.

Doc' chases me up the drive, trying to talk but not knowing how to begin. I don't exactly offer the best conversation material, unless people fancy talking about manslaughter. Can't wait to write my autobiography.

"Alyssa, wait," he's saying. Too bad I'm not in the mood for a therapy session. I've had quite enough of being dissected.

"Alyssa, please. Talk to me. Hear me out". I swing around, then pause. We're on the front doorstep, the glass of the windows forcing my distorted frown to stare back at me. The Foundation could be monitoring us right now. Calmly, I let Light open the door, feigning a sickly pallor. Inside our head, Alice snorts.

'What?' I ask.

'What was that? Was that supposed to be me?' I shrug as we enter the darkened foyer. Doc' switches on the main light, coveted by what I've only just noticed to be an ornate silver chandelier.

'Yes. What did you think? I thought I captured your general pathetic-ness really well,' I say. She's definitely glaring at me now.

'You made me look like I had a hunch'.

'You're welcome by the way'. Switching her off, I face Dr. Light, who's in the process of sliding off his coat. It's a large black thing, something I'd always imagined the Grim Reaper would wear. If he had no fashion sense that is, and I'm positive he does. Or she. I've never met Death, at least not that I remember. Light slings his coat over his arm, gestures to the living room. Shaking my head, I grin.

"What's wrong Doc'? There's no one here but us". He sighs.

"The car wreck has been removed; the police have labelled it as an accident. The body of Miss Kirby has been removed too, or Miss Miranda Kellan as I knew her," he tells me. I glare at him. He carries on as if I don't exist.

"I didn't know her that well. She was one of the more junior operators in the Foundation, although she was up for a promotion last time I saw her. We trained together once. I met her daughter". The ground opens up beneath me. My legs start to shake, so I continue glaring at him. Perhaps he's telling me to weaken my resolve, to stop me taking back my life. Maybe he's trying to convince me that being a puppet is better than being the puppeteer. Or maybe he's telling the truth and I'm a killer and a liar and everything that's wrong with this world. Alice is trying to soothe me, but her voice is too far away. Too far. Beneath me, the floorboards are swimming, each speck of dust a tiny fish, streamline like the tears that shouldn't be coming. I blink them back. I'm not going to cry for her. She tried to kill me. But it was just a job to her; it must have been. She had a kid. A daughter.

Now she's dead because of me.

"Alyssa? Are you alright?" Light doesn't step forward, doesn't look concerned. He probably still believes I killed his friend. The pain, the tearing in this fickle thing I call a heart is unbearable. To see him almost accusing me of leaving a child motherless with the face of the person I've come to almost love. I can't. I can't do this anymore. It hurts. No one should ever have to go through this, this game of Cat and Mouse and blood and heartache. Pain becomes more than a feeling; it's a physical being. Like a punch to the gut, winding you. A star so bright it blinds you.

I turn away, blinking back the puddles in my eyes and head for the stairs.

"Alyssa, wait! It wasn't your fault," he calls up after me.

Then whose fault was it? Hmm, who's was it?

The stairs cave. I find I'm sitting on the top step, my ankle burning from where I tripped. This shouldn't be happening. I'm the alter, I'm the personality who shouldn't exist. I'm the one who's supposed to be strong, not this wailing, hormonal mess. I am not supposed to be powerless.

'A mess is the last thing you are,' Alice tells me, her voice still a distant ring.

Dr. Light hasn't followed me up the stairs. I don't blame him. I'm a killer, aren't I? That's all I'll ever be, thanks to the Foundation. They made me this way and now I'm trapped. Trapped.

Hugging the bannister, I pull myself to my feet. I'll sleep it off, then I'll be okay. Back to my normal, irritable, murderous self. Yeah. I'll be fine. Snorting, I almost fall again. Fine. That's the one thing I have never been. No matter how many times I've pretended, faked, performed.

Dr. Light is still at the foot of the stairs. I can sense him. Like some sort of spectre, cloaked in ego. This is way too much ego in the room. I have half a mind to punch him again, but I don't want to give Mr. Dark a bruise. Besides, I need to be nice to him if I ever hope to see my Mp3 Player again. God knows what boring ol' Doc did with it. Probably binned it or pawned it in a yard sale.

I'm about to cross the landing to my room, when I hear a reluctant, yet pained, grunt reverberating from downstairs. Something inside me explodes, a supernova in my arteries. It makes my blood thrum, almost as much as when Alice compliments me or laughs at one of my pessimistic comments. Part of me doesn't want to turn around. Perhaps my heart won't be able to stand the sight of seeing him here again. I can still feel the cold comfort of his hand in mine as we walked away from the sight of the car crash. The stale smell of blood on his clothes. Those people he killed, for me. I'd like to think for Miranda Kellan as well. I didn't kill her, although Alice might still need convincing. I know she's only trying to comfort me to comfort herself. She wasn't even there, and she still manages to blame herself.

Some things never change.

"Alyssa". His voice, smooth, not abrasive like Light's. Yet as I turn around, he's the spitting image of Doc'. Only more fluid, more catlike. Now I'm making him sound like an animal. I'd better stop doing that at some point.

Our eyes meet across the staircase – now a mountain between us. I walk to him at first, then run. He only realises he should catch me at the last second, wrapping his arms around my waist. Better late than never.

"What are you doing here? I thought Doc' wasn't going to let you out after the last stunt we pulled," I say. Mr. Dark gives his best imitation of a shrug. Good try. A for effort.

"He doesn't control me". I'm glad to hear that. Then again, Doc' couldn't control a damn cake stand let alone another personality. Maybe that's why Mr. Dark truly exists – to make up for his lack of one. I suppress a giggle.

Mr. Dark retracts his arms, my skin growing cold without his touch. He reaches into his trouser pocket, lifting up my... My Mp3 Player. Light kept it. They both kept it. The tears that once seemed impossible to stop evaporate, as if seeing him has stitched up my tear ducts.

"I believe this strange contraption is yours. Dr. Light left me a message on his Ear Phone or Eye Phone. He said to ask you to dance," he says, and all the breath leaves my body.

"Dance?" He nods.

"Not that I knew what he meant. He wanted me to make you happy. He said it was a stress reliever. And he has never danced with anyone, or so he tells me. I was hoping you would know what dancing is".

I want to laugh, but a pang of anger hits me instead. He's never danced. Never held anyone and swayed with them until the lights burn low. Never heard The Beatles. Now that's a crime.

The Mp3 player is a firework in his hand and as he presses it into mine, I press it back. He frowns.

"You pick the song," I tell him. He looks as if I've asked him to divulge the secrets of the Universe.

"You want me to pick a song?" he asks, stepping back slightly.

"I want you to choose". To have a choice, for once. Something we've both been denied for too long.

We slide an earphone in each ear, careful not to tangle ourselves in the wire. Our hands scull like feathers until we find each other. Hold each other.

I instruct him to put one hand on my waist, then clasp my palm.

Placing my own hand on the small of his back, I wait for the song he chose to begin. As soon as the first notes hit, I smile. Roll my eyes a little. Dancing in the Dark. Of course.

"So," he starts. "How do we dance?'" I'm not exactly the best person to ask.

I don't remember ever taking dancing lessons, but if I have, we'll know soon enough. Unlike everything else in my life, dancing is muscle memory. Like fighting. The things that make you feel like you have power, that you're not vulnerable. And I am not vulnerable. Not anymore. I look up at Mr. Dark, at the awe in his swamp eyes as he watches me.

"There isn't really a proper way to do it," I explain. "You just sorta feel it. Like when you fight". Or when he killed those people a few days ago.

He nods, beginning to sway. Then bounce. A little too bouncy. In fact, he's practically jumping. I laugh, squeal a little as he swings me around and around the foyer of this skeleton house. It doesn't feel like home still, but it doesn't feel like a prison either. Not at the moment. He steps left, I swing right. We meet in the middle, two passing ships. Crashing into each other, laughing as we awkwardly weave around our once isolated orbits. A ship. That's what he is. Real. A symbol of uncharted territory, an adventure. No, that's what he is: a journey.

He lifts me up, briefly, though not so high the earphone falls out. I twirl under his arm, before he waits eagerly to twirl under mine. We both laugh this time, suddenly aware of how ridiculous we look compared to how professional we feel. We lapse into slow swaying, gazing at the embowed ceiling, pretending it's the night sky. Pretending the lights are stars. They are infinite, just like this moment. Just as we are.

Before I have the chance to calm, he spins me around, catching me in his arms. Where we are is a place where nothing matters except the music, the caress of our arms encircling each other. Protecting each other. If anyone, I mean anyone, tries to hurt us, I will show them no mercy. Mr. Dark will show them even less.

He launches into a quickstep, manoeuvring me with a delicacy I surely must have imagined. In turn, I spin him around my outstretched arm, watching gleefully as his face scrunches up in surprise. By some twist of the fate, the earphones haven't fallen out. After a few more unexpected movements, with Mr. Dark grinning from ear to ear, we fall back into swaying. To and froe like the rocking of a boat setting a course for some long-lost island. It hits me right there that I want to travel, travel with him. Spend drawn out days roasting on a beach with him, swim together in the sea. Swim amongst dolphins, watch whales, with him. Introducing him to ice-cream brings laughter to the base of my lips. There is so much both of us need to discover.

As the song draws to a close, we've stopped swaying altogether. Mr. Dark looks almost sad, pained. His hair is already whitening, his eyes lightening to that freezing lime stare. My arms fall away from him, an emptiness in my chest that I can't quite describe.

Easing the earphones out, he hands me back the Mp3. Clasping it to that thing I call a heart, I whisper a thank you. And then I walk away, leaving him alone in the entrance hall before I can have the chance to beg him to stay. Because he won't be able to, and that would hurt me even more.

Running to my room is a marathon, the floor seemingly edging me away the closer I get. Eventually, I rush in and slam it behind me. The Mp3 falls from my hand and it takes me too long to shove it into the bedside draw. This wasn't supposed to happen. I had a plan, I had a purpose.

Now I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.

Emma's smiling face appears in mind, alongside her confession. Confession. It isn't the right word. Makes depression sound like a sin. But she confided in me, revealed one of her greatest pains, to try to help me feel better, while I have been lying to her since the day we met.

Fighting the urge to scream, I throw myself onto the bed, bury my face in the pillow. I think I'll just stay here. Forever. Become a pillow or a duvet or something that won't cause any trouble. Though I'm sure there are some pretty criminal pillows out there somewhere. Maybe a band of duvet killers stalking the aisles of a mattress store. Or here's a thought. Maybe I'm just tired.

Maybe, for once, everything will be okay.

Sleep claims me moments later.

When I wake up, I feel as if I've inhaled a spider web. Blinking the dreams from my eyes, I try to focus. Mum is knocking on the door, telling me about her meal with her friends. Telling me how she wants us to go on holiday soon, perhaps on a weekend break. Teasing that she'll book me a week of school to travel to America. Go on a Road Trip. When she opens the door, I'm almost in tears. Travel. It's what I wanted – when I was naive and thought the world was kind and bright and forgiving. Now I know the truth. But I still want to see the world, to find those untainted fragments. To, correct me if I'm wrong, perhaps achieve some shell of a life.

"Alice, are you alright? You're very quiet". Mum skirts around the edge of the bed, lines pressed into her face. She must be so tired, tired of worrying about me. Us.

Shaking my head, I force my tears to vanish.

"I'm fine. Just having a power nap. The session with Dr. Light was fun," I lie, too easily. It's starting to become second nature. Smiling, Mum reaches out to stroke my hair.

"As long as you're okay. You'll be nearly finished with those sessions soon," she adds. My smile almost cracks, but I urge it to remain. Doc' will be finished soon, then what are we going to do? What about Mr. Dark? What about me? My life. I've been existing in fear of having one for so long that I've forgotten what living truly feels like. Mum edges back from the bed, shuffles to the doorway.

"Goodnight sweetheart," she whispered. "You're so strong. My big, brave girl". As I catch the starlight in her eyes, I turn away.

Yes, I am strong. I am powerful.

And I am done just trying to survive.

I am going to live.