I wake up with a smile on my face.

I can't remember what I dreamt – or even if I did – but I'm feeling different. A little more alive than I was yesterday.

Sunlight winks onto my white bedsheets, illuminating the entire room. The dust in the air swirls around my fingers as I stretch. My hair is still a tangled mess and I'm still stick-thin and bony, but that doesn't seem to matter. Not today.

Doctor Steele is supposed to be coming this afternoon, or tomorrow. As nice as he seems, I'm unsure if I can actually stomach more people in the house. Dr. Light is quite enough to cope with.

A knock at the door startles me and before I can speak, a shock of blonde hair enters the room. He's dressed in a fine suit, a constellation of stripes sliding from the blazer to the trousers. A tie hangs loosely from the collar of his white shirt. It's right at that moment, when I realise what I'm wearing. Even though I could have sworn I went to bed in pyjamas, I'm dressed in only my bra and underwear. Blushing, I hug my bedcovers to my chest as Light turns away. I swear he's blushing too.

"Sorry," he says. Somehow, I don't believe he is. Not about this, but about yesterday. He never apologised to me for the session.

I find myself thinking of the colour red, of the bag of pills. No. Mum only drugged me to help me sleep when I was convinced I could never sleep again. She mustn't want her only daughter to become more broken than she already is. I'm still unconvinced that my Mother still wants me at all.

"Your Mother told me to wake you up. It's past lunchtime," he says and breezes away as quickly as he came in.

Have I really slept that long? My brain whirrs as I step onto the floor and edge to my wardrobe. My mind is a chalkboard, with smudges of memories of the night before to ease the weight on my chest.

A memory snaps toward me. Making tea for Mum and Light, going to bed. That was it. I didn't have a shower, so I decide to have one now.

In the bathroom, the dodgy floorboard has vanished, forcing my anxiety to rear its ugly head. What if she fixed it? For some reason. To mess with me perhaps. To make me feel that same fear, the fear that slices through my self-belief.

The bathroom is suddenly suffocating, forcing me to take several deep breaths until I find the courage to step into the shower. The water, the steaming water, is ice down my back. Ice or acid, like his eyes. That's why Light unnerves me so much – his eyes are chemical. If I ever have another session with him, it'll be too soon. Maybe I can ask Doctor Steele to send him away when he comes. He could be here right now.

Quickly, I shut off the water, shivering.

After slipping on a white blouse and a long grey skirt, I head out onto the landing, still locked in a battle between my countless knots and a hairbrush. Thankfully, I can't see Dr. Light. There's no refuge with him, as if every moment in his presence is a battlefield. I'll always lose. To him, to everyone. But I refuse to lose to myself. If she ever tries to return, I'll be waiting.

It's strange, I muse as I abandon the hairbrush. I am literally my own worst enemy.

Sidling to the staircase, I hear a phone ringing. It must be Mum's mobile, because I can hear her immediately answering. She leans around the kitchen door to smile at me, pointing to the dining room.

"There's some very late breakfast in there. Or early lunch. Dr. Light is just finishing his," she says and before I can protest, she zips back into the kitchen. His name makes my knees shake. In one session, he pried into my mind, each syllable a crowbar. He might as well have beaten me to death and left me in the street.

Out of everything I remember – which is not a lot – I know that as powerful as the brain is, the right words can snap it in two.

Heading down the stairs takes forever since my legs are jelly and my arms flop gently by my sides.

I'm aching all over.

When I reach the dining table, my confidence has evaporated, replaced by an empty shell.

Dr. Light is rubbing his head, bent over a textbook. A plate of pasta and veg sits untouched beside him. He doesn't look up, even when I sit down to survey my lunch. There's large plate of toast, even though Mum knows I hate it, as well as two dozen eggs that I swear weren't in the fridge or the cupboards last night.

I shake my head, alerting Light. Mum probably went out shopping this morning. I'm being paranoid. Paranoia has been a long-standing mental state of mine.

Dr. Light makes no move to speak, so I pick at my scrambled eggs, until something in my mind compels me to eat them. Starving myself won't do any good.

Light shuffles awkwardly in his seat, so much so I'm half-tempted to stand up and leave. I know I'm not wanted, but there's nowhere else to eat in the house. I'm halfway through my food when Mum rushes in, waving her mobile frantically around her head. Light instantly stands up.

"The hospital called. They said Doctor Steele has gone missing," she cries. Light doesn't move to console her, but then neither do I. I'm not sure I'll be much help. Knowing me, I'll probably make things worse.

"He could be stuck in traffic or have some sort of family emergency," Light offers.

"No. No, they said he didn't come into work this morning and he's not answering his phone. His car is still there". She stares at him and something unsaid passes between them.

Dr. Light nods and together, they leave the room. Their expressions don't exactly make me want to follow. It's not as if I'd be much help or much good.

Abandoning my breakfast, I move to the doorframe to listen in, hoping to glean some form of hope. Doctor Steele is coming. He's coming to help, to take Light away.

"His car was still in the parking lot, and no one saw him leaving," I hear Mum saying, the walls around me beginning to shrink. My breath is capped in panic and I soon find myself backing away. I meet the smooth table, chest contracting.

He can't be gone.

The room spins – my world spins – spiralling out of control.

Why me? Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this?

Pushing past the doorframe, past Light, I flee to the living room, coming to a stop as I see the window.

Outside. I haven't left this house in several days, I need to go outside. To breathe fresh air, new air, air that isn't tainted. But I am tainted.

Past the window, there's a large glass panel, opening up onto the back garden. A garden is what I need. I can't breathe in here.

I shove my way past the furniture, nearly knocking over a neglected plant. The petals wilt like my lungs, struggling to keep me alive.

In the distance, I can hear Mum calling after me, telling me to stop.

When I reach the threshold, I do stop.

Lurching forward, my chest freezes, refusing to push anymore air to my heart.

Clutching my throat, I can feel a scream coming. I can't move, can't go outside. I'm helpless.

The grass outside tilts, teasing me like a fairground ride I can't afford.

I tip forward, everything tips, but arms encircle me. They're cold, and I'm not surprised to find that they belong to Dr. Light. A silent scream escapes me, and I sink to my knees.

"I...I can't go out," I whisper. Strangely, Light's face softens – just a touch – and he helps me to breathe again. In. Out. Along with the steady rise, the gentle fall of his chest. In. Out.

"It's alright," he says. I still don't believe him.