This isn't right.

It can't be.

And yet I'm sitting here, in the cream plains of the therapy room, lying to a Doctor. Dr. Renee, whose callouses are tucked between her legs, as if she's afraid I will launch from my chair to bite her fingers off. Unconsciously, I lick my lips.

I tried. When my other self threatened her, threatened an innocent woman, I tried to scream. To take back control. To say something.

I couldn't.

And I can't keep doing this for much longer.

This girl, this intern, is shaking with every word she utters. She almost bursts into tears when I dare to rearrange myself on the chair.

Dr. Light is standing outside the door – I can almost hear him breathing through the wood.

I try not to look at him the moment the Evaluation is over.

Because, despite everything my other self has done, I cannot hide my smile.

I cannot hide the fact that I am enjoying unravelling the work of the people who ruined my life.