Bones

“You know,” She says, uncrossing her legs and standing up, brushing imaginary dirt from her dress. “I’m the one that’s real,” her eyes are full of cruel honesty and agonizing pity. “Not them, baby boy. Just me. It’s always just me.” She runs her fingers through his hair, pulling the tangles through. “Always. I’m the one that’s right, the one that matters.”

Laura’s been dropping by on all too regular basis lately. And although she never stays long she just keeps getting more and more tangible.

Her touch sends shivers down Jamie’s bony spine.

“And you,” She kneels in front of him, her eyes all big with truth. “You’re failing. You’re letting Them win. You can’t let them win, baby. You can’t.” She cups his cheek, running a thumb across the unusually high zygomatic arch. “They aren’t even real.”

Everyone has a voice in their head, but on most occasions it’s their own. Jamie knows it’s common, from the girls and boy’s he’s met in Hell, that they personify their disorders. Their disorder is a living thing, inside them, and it’s so fucking hard to kill. Almost impossible unless you kill yourself along with It. That’s why recovery is so hard.

But Jamie, Jamie has a whole person now. Not just a voice, but a person. And he doesn’t know if he can kill her again. (He doesn’t know if he can watch her die again.)

“You’re losing, baby. You’re losing our game.” She removes her hand from his cheek and covers his own, again rubbing at the bones beneath the thin flesh of Jamie’s hand. “And now that I’m not playing anymore, it’s you against Them. You’re losing. You need to win. For me.”

Now, Jamie’s never been the competitive type. But he’s never been that fond of losing either.

And as much as he hates Laura, he could never let her down. Not again.

And so, Jamie whispers, “Okay.”

And he decides to start playing again.