A Writer’s Book of Days – 2 June 2016

Alone in Her Room
Secrets. Privacy. Interior spaces. Mental headspace. The things we keep to ourselves. Intimacy. Sleep.
What does someone do alone in their room? Makeup? No, that’d be the bathroom or dressing room. Need a mirror. (Some bedrooms have mirrors.)

It’s where you go to be yourself. It’s where you go to face yourself.


Alone in her room, the girl finally came face to face with herself.

“Hello,” said her Self. “Long time no see.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. She did not respond.

Her Self rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. It’s not like I did it on purpose. After all,” she said with a smirk. “I’m only you.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” said the girl. “I don’t have any control over you. You get inside my head and monkey around to your heart’s content. But when you’re done, I’m the one who has to live with it.”

Her Self sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down once or twice. “Ugh. How do you sleep on this thing?” She said as she threw herself onto her back. “I’d toss and turn for hours.”

The girl stamped her foot. Her hands balled into fists. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, sending the blood rushing to her head. Making her impulsive.

Making her more like her Self.

“Answer me.”

Her Self tilted her head up, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. Then she settled her head back down on the bed. “It’s not like he ever would’ve gone for you anyway.”

The girl leaped atop her Self, pinning her arms to the bed. Her voice came out in a snarl. “You take it back.”

For a moment, her Self looked shocked. But then her smug smirk returned. Her Self leaned up and planted a kiss on the tip of the Girl’s nose. “It’s better this way,” she said. “Now you won’t waste your time pining over him for weeks on end.”

The girl tried to glare down at her Self. She couldn’t maintain her rage, and she suddenly became aware of how awkward she felt sitting atop her Self on the bed.

Her Self giggled. “Oh, you sweet thing. Don’t be embarrassed. I quite like taking the back seat for a time. You just don’t stand up for yourself often enough.”

The girl snapped her glare back in place. But it didn’t stick. She sank down off of her Self, folding her arms together around her belly.

“There, there,” said her Self, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Let’s grab a pint to make you feel better. I think that’s something we’d both enjoy.”

“I’m on a diet,” said the girl, refusing to look at her Self.

“For now, maybe,” said her Self, bouncing up from the bed and flouncing over to the door. “But not if I have anything to say about it.”

The girl made it across the room faster than she thought she could. Her hand closed around her Self’s on the handle of the door.

“No,” she said. “I’m on a diet.”

“Yeah,” said her Self, pouting. “But you’ve just suffered a tragedy. Surely you can indulge for a moment. For me?”

The girl felt her grip loosen as her Self began to turn the handle.

“There you go,” said her Self. “It’s not like you’re trying to impress anybody anyway.”

The girl frowned. “No. But I wasn’t doing it for them.”

Her Self paused, already halfway out the door. She looked back at the girl and tilted her head quizzically.

“I’m doing it for myself,” said the girl. Then she smiled and turned back toward her bed.

She was finally alone in her room.


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