NITE. Her name bled from my mouth, spilling across my tongue like a ravenous fly on burnt custard. Every letter left on a harsh breath, my tone no louder than a snowberry moth on a humid day.

Even so, she still heard me call her name, reacting like it was a sultry siren call, wanting more. Her nails clawed at my chest, cutting off my air, making it feel like someone was scraping an acid bubble against my flesh.

LET ME OUT.

Don't say her name again. It gives her power. And DON'T let her out. I'm trying not to.

I really was, but I could feel her surging through my veins, the noxious greenness sucking up everything that I used to be, altering everything in its path, slowly morphing me into that sharp, forgotten piece that I buried so long ago.

Everything blazed in severe agony. She was like a murderous infant, carving her way out of the womb, ruining everything to get to the surface, bringing chaos and blood with her.

I coughed, hands digging into the floor, trying to control the shivers pouring down my spine in quick waves. Iciness sheeted my skin like paint on a wall, curling into my core.

LET ME OUT.

Her regal voice soothed yet frightened my soul at the same time. Every syllable lulled my suffering, promising to protect me from everything if I just stopped resisting. Just like before.

She's trying to trick you. If we let her take over, we don't know what she's going to do. She might take over forever.

NO.
LIES.
I KEPT YOU SAFE.
EVERY TIME.

A tingling pain pricked the side of my head, and various images flashed across my eyes like a fast-forwarding video. It took me a moment to realize that they were memories. Memories that I never even knew I possessed in my head. Memories of me going through intense events — finding my butchered family, therapy sessions, and various times at the asylum — and her taking over when I couldn't deal.

YOU CALLED ME.
I CAME.
EVERY TIME YOU NEEDED ME.

Thick streams of crisp pain shot through my chest, each one coated with glowing green. I heaved out a gasp, spit dripping onto the floor.

THEN YOU CREATED HER.
LEFT ME.
LEFT ME ALL ALONE.

The toxic green pumping into me began to spew everywhere like a broken pipe, veneering my walls. The more it covered, the more nauseous it made me. I suddenly vomited, leaving a giant, chunky puddle behind as my body quivered.

Jookie paced around me, laughing. "Pressure getting to you, my little peach?"

I never looked up. Just breathed and tried to control the rapid whirl of emotions thundering inside me like an angry god. Sweat dewed my forehead, gliding down as I wheezed, barely hanging on. I dry heaved and hiccupped, my body still trying to throw up, but there was nothing left, only emptiness and stinging pain.

She was lingering too close to the surface like a retainer on teeth, clawing at my torso. I could feel every incision, along with her every emotion — her anger at being replaced burned in my neck. Her sadness at being forgotten and buried numbed my chest, as her angst at being abandoned stabbed at my tummy.

All those feelings teetered through me, becoming my own. Fresh liquid staggered in my eyes as savage guilt lingered in my heart.

I'm sorry. Don't feel bad. We did what we had to do. She kept getting us in trouble. We would've never gotten out of there if we let her stay.

LIES.

Really? Lies? Why don't you tell us why we had blood caked to our face that one day at the asylum?

DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.

Yet, you were the one that was out? She can't be released, Tini. We need to bury her again. You know I'm right.

Betinia's energy poured over the bright green in my veins, coating it with her own light, helping me breathe again. I was on all fours, panting, trying to get a grip as she continued to fight for entry, scratching at my tissue, leaving behind toxic scars.

Betinia was right. I couldn't let her out. She was too dangerous. I added my own blackness to Betinia's light, combining us and pushing at the sludgy green.

NO.

She pressed back, and it was like a tug-of-war, and we were winning, even though it felt like I was about to combust. Betinia's was at full-strength again, so she put in extra power, submerging the greenness until everything glowered with our mixed essence, only a few traces of her left.

"Get up or we're ending this now," the robotic voice said over the speakers, interrupting my internal battle.

Jookie moved away from me, shaking his head. "Geez, get up so we can end this already. You're just letting Rucker suffer at this point. Hurry up, so he can die."

When he said that last part, my insides went as cold as Antarctica in winter, freezing everything. I chocked and looked upwards.

Jookie was sporting his signature condescending smile, adding another layer to his harsh words.

He really did want Rucker to die. He meant what he said.

Tini! Don't do it. Don't say her name.

Jookie, the creators, and the producers really wanted to take Rucker from me. They already took so much from me, and now they were going to take something else.

That realization made me lose it, and I blanked out.

Raw hatred took over my heart, instantly turning it black, and I dropped all resistance, wanting them all gone. That blackness pulled from Betinia's light and started adding to the toxicity, blowing the light away, leaving only noxiousness behind.

"Nite," I whispered, putting all of my helplessness and anger into it. "Kill them."

YES.
I WILL.

She cackled, taking over everything again, but Betinia pushed out her light again, eliminating some of the green, but not enough.

That neon green pushed on, pumping through me like it was giving me the will to breathe. Until it kicked me from the driver's seat, sending me flying backward.

I hit something hard, and that's when I lost all my senses. I couldn't see, hear, feel, taste or smell anything. Blackness consumed everything, pouring down all my holes — mouth, nose, eyes and ears, making me slowly lose consciousness.

It seemed like forever had passed before a glowing, bright light yanked me upwards, pulling me into a warmth, letting me regain myself.

I gasped and coughed, dryness caking my throat.

It's okay. I got you. What happened?

I still couldn't move, but I could breathe and feel again. The only thing I could see was the white light cocooning my body.

You let your anger get to you, and you let her out. Fuck... really? I don't remember doing that. Yeah, really. Thankfully, I was strong enough to keep her from burying us, but she put us in some type of bubble. Probably to keep us from interfering. I think we can break it if we work together. Okay, let's do this. Hopefully, Rucker isn't dead yet, or it's your fault. He's alright. I know he is.

I didn't know, but I prayed that he was, and I never prayed. It always gave me indigestion.

Her light squeezed me, cutting off my half-assed prayer, until my blackness emerged, and we spun together into a giant, sparkly tornado and pushed upwards, revealing a glowing circular prison. We fought against the toxicity, screaming and breeding together until we became one.

We brawled and scratched at the green prison until it started to disintegrate into tiny particles, and we zoomed through it, and that's when I could see again.

I was floating, darkness covering everything except two eyeholes in front of me. The room from before came into view, and I was standing already, moving my neck in a three-sixty motion. But that wasn't me controlling me. I tried to move my fingers, but nothing would cooperate, and my body kept doing its own thing.

She's in control. All we can do is watch. What?! She's way stronger than I originally thought. There has to be a fucking way to stop her, Betinia. Don't blame me for your stupidity. You called her. I didn't mean to! I just got overwhelmed. Hell, I don't even remember saying her name. I can't lose Rucker, Bet. Neither can I. So what the fuck are we gonna do?

A tense silence danced around us, as we both just watched through our eyes at what was going on outside of us. We couldn't get a reading on her thoughts like we could with each other; she blocked us somehow. All we could do was what Betinia said.

Watch.

She/I peered around, looking at the room, taking in everything. She stood up straighter, taller as she cracked her knuckles and wiped tears from her eyes.

She turned to Jookie. "Rucker will not die." Those words left her lips at a slow pace, malice and authority lacing every letter. "You will."

Jookie giggled. "He will—"

She lunged forward, smacking her head into his mouth with a sickening crack. Jookie jerked back and tumbled to the floor.

"What the fuck?" he murmured, eyes slitting as he glared at me, holding his mouth. His fingers pulled back, revealing bright redness on his tips.

"You deserve far worse for letting that dreadful voice of yours touch my delicate eardrums." She snatched the dagger off the table, sliding the blade under her thumb. "This world will be a much better place without your atrocious laugh in it."

"My little—"

"Please reframe from calling me such verbal filth," she said, tightening her grip on the knife. "I don't particularly care for you. Actually, just looking at your face makes me want to throw myself in front of a fiery school bus."

She darted forward, and he jumped to his feet. The knife sliced at his face, and he dodged it with a slight swirl and gripped her wrist. He swung her arm to the right, trying to toss the knife from her hand, but she held on tight and jabbed her foot into the back of his knee.

He buckled and flopped to his knees, loosening his grip. She forced her hand downward, the blade slicing through his lips at a diagonal angle.

Blood splattered the carpet, as it dripped from her knife. Jookie flinched, as she hopped back, moving the knife in front of her like a shield.

Jookie touched his bleeding lips, thin rivulets of red dripping through his fingers and down his chin, looking like he stuffed his face with a bowl of soaked cherries.

Holy shit. We're going to die. We're going to die right now because the two of you can't fucking control yourselves. This is all your fault. Hey, I already apologized for getting us into this, okay? Your APOLOGY isn't going to get us out of this situation. Your APOLOGY can't reverse time and stop you from stabbing Demo and kneeing Jookie and from releasing her. It does make you feel a little bit better though, right? NO. IT DOESN'T. Your apology is the equivalent of giving someone hot chocolate in hell. Why wouldn't people in hell want hot chocolate? They're getting fucking tortured. I think they would enjoy some — that's not the point, Tini, god!

Humorous laughter interrupted our argument. We turned back to the bloody scene in front of us, seeing that the noises were coming from Jookie.

Chest rumbling, loud barks of laughter popped out of his mouth as thick lines of blood poured down his face, dripping onto his shirt while coloring his white teeth a dark maroon. More spilled from the corners of his lips, as he continued laughing like he was at a comedy show.

Jookie wiped his bloody lips and stroked a hand into his hair, creating a bloody streak. "Every time I think I get a grip on you, there's always something new." Dark amusement played in his purple eyes. "You're like my own delicious Russian doll — every time I take off one layer, the next one's smaller, juicier and deadlier."

I will never understand what you see in this guy. She just literally cut him in the mouth, and he's laughing. Flirting, even.

She tapped the tip of the wet blade against her tooth. "I'm glad that I could please you one last time before you take your last breath."

Jookie cackled, blood dripping down his chin. "Come on then. You'll lose just like you did before."

"You defeated her, not me." Her words left our lips in smooth hatred. "The more I look at you, the more bewildered I get. I still don't understand what Tini sees in you. You're like a walking yeast infection — annoying, itchy, and every time you talk, nothing but simple-minded, useless cheese comes out."

Okay, I'm starting to like her. Just shut up and start thinking of a way for us to take over again. Only thing I can think of is if we make her vulnerable like last time, which lowers her guard enough for us to push through. How the fuck are we supposed to make her vulnerable? All she has on her mind is killing Jookie.

Jookie looked offended as he got to his feet in one fluid motion. "Did you just compare me to a vagina infection?"

She let out a snobby tsk-tsk. "You really are an imbecile. Yeast infections don't affect only vaginas. Dicks get them too."

"I don't—"

"— care to know whether you have it or not. Just shut up. Your voice is really irritating," she said, putting up a hand. "The more I listen to it, the more brain cells I lose."

Jookie scrunched up his face, eyes shining. "Why you—" he cut himself off when he saw her puff out her chest.

Within a split second, she charged at Jookie, and they went at it in a vicious tangle. She sliced and diced, arms slicing the air in perfect, graceful movements, almost like she was dancing. He met that savage dance with his own deadly waltz of ducking and punching.

When he ducked her swipe, he rebounded with a swift jab to her tummy. A grunt escaped her mouth as she staggered. Jookie tried to take advantage and follow up with a fist to the chest. But she hopped out of reach and met his incoming knuckles with her weapon. The glistening blade went through his soft flesh like creamy brie.

"Fuck," he muttered, snatching back his sopping hand.

"Fuck, indeed." She spun toward him, wheeling her arms like a twisting gear.

A stretchy ripping sound tore across the tense atmosphere, the tip of the dagger yanking through the front of his t-shirt as she continued to twirl.

Jookie hobbled backward, fingering his torn shirt. His nails fumbled with the jagged material, drenching his tips in bright red from his fresh tummy wound.

"Who's losing now?" she taunted, moving around.

Jookie narrowed his eyes, lips thinning. "Look—"

"— the question was rhetorical," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I wouldn't be foolish enough to purposely subject my soul to your voice again."

He glowered. "Rude, much?"

"Didn't know a sadistic guy like you was sensitive to criticism."

"It's not criticism if the problem is something I was born with."

"So, you were just born with the voice of an aged, yodeling meth head?" She shook her head. "I think that's more depressing than your wretched childhood."

"Look here, bitch —" he started, eyes blazing, blood sloshing down his chin in mouthfuls.

"Now, you've resorted to moronic name-calling? Guess I can't expect much from someone who has the mental capacity of a jellyfish."

Jookie spat on the ground, salvia mixing with the blood slipping down his face. "You've got a lot of insults for someone who was just ugly crying on the floor."

"So? Everyone has a weak moment. You should only feel ashamed if you don't own it." She stepped forward. "You're the one getting all agitated because the creators brought up your past."

"I'm fine," he said, jaw clenching.

"Then why'd you get so irritated at Khan then?"

Jookie wrinkled his lips and bolted at her, rage tickling his features. Instead of backing up, she charged back at him, knife low. They collided in a fury of swift jabs and sticky blood, holding nothing back.

His knuckles crashed into her cheek and stomach, while her blade ripped through his hands and biceps. Husky grunts poured out of both of them, adding to the electrically charged ambiance, prickling their skin like tiny goosebumps.

It was like they were running on the energy of each other, her pain feeding his damaged aura while his agony fueled her elegant movements. It was a chaotic mess.

Jookie dodged her incoming swipe by slamming his forearm into her wrist. Her hand got knocked back, but she followed up with a roundhouse kick to the jaw.

He crashed to the floor, and she hopped on top of him, straddling him, bringing the knife to his throat, digging in.

If she kills him, we're dead. I know. I know. I fucking know.

♟♙♟