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Kylie's mother was in the hospital. It was her fault. Now she is in a hospital and only her mother to blame.

Kylie gasps as the hand coils itself tighter around her throat, snaking to encircle around her lungs. Her heart beat resonates through her head, as she lies frozen. Her mousy brown hair is plastered to her face, hazel eyes darting anxiously. Under her the sheets are perfect, without a single crease; a sharp contrast to her trembling body. The sharp scent of antiseptic permeates the air.

“Now that won’t do, darling,” a silky voice rings out, cutting through the overpowering terror like a knife through butter. As if burned the hand retreats. Kylie breathes.

“Mum?” the question leaves her lips tentatively.

A tight smile stretches the woman’s pale lips, “Mum?” she echoes, a hint of a laugh colouring her voice, “don’t you recognise your own mother, darling?” She stretches the word ‘darling’.

Kylie nods, unsure.
“I always said I’d never leave you,” the woman confides, drawing closer. An unnatural cold behind her, accompanied by a gentle laugh.

“Don’t you understand darling?” the woman looks at her expectantly. Fear flashes through her when she shakes her head no. The woman smiles and Kylie feels ridiculous.

“Don’t worry darling, you’ll remember.” She tells her knowingly, perching on the metal bars, smile stuck on her face. She waits. Kylie racks her brain, desperate to please her mother.

“Now why do you think you don’t remember?” The man had asked her. The unrelenting questions, that backed her into a corner. Tried to prod her towards an answer that wasn’t there. He’d shown her photos, her: laughing, posing and strangers.

“Do you know any of these people?” He kept asking. Her face had flickered in recognition at a girl - sapphire eyes, charcoal hair. The man had pounced on it, inquiring until she was forced to explain.

“She just mistook me for someone,” she mumbled, hoping that was enough.

The girl had run up to her, black curls bouncing and tackled her in a hug. Kylie just smiled at the stranger, waiting for the girl to realise her mistake. She didn’t. She kept staring expectantly at Kylie, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know you.” Kylie told her. The girl only laughed and pushed her shoulder playfully.       “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Immediately hurt invaded the girl’s shining eyes, smile affixed to her face, refusing to believe.

“She’s your best friend-Kylie.”

Doubt. Worry. Horror. They flash through her with the realisation.  Questions form unspoken on her lips.

“Why?”

The woman hops off the bars, stalking closer to Kylie. She shrinks back from the approaching figure.

“You still don’t understand?” The woman tuts disapprovingly, her lips pursed, scolding a naughty child.  “Losing your memories and you didn’t even think of your mother? What if you’d forgotten me?”

She hides her face, as another wave of terror crashes over her, fear that she had incurred her mother’s displeasure.

A cool hand grasps her chin, forcing her to look up.

“Now, darling we don’t hide our face when talking do we?”

Instinctively she nods and the hand withdraws, satisfied.  The woman begins dancing around her, a predator cornering its prey.

“How rude to make me teach you all over again.” She sneers, raising her hand threateningly, a satisfied laugh escaping when Kylie flinches away, finally aware.  Stumbles back, away from the imposing figure. Memories of her loving mother shatter, replaced by years of abuse and guilt caused by this woman.

“What have you done to me?” a whisper, the fear silencing her. Her mother hears. The hand strikes.

“Seems like we haven’t remembered everything, have we darling?” The woman mocks, “How could you defy your mother after everything you’ve done?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Injustice

“Why darling, don’t you remember? This is your punishment after all”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t realise it,” She looks around the white room sorrowfully, “It was your fault that I was here. You couldn’t just be my good little girl. You had to ruin everything.”

Kylie stares down at the sterile, white tile. A glance at the bed, reminds of her mother’s frail figure lying there, whirring machines and IV drips crowding for a better spot. The grim atmosphere falling on the room like a blanket, conflicting with her own, hidden happiness.

 “Then… you should be dead…”  A glimpse of the leer on her mother’s face. “You are dead! Why won’t you let me be?”  

“Why darling, I always said I’d never leave you.”