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another nineteen years. Shoot me?" I begged the ceiling.

My teen self rolled her eyes and walked by me to get dressed. "Oh shut up, you'll get out. I'm pretty sure we can't both be in your head. So," she said matter-of-factly tugging on her jeans. "You're gonna have to go, 'cause I was here first."

I nodded, watching as I-she-I...she dressed. It dawned me as she bent to untangle her toes from a stray string, that I hadn't pinched myself really.

I still had "me". I got up and cracked my knuckles. She turned. "Hey, what're yo-Hey!" she squawked as I grabbed her arm and pinched really, really hard. My arm suddenly hurt like hell.

"Ow! Damn it, that hurt!" Her hand blew forward and smacked my cheek even as the world went white around me. "Crap, I'm totally gonna bruise now..." Her fading voice complained...

I blinked open my eyes and stared at the library's vaulted ceilings. I'd fallen out of the chair, I realized, and must have hit my head hard enough to knock out. I looked around and met the concerned gaze of the guy from earlier. I nodded at him to show I was okay and he smiled slightly before his eyes suddenly jumped down and widened.

"What?" I asked, startled. "What's wrong?" Was I swelling and not feeling it?

"Your face," he said slowly. "You've got one heck of a bruise on your cheek there." I stared at him and slowly raised a hand to my cheek. The cheek where my teen self had smacked me on. It did hurt, throbbing harshly the way a new bruise tended to.

I dropped my hand and grabbed the paper with my homework written on it and wondered how I was going to write down my experience or even explain in the next session. Somehow I had the feeling the therapist had never had anyone touch their inner child the way I had.

Let's call it a hunch.

Learn more about this author, Zoe Nichols.
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