Daniel at the Airport

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“Daniel!” I hissed.

He popped up beside me, even though he was also across the airport from me. “What? What happened?”

I pointed at his doppelgänger. “That’s what happened.”

He just frowned. “What do you mean?”

I stare at him. “The resemblance, Daniel. Look at the resemblance.”

He looks over at the man. “Edward Scissorhands?”

“No, you!

His eyes widen. “My hair does not look like that.”

“Oh yes it does.”

He squints. “In that case, give me your hairbrush.”

“I’ll fix your hair on the plane,” I promise. “But how can you have a doppelgänger?”

“Apparently there’s seven people in the world who look like you,” Daniel says mildly. “Or at least very similar. Cat, look at the eyes, they’re not green. See? He doesn’t look a thing like me,” he says, trying to flatten his hair with his hand.

“Really?” I say. “Those poor souls…”

“So there could be another six versions of me walking around in this world…” Daniel muses.

I frown. “But you’re not real.”

“You do have a point there,” he admits. Then he grins. “Or I might be real.”

“Then why can only I see you?”

“Do you really want to get into this Cat?” he says exasperatedly.

“Fair point.”

“Imagine it…seven other Cat Madigans…”

“They wouldn’t look exactly like me,” I point out. “Just similar.” I grimace. “Maybe they’re Cat Madigans without crappy skin and fat bellies.”

“You. Are not. Fat,” Daniel growls.

Our flight home is now ready….finally.

“You’re probably the most attractive version of yourself,” Daniel tells me. “And don’t you forget it.”

“In that case, I am so sorry for those poor people, someone should create a charity for them.”

“Shut up and brush my hair!”

“No.”

Faith in People…Status: Depleted.

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Cat Madigan is not happy.

Neither is Daniel.

It’s not every day that you accuse non-existent readers of things, but here goes.

WHO TATTLED ON DANIEL???

Yesterday, I came home feeling a lot happier than I had been in a while. I have no idea why, but I was. Which made things even worse later that evening.

During dinner, a notepad had been left in front of where I was eating. One that my mother often used. And, one word caught my eye. HYPNOTHERAPY.

Now, I have a massive aversion to hypnotherapy. I do not like the idea of someone getting inside my head and tampering with the shit in it. Even in the name of therapy. Yes, my opinion of hypnosis may have been influenced by Alice: Madness Returns, but I hated the idea even before the video game.

I have enough trust issues as it is, and I am not comfortable with the idea of someone having the power to lock things away in my head. Nonononononono.

There was more to the note than that. One sentence made me go into full blown panic mode.

Daniel is a devise.

My mother knew about Daniel.

Or at the very least, knew of someone called Daniel who was probably causing me to need something involving hypnotherapy.

In other words, my Daniel, a figment of my imagination.

So. Who tattled on Daniel?

There’s a number of options. Unfortunately.

I’m going to guess my therapists though. Because on that note was details about someone called Mia, who works at CAMHS. Which is where I’m having with someone I’m calling Lolly.

But the thing is, my therapists remind me just about every session that everything I tell them is confidential. Unless I am of threat to myself or to others, they are not allowed to tell anyone anything. Nothing I say leaves my conversation with Lolly.

So someone has lied.

Someone who obviously thought that it was their place to tell my mother about Daniel. Meaning someone who has contact with my mother, and who I’ve trusted with information about Daniel.

They might even read what I’m writing now.

Funny…the one time I get a reader, and they’re betraying my trust.

If you’re reading this, tattletale, read till the last word.

I had never given anyone permission to tell my mother anything. Especially not about Daniel, or what I see. And whoever you are, you had no right to tell anyone anything, no matter what you had thought. I would’ve never said anything to you if I knew you’d tell my mum.

If my mother tells me to go through with the treatment, beats me, yells at me, or screams at me to force me into it, it’s you who’s to blame.