Last week, Ms. Hyde killed Dr. Jekyll again. Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde, aka Me, found herself in a 40th-day-after-death gathering of a dear friend's mom. Because this was a reunion of sorts of people she found strangely endearing and whose company she has learned to fondly treasure, Dr. Jekyll was evidently in control during the earlier part of the evening. After noticing certain unusual and unnatural circumstances and the sudden palpable change in the weight of the air she was breathing however, Dr. Jekyll, with a flick of a finger and a split-second glance at a despicable sight, was suddenly pushed to the side pathetically whimpering, and Ms. Hyde, the aggressive and nefariously shameless one took over.
To make the long story short, Ms. Hyde stole the show from the restrained Dr. Jekyll. For the rest of the evening, she showed her friends and her friend's friend how vile she could get. She smoked, drank an entire barrel of beer, danced like mad in front of a crowd, and shouted curses at people Dr. Jekyll adored. And as the evening came to a close, she was so wasted that she didn't even have the smallest memory of the supposedly wonderful music she heard and the slightest gumption to be grateful for the evening and the company.
In the morning, Dr. Jekyll woke up with a muddled head and a bruised heart. She hated Ms. Hyde so much. She hoped Ms. Hyde will never come back. Although she knows that one day, when somebody hurts her again, she will.
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