Imogen had won last year's costume competition at the annual Halloween spectacular hosted by her mother, Charlotte Sinclair, at their family estate, and she was determined to defend her crown.
She had a reputation for creativity, and it was important to her to save face.
"I can't just come dressed as any old scrub like you, Mousey," she said. "People have certain expectations of me."
It sounded stressful. I was glad nobody expected anything from me. Most of the time, Imogen chose my outfit, usually something that would accessorize and elevate her own.
Last year, she and her friends thought it would be hilarious if I dressed as my namesake. They found me a slutty polka-dot Minne Mouse dress, matching hair bow, clogs, and mouse ears. With my skinny legs and flat chest, I felt completely exposed.
It had given Imogen the idea to dress as a sexy cat. She chose a sleek, black leather bodysuit with a tail attached to the back, knee-high boots, cat ears, and a whip. She locked my wrists in cuffs behind my back and clipped a leash to a collar around my neck. She called her display "Minnie's capture." Everyone had a great time with it. I smiled along, trying not to blush as she paraded me around, desperate to be seen as part of the joke rather than the butt of it.
The night crescendoed with her releasing me from my leash, pretending I had escaped so she could hunt me down. It made for a great show as everyone watched, laughed, and applauded when she cornered me, threatening to strike me with her whip. I slid down the wall to my knees, pleading in a whisper for her not to hurt me. She grinned, dangling her leash. I shuffled back to her feet, and she hooked it back to my collar. Everyone cheered, and she directed me back to the dancefloor where the judge awarded her costume the victory. That showpiece moment had clinched her the title.
This year, she was coming dressed as a doctor. I was to be her patient. It all sounded fine until she revealed the straight jacket and standing gurney she had found for me.
Mom had been in the psychiatric hospital for a year now. She had suffered a severe nervous breakdown during one of her shifts at Sinclair's, the elite restaurant owned by the Sinclair family: Imogen's family.
Mom had made a huge scene, quitting her position, declaring her hatred for the owner, Imogen's mom, Charlotte, blaming her for overworking Dad and causing his heart attack, accusing her of ruining her life. She went as far as threatening to burn the whole building down. Charlotte's lawyer, Gael LeMarr, made it clear that if I did not commit her, then prison was the only alternative.
It was a blessing that Charlotte volunteered to pay for private care. Mom had no insurance. Without Charlotte, Mom would have been stuck going to a state facility. Imogen warned me about all the awful things they did to patients in those places. I was lucky to have Imogen as my best friend. I would have been so lost during this awful time without her.
Mom begged me not to leave her alone in that place. She screamed that there was nothing wrong with her. That she was thinking clearly for the first time in years. All she wanted was a fresh start, free from the restaurant, free from Charlotte. She clawed at me, begging for me to release her. She preferred prison. She said we could run away together. Escape it all. When I asked her what she meant, she ranted and raved about what a monster Imogen was. That she was just like her mother. She said that she was so sorry for introducing me to her. She never meant for any of this to happen. Something about a goddess cult. Egypt. A golden ankh. It was hard to comprehend what any of it meant.
I was prevented from questioning her further as the hospital aides entered her padded cell, restrained her to the floor, and pacified her with an injection into her neck.
I still have nightmares about that day. It was the last time I had seen her. She looked so scared. She was pleading with me until the very last moment. It was awful. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking about it. I tried to tell myself that this was for her own good. That this was her chance to heal. That I was a good daughter. That she didn't really hate me. That everything would go back to normal one of these days. But the truth was, I had no idea when I might ever see her again.
Dr. Lexington was vague about the potential timeline for when I might be allowed to visit. During my last update, she had recommended an experimental electro-shock therapy. She assured me it was safe. The principle was to induce a controlled seizure that would alter her brain chemistry and form new neural connections. If I wanted to expedite her recovery, this was the only option. It sounded like an extreme measure. I said I needed time to think it over. Mom already hated me for committing her. I worried she would never forgive me if I signed off on her electrocution too.
I do trust that Dr. Lexington knows what she's talking about. Not only is she at the top of her field, but she is a personal friend of Charlotte. Apparently, the two of them were in high school together back in the early 90s. Charlotte said they were in rival friend groups back then but have gotten much closer since. It was reassuring to know Dr. Lexington held a personal stake in my mom's care. That could only be a good thing. It was just difficult to think of my mom being electrocuted.
Of course, being financially dependent on Charlotte for my mom's continued care is not without its challenges. I know Charlotte could potentially cut her funding at any moment. That would be disastrous. I could never afford Mom's care alone, not on the salary Imogen pays me as her Personal Assistant.
As a popular Influencer, Imogen requires a lot of assistance. I pack her luggage, book her flights, purchase gifts on her behalf, and manage her appointments, among a whole host of personal care responsibilities, cleaning, cooking, and laundry. The list is never-ending. But I'm grateful Imogen has given me this opportunity. I have no qualifications to my name. It would be impossible for me to find anything better. Plus, she allows me to live in her deluxe apartment in the center of the city completely rent-free!
It depresses me sometimes when I consider just how reliant I am on Imogen. She pays my salary and keeps a roof over my head. Her mom pays for my mom's medical care. If Imogen ever tires of me...no, I mustn't ever think like that. The consequences of getting on Imogen's bad side are too terrible.
Imogen could be temperamental and emotional at times, especially when she doesn't get her own way, but as her best friend since childhood, I know how to pacify her tantrums before they escalate. The trick was to be as passive as possible. Experience told me that standing up for myself only made the situation worse. I take what she throws at me with grace and humor, never daring to challenge her. It was why, despite our obvious differences in wealth, beauty, and popularity, we remain the best of friends.
As a kid, with Mom and Dad working such long hours at the restaurant, I needed somewhere to go after school. Charlotte suggested that I go to her house as a play friend for Imogen since we were the same age. There were plenty of maids to take care of us, and it saved my parents money on child care.
It worked out great. I knew right away that Imogen was a girl who was used to getting her own way. We played the games she wanted to play, watched the movies she wanted to watch, and ate what she wanted to eat. Having never had a friend before, I was just happy someone wanted to hang out with me.
There was only one time I defied her. I had wanted a different flavor of ice cream for her. She had attacked me, pulling my hair, kicking me in the shins, and screaming that she would tell her mom about me. That she was done with me. That she hated me. She screamed how stupid and poor I was. It took two maids to pull her off of me.
After she had calmed down, the maids brought me to her in order for me to apologize. It was hard for me because I knew I hadn't really done anything wrong. My body was still sore from her beating. She was sitting in an overly large chair with a large tub of her favorite ice cream. The maids had done everything they could to calm her, but still, they looked on nervously. I don't blame them for taking Imogen's side. Imogen could so easily have had them fired.
