Page 15 of Journey

“Any questions?” Crow asks. When no one speaks up, he nods. “Dismissed.”

One by one, my brothers file out of the room, but Tracer hangs back. Before church assembled, I told him I needed a favor, and it’s now or never.

“How’d it go with Wren?” he asks as soon as we’re the only two left.

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” I admit. “It was… odd.”

“Odd?”

“She acted like she didn’t even know me,” I tell him. “And she was fucking convincing, bro. Something about that chick is off, and I need to know what. Especially now that we’ve got this new threat. She could be with them for all I know.”

“So you want me to dig?”

“As deep as you fucking can.”

CHAPTER 8

WREN

Might as well get used to being alone.

“Press one to accept this call.”

I stare at the screen, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I answered the call. I’ve managed to avoid most contact with my father since his trial, and I’d be smart to keep it that way.

Then why’d you fucking answer?

Instead of pressing one, I disconnect the call and drop my phone onto the coffee table like I’m playing a game of Hot Potato and the song has ended. My heart thumps in my chest, and my hands become clammy.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”

My vision blurs, and the voices in my head get louder. I know what that means, and I have to stop it. Leah’s coming over, and the last time an alter was fronting around a friend, I became a laughing stock.

I spent years not understanding why I’d lose time and why people would treat me with familiarity when I had no clue whothey were. Moving from one foster home to another because the parents were afraid of me didn’t help either.

Broken, fractured, crazy… You name it, I’ve likely been called it.

Then I aged out of the system and found Dr. Young. She put a name to what was happening to me: Dissociative Identity Disorder. Apparently, watching my dad bludgeon my mom and brother to death was so traumatic that my mind splintered into different personalities in order to protect itself.

Dr. Young gave me hope when I needed it the most. Without her, I’d probably be six feet under. I wouldn’t say that life is easy by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s helped me understand what’s going on and taught me ways to process stressful situations to reduce the risk of switching.

I breathe in and out slowly, counting to seven with every inhale and exhale. Soon, my vision clears, and I’m completely myself again. The voices are still there, but they’re quieter, calmer.

Thirteen.

That’s the number of people living rent-free in my head.

Thirteen different personalities, each one keeping me safe from one thing or another.

Thirteen alters who take control of my body when they perceive a threat.

I wish I knew them, understood them, could regulate them. I’m trying. Therapy and medication help, but I don’t think it’s something that will ever completely go away. Which means lost time, amnesia, and a host of other problems that can arise, all because of being dealt a shitty hand in the father department.

A knock on the door startles me, reminding me I have plans for tonight. It’d probably be smart to cancel, considering the stress of my dad trying to reach out, but fuck it.

Leah frowns when I open the door and she sees what I’m wearing. I glance down and take in my leggings and flimsy old t-shirt before smiling lopsided at her.

“I’m changing,” I assure her.

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