Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

I spilled most of it trying to open the lid one-handed. Blake tried to remove me again, so I took a hold of his iron-hard erection and planted myself more firmly on his thighs.

  “Are you trying to say you aren’t affected, Blake?” I stroked him, smiling inwardly when he threw his head back and moaned.

  “I’m simply saying... ahhh... that I can... control myself. We had plans for the night... remember?”

  “Plans change all the time.”

  Laughing at my expense, he suggested we see a doctor about my overactive sex drive. I ignored him and leaned forward. With my other hand, I opened myself up quickly, then planted my feet on the stool rails to give myself more leverage and impaled myself on his cock. “Fuck!” It knocked the wind out of me, but I was too horny to give myself a moment to get accommodated. Withdrawing myself from the front opening of what remained of my underwear, I started vigorously pumping my hardness with my dominant hand.

  Fisting his hair with the other, I sucked greedily at his neck while concurrently hammering down on him fast. This was meant to be quick.

  Blake seized my bottom with his big hands. God, how I loved a possessive hold on my ass. It made me feel owned. He scooted to the edge of the stool, changing the angle of penetration and brushing against my prostate. I released my suction on his neck. “Fuck, Blake... Are you... almost there?”

  “Yes.” His harsh breathing a vortex near my ear.

  I began jerking myself more vigorously, my biceps strained from the action. My balls tugged up tight, and I clenched around him. I instructed him not to come.

  “Feels so good, love,” he said. His fingers reached behind me to rub where we connected.

  That was all it took. I dropped, holding still as I began to erupt. Hand still flying, semen going everywhere. “Now,” I told him. “Fill me up.” He swelled within me, and I groaned at the knowledge that his climax fast approached.

  Blake got up and splayed me out on the counter. I grabbed his biceps in response. He continued his deep thrusts, hitting my gland repeatedly. My prick lay soft, but I relished the overstimulation. When being fucked, I never wanted it to end. No matter what, I’d take it. No such thing as enough.

  He placed tender kisses over my face. “It’s so... damn... tight it hurts.” He brought my legs from around his waist and situated them over his shoulders. Holding onto my hips, he kept me in place and traveled deeper inside me, grunting every time he bottomed out. “I’m... coming.”

  “Come, baby. I want to...feel you...” The wet, squelching sounds that came from my ass added a level of filth to the moment.

  His hands circled my ankles, and he shoved down until I lay in a split. He leaned back to watch himself move in and out of me. Slow, but thorough. “It’s so pink and pretty, love.”

  He licked his lips, and I clenched tight. “Come now, damn it, I need it.”

  He unloaded in me, pumping nonstop for what felt like an eternity. Every time he pulled back, the excess that couldn’t be contained leaked out of my hole, falling to the edge of the counter. And every time he went back in, another hot jet shot deep to replace what was lost. I live for this.

  Afterwards, he fell heavy on top of me, wheezing. “Feed me,” I whispered.

  He peered down at me, then reached between us to scoop up what escaped onto the counter. He brought his fingers within licking distance; I lapped at them, sure to get every drop. In a strained voice, I told him, “You taste so good.”

  As good as that was, I needed real nourishment. We sat cross-legged in the center of our California King bed with dinner. Our knees brushed. I placed my half-eaten food to the side and leaned back on my palms, watching Blake absently shove food around his plate with his fork. “Talk to me, Blake.”

  He startled, the silverware slipping free and rattling against the dish. He opened his mouth, then closed it. I set our food on the floor and then urged him back against the headboard, straddling him. “Talk to me,” I repeated. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and the faint lines around them were more pronounced than normal. I smoothed them out with my fingers.

  “What’s the difference between the two of us?” Blake asked.

  I contemplated pretending that I didn’t know who he meant by “us.” Or even that I didn’t know what he meant by “difference.” But I respected him too much for that. I took him asking in the first place as a good sign. We’d never spoken this directly about Damon with each other. And Damon never allowed Blake to be a voyeur into our sex life. Blake only received access to deal with the aftermath of it.

  “Damon decides what I can and can’t take and for how long. He’s in complete control and uses me how he wants; he’s never gentle about it. Free will doesn’t exist for me with Damon. I have to fight for it, and he’s always up for the challenge,” I said. Blake bristled at what he believed to be my ill-treatment.

  “With you, it’s more of a partnership. A give and take. You’re a considerate lover, always mindful of your treatment of me. You’re okay with me making demands. Damon would never allow me to dictate anything sexually.” There were many other ways that they were different. But Blake wasn’t asking about those ways. He wanted to know about the thing that I couldn’t live without. What he was incapable of providing. “I need what you give me too, Blake. One’s not better than the other. Different, but equally satisfying.”

  “But is that what you would prefer? What you get from him?” he asked, perplexed.

  “No,” I said emphatically. “What I would prefer is balance. His love holds me prisoner, and yours sets me free. But ultimately, you’re one person, so in essence, Blake, you have the ability to both imprison me and free me. Instead of you two fighting each other, let’s figure out a way that you can both have me. Here,” I gestured to our home, “and out there.” I pointed toward the bedroom window. If only my faith in the outcome were as strong as my words implied. But he needed to see my courage in order to find his own. I’m counting on you, Julie.

  The cogs turned in his head. Blake had always been reasonable. Able to see the bigger picture. What we were currently doing was not sustainable. “I saw Dr. Stevens today.”

  “Did you?” He never mentioned an appointment. “How did it go?”

  “He told me he could no longer treat me,” he humphed. “Said it would be unethical.”

  Dr. Stevens didn’t specialize in the type of treatment Blake needed. Blake chose him for that reason. He wanted someone to vent to; he didn’t want to be “fixed.” I waited for more.

  “He recommended me to an expert in the field of DID.” His chuckle lacked humor.

  My hands fell limp at my sides, I sat confused but intrigued. “Who?” I asked.

  He gave me a tired smile, the back of his head lightly hitting the headboard. “Guess.”

  We were able to get a last-minute appointment with Julie the following evening. Entering her office ahead of me, Blake reached out a hand as she approached. “Dr. Hayes, it’s good to finally meet you.”

  She went in for a hug instead. “Please, call me Julie. Have a seat. Both of you.”

  I tore my gaze from the window. “So this is how it’s going to be from now on,” I said under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

  “We have company now. Leaving us over here alone would be rude.” She smiled.

  We sat on the couch, and I directed my gaze at Blake; he sat straight-backed in his custom-made suit. Ready to take on our session much like he took on a boardroom. Confident and capable. My eyes drifted from his unflinching expression to our entwined hands when the pressure he applied threatened to grind my bones to dust. I gave my own squeeze, signaling for him to loosen his hold. Then we waited expectantly for Julie to begin.

  “Before we start, do either of you have any questions for me? Blake? As this is our first time meeting, I’m sure you must have some concerns. Please, speak freely.”

  Blake spoke. “I looked into your background. You have over fifteen years of experience with Dissociative Identity Disorde
r. In your expert opinion, how likely would you say it is that I’ll be able to... merge with Damon?”

  Blake said “merge” like it was the last thing he wanted to do, and some of my earlier hope faded. We were taking our first step, and the stakes were high. Regardless of the bravado I demonstrated the night before, my courage was completely contingent on his willingness to be all in.

  “Well, that depends and it’s too soon to tell. This is a rare condition that affects a very small percentage of the population,” Julie said. “DID patients can have anywhere from a few to one hundred alters. No two cases are exactly the same. It’s very individualized. Therefore, the approach we take to finding a solution won’t be the same. Already, I can see that your case will be different from any other I’ve come across because there’s only one alternate. There will be more differences, I’m sure.

  “This type of disassociation is typically the result of the mind needing to protect itself against some form of trauma. A fragment takes place in an effort to shield the host.”

  Julie bent over to pick up a folder off the coffee table. After quickly reviewing its contents, she focused on Blake. “Have you done your own research on the disorder, Blake?”

  “No, I haven’t. Life was great. I had no reason to look into anything. Well, maybe as of a few months ago, I did. I suppose fear has been ruling my life ever since. Afraid of what I would find. I couldn’t imagine in any scenario that if... healing—for lack of a better word—were to take place, that it’d be the alter that got to stay.”

  “Let’s start by taking the word ‘alter’ off the table. For now, at least. In my opinion, it only serves to keep you and your fragmented other half at war. It leaves you feeling like you’re at a disadvantage, which makes you defensive, and I’m guessing it makes Damon feel superior in some way. The goal here is to create an environment where you both can learn to trust each other again. Right now, you feel like he’s out to take what’s yours. And I’m sure he feels like you’ve already taken what’s his. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “He willingly walked away,” Blake said, his words clipped. “How can he feel like I took something that he willingly gave to me? Justin was in the hospital. Broken. He wouldn’t have made it another day with Damon. For once, Damon did the right thing and put Justin first.” He took a moment to collect himself, smoothing down his tie.

  If I had to take an educated guess, I would say Damon didn’t want to admit that Blake was the better option for me. Yes, he walked away to save me, but doing that and admitting verbally that he wasn’t the better man were two very different things. I understood this. Blake either didn’t, or didn’t want to.

  Julie filled the silence. “For you and Justin, five years has gone by. You’ve lived a life, progressed academically and professionally. Financially, even. I’m sure Justin looks a little different than he did five years ago. You’ve both matured mentally as well.

  “For Damon, time stood still. For him, it feels like yesterday. Maturity-wise, he’s the same. His knowledge of the world is the same. His behavior patterns are the same. He knows this, and it can’t be easy for him to accept. So he needs someone to direct his anger at, as misplaced as it is. Try not to take it personally.”

  Blake’s posture softened, and my fingertips prickled as the blood began to recirculate again. Hand-holding in session might not be such a good idea.

  “For now, I would like to see both of you once a week. Most of the work needs to be done by you, Blake. But we’ll need Justin to fill in any gaps in your memory. We’ll also need his help to tackle Damon. Soon,” she emphasized.

  “Each week, you’ll both have an assignment to complete, and we’ll discuss how it went the following. We are going to dig into your past, so be prepared for that.”

  She paused thoughtfully. “I think the fact that you’re able to allow Damon freedom at Elite but have managed to keep him from bleeding into any other areas of your life says that you do have some control. I’d like to explore that, but first, can you speak a bit on how you came to be in the first place?”

  Blake’s jaw moved. He struggled with the decision to speak. Just as I began to deflate, thinking things were over before they began, he turned to me, and something in my stare encouraged him to take the leap.

  “I was born in a dark closet on his sixth birthday. He’d been in there for days already, he wore a cast on his right arm, and he’d defecated himself. Several times. I came to awareness with a hollow stomach. He hadn’t eaten in days.” Blake stood to remove his suit jacket. Patches of sweat soaked through his shirt. He draped it over the arm of the couch before retaking his seat, loosening his tie before rejoining our hands.

  We were moving into difficult territory.

  “Damon’s mother—Emilia,” he pronounced it with the proper intonation, a rare display of his maternal heritage, “was forced to drop out of school and take odd jobs waitressing and such, just to keep a roof over their heads. Aside from Emilia’s wiry, raven hair and innate charm, Damon was the spitting image of his father. The man who’d chosen his wife over her and their unborn child. It didn’t take long for her building anger and resentment to be misplaced. Damon suffered for her failed existence.”

  The introduction of Blake into Damon’s life always left me conflicted. It represented an ally for Damon. A companion to his pain. But it also signified the start of the sickness in his mind. I vibrated from the unwanted anticipation.

  “Did Emilia keep Damon isolated from family?” she asked.

  “Her family disowned her. Damon had no one.”

  Each word Blake uttered trembled. I wanted to hurt something, or someone, because their pain was mine. When they’re wounded, I bleed.

  “Teachers? Doctors?” Julie asked.

  “Whenever either became too inquisitive, she’d pack up and leave town. There were several moves before they settled in Chadwick, Oregon.”

  Julie stopped to make notes, and I took advantage of the lull in the conversation. Getting Blake’s attention, I mouthed, Are you okay? He nodded once just as Julie raised her head.

  “What was different about Chadwick?” she continued. “Why did it stick?”

  “Shortly before the move, Emilia became serious with one of her many flings. Travis. A borderline alcoholic, but she seemed to love him. He ignored Damon, never intervened when Emilia lost control. The two were a pair,” he said offhandedly. “He received a job transfer to one of the plants right outside Chadwick. He brought Emilia and Damon with him.”

  Hearing Blake discuss Damon as a separate entity held a strangeness that never eased. Easier to accept from Damon because he lacked the emotional tools to face the connection. But Blake was self-aware.

  What Damon suffered at the hands of his mother sickened me. Filled me with rage imagining the level of desperation, fear, and loneliness required to cause his young mind to fracture. But had he not been dealt the life he had, our lives wouldn’t have intersected. Glad we’d found each other, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. I refused to dissect what that ultimately said about me.

  “I’d like to skip ahead for now,” Julie said, removing her glasses. “Tell me, Blake, how did this re-emergence begin?”

  Blake took a breath and then deep-dived. “About four months ago, I noticed a change with Justin.” He looked over at me. “Subtle change. The type of thing you tell yourself you’re imagining. Him tossing and turning at night. Sometimes, I would roll over, and he’d be gone. He’d leave after I fell asleep, and I’d catch him sneaking back in. Claimed he couldn’t sleep, so he went for a drive. He would always want sex after an incident like that, and always more intense than usual. So worked up I’d have to take him right where we stood.”

  My cheeks flamed at his revelations. Remembering all too clearly the level of sexual pursuit my body would be in after a night on stage.

  “Long hours rehearsing or anxiety about an upcoming show. Those were his infamous excuses for his sleepless nights. Something was o
ff. I just didn’t know what. Maybe I was overthinking things, I told myself.” He shrugged.

  “One evening after work, I left the city for Chadwick. The plan was to grab dinner with a friend, Ash, and then spend the night at our house. Something urged me to drive back to the city, though. As I neared the condo, Justin’s car pulled out of the garage. I followed him.”

  Blake went silent; his demeanor shifted to one of dread, signifying that what came next was the foundation for where things began to go downhill. I flexed every muscle in my body to keep from squirming in discomfort. He attempted to slip his hand from mine. I held firm, and when he briefly rolled his head in my direction, my glare said that I wouldn’t allow him to put distance between us.

  “The route he took led to Chadwick. I instantly thought he was on his way to surprise me. And there I was, tailing him. Because I didn’t trust him. Shame on me.

  “I did get a surprise. When he exited the freeway too soon for Chadwick and a few minutes later pulled into the parking lot of Elite.”

  I relented then. Giving Blake the space he obviously needed. Now free of me, he sat forward, elbows to knees, hands steepled in front of his face.

  “I couldn’t make sense of it,” he said. “What did this mean? Why now? For how long? I thought he was happy.” He shook his head. “That’s when I felt Damon. The feeling is hard to describe, like two forces on opposing sides of a door. One trying to push it open and the other struggling to keep it closed. In my moment of weakness, he got through. I was shut out at that point.”

  Sitting back, Blake stared straight ahead as I regarded his profile, pleading without words for him to give me a sign that we were still okay. That’s the trouble with rehashing the past. Your intention was to dig up the facts, but sometimes you unburied the hurt.

  Guilt burned away at my insides. For the first time, I viewed the situation from his perspective, and it tormented me to know exactly how much my deception injured him.

  Julie called my name, and from the way she scrutinized me, it wasn’t the first time.