I shake my head, and hold in my tears. He can’t really want this. “How can you willingly go into this not knowing who’ll want to come out from one hour to the next?”
“Because I love you.”
“You have to stop saying that.”
“But I do.”
“Stop!” I snap. “Stop telling me you love me. Stop showing me you love me. Just…stop loving me. Please. I don’t know how I’m going to survive when you finally realize this is all too much. I have too much baggage. I’m so damaged I’m not sure if I can function.”
“Pfft.” He stands and flicks his hand at me dismissively. “Just admit it. You want out.”
“No, I don’t. But I know I’m a freak and a mess.”
He paces in front of me, and stops long enough to shake his head and roll his eyes. “Bullshit. You’re trying to find a way for us not to work. You’re a damn coward, Molly.”
“Me!” I shriek. “I’m not a coward.”
“Again, bullshit.”
“I’m fucked up in the head, Dylan. Fucked. Up.” I stand and come toe to toe with him.
“Yeah? So what? You’re not the only person in the world like this. There are thousands, maybe even millions who have DID. Do they not deserve love? Are you saying you don’t deserve to be loved?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just so confused!” I nearly yell the last word. I have no idea why I’m holding back.
“You’re afraid,” he says with confidence.
“Of course, I’m afraid. I’m scared to death. I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Why?”
“Because eventually this’ll all be too hard for you and you’ll leave.” I want to cry, to burst into tears and let them fall.
Dylan shakes his head, and steps back from me. He runs his hands through his hair, and shakes his head, again. He looks away from me, his inner turmoil killing him. His tight jaw, and hard shoulders are obvious signs of stress. Finally, after what feels like hours, though it’s been only seconds, he faces me and says, “You can allow yourself to be vulnerable, Molly. You can allow yourself to love me back. If I wanted to run, I would’ve done that already. But I don’t. I never want to be anywhere without you.”
He floors me. When I think I’m getting through to him to leave, he does the exact opposite of what I’m expecting. He convinces me to hang in and fight for myself, just like he’s fighting for me.
“You have to stop battling this imaginary rift you think is happening between us. We are too important together for us to end.”
“I can’t…”
“It ends with us passing away in our sleep together. Holding hands.”
“You’re too intense,” I whisper.
“Says the chick with three other personalities,” he snaps.
I stand, staring at him. My mouth gaping open, my eyes wide open in surprise. “Did you just say that out loud?”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but that gives me enough time to catch my breath. “Yes, I did. I’m not going to pussy-foot around the fact that my love has other personalities. And you shouldn’t either. I’m getting it out in the open.”
“You can’t say shit like that.”
“Why? Isn’t it true?”
“Well, yeah, it’s true.”
“Or is this because you want to fight?”
What? “I don’t want to fight. I hate confrontation.”
“You hate confrontation? Really?” he asks sarcastically. “Says the woman who stood up to a man abusing his dog.”
“That was different.”
“No, it’s not. You stand up for what you believe. And I think you believe you’re less than.”
“Less than what?”
“Exactly. I ask you the same question. Less than what? Less than others? Less than what you’re supposed to be? Less than what you think I deserve? You have to stop hating yourself.”
“I hate when you do that,” I say as I pace the room. Dylan smirks, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You twist words and somehow make me see how we do belong together. I want to be left alone, so I can’t hurt you.”
“This isn’t about self-preservation? You want to protect me?”
“It’s about all of the above. I want to protect myself, and I want to protect you. Because one day, someone better, prettier, smarter and with only one personality is going to turn your head. And I won’t be able to survive that as well as this.” I grip the front of my head, like I’m having a severe headache while closing my eyes.
“And do you know what I want?”
“What?” I open my eyes and look over to see him leaning against the wall, his hands behind his back.
“I want you.”
Dylan’s words are powerful, raw, and real. And I hold my breath, waiting for the but. He stands, as far away from me as he can be in the room, waiting. He’s quiet, not responding. He’s waiting for me. I want to argue, to scream for him to run as fast and far as he can. I want to cry. I want to tell these voices to leave and never return. I want to be normal. I want to love him. I want… I want…
So much.
“You’re fighting with yourself,” he says.
“I am,” I reply.
“Stop talking yourself out of us. We work, and we’ll find a way to work together. All of us.”
Mom walks in, carrying a clear bag. My eyes are drawn to the colored pencils.
Oh, pencils. Neve claps her hands together happily.
Suddenly, I become weak in the legs, and stumble backward.
“Molly,” Dylan says as he runs toward me to catch me before I fall.
My head clouds, and I start rubbing my eyes.
“What’s happening?” Dylan asks.
I close my eyes.
Looking at the man, I back away from him until I find the wall. I slide down it, and curl into myself. “Please, no more,” I beg.
He looks at me with a blank expression. “I won’t hurt you,” he says as he stands further away from me.
“Paris,” I call for M’s mom. “Paris!” I say even louder.
“Molly, are you okay?” the man asks.
“My name’s Neve.” I look up at him, and recognize him from the first time. He won’t hurt me. But I don’t trust him, not yet. “I know you.”
He smiles at me. He takes a step closer, and my eyes widen with his step. He notices, and steps back. “Paris,” he calls M’s mom. He looks around the room, then sinks to the floor where he’s standing. He crosses his legs in front of him and places his hands in his lap. “My name’s Dylan. I’m really happy to meet you, Neve.” M’s mom walks in and sees me and Dylan sitting on the floor. She’s just about to ask why, when Dylan says, “Neve’s with us.” He offers her a smile.
“Oh, hi Neve. I got those colored pencils you wanted, and some books to color in. I also bought the first two Harry Potter books. Would you like me to get them?”
“Can I have the pencils and the books to color in, please?”
“I’ll go get them.” I look between her and Dylan, silently asking if he’s going to try to hurt me. “He’s a good person, Neve,” she answers my unasked question.
I nod, but I’m still cautious. People can say whatever they want. Their words mean nothing if their actions don’t back them up. People think that because I’m a kid, I’m dumb. But I’m not like other kids. I’ve lived a life full of lies, horror and betrayal. I’m not trusting anyone, other than M, AJ, and Kate. And Paris.
“Neve, here you go,” M’s mom says as she approaches me carefully.
I look at Dylan, and he appears worried. “Are you okay?” I ask as I reach for the pencils.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Paris says.
“Not you, Paris. Dylan, Are you okay? You seem worried. Did I do something wrong? Do you want me to do something for you?”
“What? God no. I don’t want you to do anything for me… Neve,” he stutters when he says my name. “I never want you to do anything for me.”
“No!” Dylan nearly shouts at me. I cower backward, afraid. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I just want to be friends, that’s it. I’ll never ask you to do anything like he used to.”
I take one of the pencils out of the packet, and start coloring in. “He’d yell at me if I told him it hurt. He’d scare me. He’d tell me he’d hurt everyone if I didn’t do what he wanted. He’d tell me no one would believe me. He said I’d be taken away, and no one would know where I went. He told me he’d kill me.”
“Dear Lord,” Paris gasps.
“I’ll never do anything like that to you, Neve.”
I keep coloring, while chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Do you want to color with me?”
“Me?” Dylan asks. I nod my head without lifting my eyes to look at him. “I’d love to.”
“Don’t touch me,” I warn.
“I won’t.” Although I’m not looking at him, I can hear him sliding across the floor. I know he’s here, opposite me. He’s far enough away he can’t reach out to touch me. I take two colors, and slide them over to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say as I slide the coloring book over so we both have a page each. I lay flat on my stomach, and hook my ankles together.
“You like coloring, and Harry Potter. Harry Potter is cool. I actually think without Hermione, Harry wouldn’t have made it as far as he did.”
“Do you like the movies, or the books?”
“The books rock. But the movies were pretty good too.”
I smile. “There’s a Harry Potter studio in England. I want to go one day.”
“Yeah? I’d love to go there too.”
“Have you ever had Butter Beer?” I ask.
“No, but I want to try it. I wish I had Harry’s invisibility cloak too.”
“Me too!” I say happily.
We continue to color in quietly for a little while. I like how he hasn’t tried anything on me. But it doesn’t mean he won’t. I just have to be really careful around him. He used to pretend he was nice when we were with our foster parents, then at night, it would all be different. “I didn’t like to be left alone with him,” I say out loud.
“Yeah?”
“Every time our foster parents would go anywhere, he’d start to touch me.”
“Is that right?” Dylan asks, his voice tight.
“He never hit me where they’d see the marks.” I look up right at the moment where Dylan stops coloring, rolls his eyes, and does a funny move with his mouth. “Are you sad?”
He hesitates with his reply. “I’m upset,” he finally says.
“I’m sorry,” I automatically respond. I used to say sorry to him all the time, and hope he wouldn’t hurt me.
“You don’t have to say sorry to me, Neve.”
“Do you want to do what he did to me?”
“Never.”
“I didn’t like it.” I hear someone crying, and look up. M’s mom is sniffling into a tissue. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Sweet girl, you have the most beautiful and pure heart. There’s no way you could ever hurt my feelings.”
Neve, I need to come back.
I nod my head.
Everything becomes fuzzy, and I feel so tired. It’s time for M to come back.
I have so many questions for Amelia. My mind hasn’t stopped. Kate and AJ both are talking all the time, and it’s driving me crazy. Neve’s quiet, not interacting at all.
Zhen places his head on my lap, and waits for me to scratch behind his ear. His eyes droop when I start scratching. “You okay, boy?” I ask, half expecting him to respond in some kind of way.
Dylan’s at work today, but he wants to be here when Amelia arrives, so I asked Amelia if she can come a bit later. I’ve been on edge all day, wandering around the house looking for things to do. But nothing’s caught my attention.
Mom and Dad are both at work. They’re working half days for now.
I find myself sitting outside Tina’s door, just staring at it.
I start crying, feeling overwhelmed by so much. “I want to be angry at you,” I say to Tina’s door. “I want to tell you how mad I am that you chose him over us. Over me.” I wipe at my cheeks. “I loved you so much, and you went to him. Look at what he did to you.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m so mad. I’m mad at you, I’m mad at him, but mostly, I’m mad with myself. I knew what he was doing, and I didn’t do enough to get you away from him.” I close my eyes, and lower my head in shame. “Why didn’t I do more?” I lift my hands and begin tearing at my hair, punishing myself for not being able to get her away from him. I lower my hands, and look up at her door. I jump to my feet, and walk toward her door. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” I scream at the door. “Fuck you!” I bash at her door. Yelling and crying, broken hearted that she’s never going to come back. “Fuck you! You should’ve lived. You should’ve lived!” I keep screaming. “I hate you so much. You had everything going for you, you should’ve lived.” I beat the door so hard my hand goes through the door. Pulling it back, I keep pounding on the door. “It should’ve been me! It should’ve been me.” My beating on the door slows. My arms protest; my hand hurts. Leaning my forehead against her door, I cry and lift my other hand to place it on the door. “You could’ve lived, and I should’ve died.”
“Molly,” I hear Dylan’s deep voice. He’s standing behind me, not touching me.
Closing my eyes, I slide down the door, and lay heaped on the floor across the threshold.
Silently, Dylan’s strong arms scoop me up, take me into my room and he lays me on my bed. He walks into my bathroom, and turns the shower on. He returns to me, helps me up, takes my clothes off then leads me to the shower. The steam in the bathroom has already fogged up my mirror. The tears in my eyes make it all too fuzzy to see. Like a zombie, I stand at the shower, waiting for him to lead.
I turn to see him stripping off. He takes my hand in his, and guides me into the shower. He turns us so the water is running over me. Dylan holds me in his arms, my body trembling against his.
Although we’re both naked, standing body to body, this isn’t sexual. It’s so much more. But it’s still an intimate connection. Tilting my head, I look up to him. “I’m lost,” I say as the water keeps cascading down my body.
“I know,” he replies.
“I don’t know what to do.”
He leans down, and places a kiss to my forehead. “You have to learn how to forgive yourself so you can move forward.”
I purse my lips together, afraid of what might come out of my mouth. I tighten my hold on Dylan, and lean my head against his chest. We stand under the water until our bodies feel more like entwined souls. His lean frame wraps around mine, protectively blanketing me. I feel safe in his arms. Somehow, I know Dylan won’t ever hurt me. He’d do everything in his power to keep harm away from me.
“Dylan,” I whisper, my lips touching his chest.
“Yeah,” he replies in a low, pained voice. I know what my body is doing to him, but now isn’t the time to seal our connection.
“I think I love you,” the words cascade from my mouth easier than I thought they would.
“I know. You’ve said it before, but I thought maybe you weren’t really ready to say those words then. But I know, deep down, that you do.” He kisses the top of my head. He’s already confessed the same words to me. “I love you.”
“Those words frightened me when you first spoke them. Now, I’m not afraid.”
“Don’t ever be afraid of my feelings for you.”
I half-chuckle. “It wasn’t your feelings I was afraid of.” I feel his chest pull in a sharp breath. Stepping back, I look up at him and give him a small smile. “Amelia will be here soon.” I lower my gaze, open the shower door, and step out. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my body, and leave the bathroom.
Dylan stays in the shower for a while lon
ger, and by the time he’s out, I’m already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on my bed. He comes into my room, with a towel hanging around his hips. I look down at my toes, then up to him. “Are you alright?” he asks.
“I’m sorry,” I reply in a small voice. “I’m embarrassed.” I lower my head again.
Dylan walks over to me, and kneels between my legs. He places his hands on my thighs, and gently rubs the top of them. “This will hands-down be the most difficult part of your life. You can get through this, Molly. We’re all here for you.”
“I know, but I can’t help feeling ashamed. And angry.”
“Angry at what?”
“At myself mostly. I should’ve tried harder to save her.”
“I’m not going to pretend to have all the answers, because I don’t. But what happened to Tina was not your fault.”
I look up, finally meeting Dylan’s eyes. His bare chest is distracting, but it’s his beautiful, deep eyes that captivate me. “The logical part of my brain agrees with you. But I can’t say the same for the emotional part.”
He nods his head. “When is Amelia coming?”
I lean over and lift my phone, looking at the time. “She’ll be here soon. Mom and Dad will back soon, too.”
“I better get changed, before they see me like this. They may think we…” He looks at me, and gives me a strained smile. “I don’t want them to think I took advantage of their daughter.”
“They like you too much to think that.”
He pushes up off his knees, grabs his clothes that I’ve folded and placed on the bottom of my bed, and heads back into the bathroom.
“How are you today, Molly?” Amelia asks.
Dylan’s sitting beside me on the sofa, holding my hand. Mom and Dad are opposite us, and Amelia is sitting on one of the armchairs. I look over to my parents, and I know I have to tell them I had a mini breakdown. “Does putting my hand through my sister’s bedroom door tell you anything?”
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