47. Multiplicity

EPOV

I was in the bathroom, cleaning the sparkle residue out of the tub, when I heard my girl's heartbeat pick up it's pace, signaling that she was waking up. I smiled to myself, ridiculously excited at being able to look into those warm chocolate depths again. She'd kept them hidden from me for the past seventy-two fucking minutes, and I was getting impatient.


She hadn't been asleep for more than twenty minutes before I found myself staring intently at her closed eyelids, willing them to open for me. I wanted to poke her, or 'accidentally' turn the radio on, so that she'd wake up and play with me. But as much as I wanted to wake her up, I knew that she needed her rest, so I decided to leave temptation alone and clean up Isabella's mess in the bathroom instead.


I rinsed the Clorox cleaning solution off the bottom of the marble tub with the detachable shower head, then put the shower curtain back in place. I had just finished putting the tub scrubber away, when I heard the first 'Edward' fall from her lips.


Aw.


"In here, honey," I called out, rushing over to the sink to clean the Clorox solution from my hands. I didn't want this stuff getting on my mate's sensitive skin when I touched her.


I heard little bare feet padding across the hardwood floor then, heading in my direction, so I went to dry my hands on the little white towel by the mirror. When she entered the bathroom a second later, she wrapped her thin arms around my waist for a hug. I twisted around in her embrace, so that we were facing each other, and wrapped my arms around her warm body.


"Hey sweetheart…did you have a good nap?" I asked, gently cradling her head to my chest.


I ran my cool fingertips through her long hair and down her back while she nodded. I dropped a quick kiss to the top of her head, then pulled back to look at her. She lifted her face to look into my eyes then, and what I saw there made me smile.


My Bella.


Those beautiful chocolate eyes sparkled up at me, and her soft cheeks lit up in a rosy blush under my gaze. I bent my head down, wanting to capture her pink lips in a chaste kiss, but she returned it eagerly, covering my cold lips in the heat of her warm ones. She pressed her body against mine, reaching her little fingertips up and over my cold cheek, and into my hair. When she gripped onto the hair at the nape of my neck and moaned into my mouth, I reached down, cupping a thigh in each hand, and lifted her from the ground. She squealed in surprise, then giggled as I turned us around and set her down on the countertop. I stood in between her legs and smiled against her lips, loving the sweet taste of her. I cupped her pink cheeks in my palms, and relished in the amazing feeling that her tugging little hands were igniting along my scalp.


She hummed against my lips, "So fucking sweet…" she whispered then glided her warm, wet tongue along my bottom lip.


I smiled at the amazing tingly feeling it had caused on my mouth and chin. "I missed you…" I whispered against her lips.


She nodded. "I love you," she murmured against mine.


Now it was my turn to trail my fingertips into her hair. I gathered a bunch of her silky locks at the nape of her neck in my hand, and pulled my lips away from hers as I gently yanked her head to the side. She gasped at the movement, then smiled as realization seemed to dawn on her. I chuckled as I skimmed my lips along her jaw and felt a purr ignite in my chest.


"I love you, too," I purred softly in her ear, and watched in smug amusement as tiny goose bumps rose along the side of her delectable little neck.


Mine.


"Mmm, Bella…my beautiful girl," I cooed in her ear.


I had to fight a smile at the shiver that that had caused her.


Mmm, so responsive…


I brought my lips to the juncture between her neck and shoulder as her hands tightened even further in my hair, keeping me held to her. Both her heart rate and breathing had accelerated, and I enjoyed the sound of her rushing blood as it sang in my ears.


"Bella…tell me what you want," I purred against her warm skin. I let my tongue snake out to wet the surface for me as I wrapped my arm around her back, wanting to keep her cradled to my chest.


"Mark me," was her breathy whisper.


I chuckled and kissed the wet spot on her neck, then pulled back to look into her lustful gaze. I breathed in deeply, pulling in her deliciously aroused scent and brought my lips back to hers one more time.


"Be a good girl and say please," I murmured against her mouth, then withdrew my lips from hers, wanting to focus my eyes on them as they formed the magic word that would be my undoing.


"Please," she pleaded, but it came out as more of a whimper.


I exhaled sharply, loving the things that that one little word did to my body.


Yes…


I cocked my head to the side a bit and smiled in satisfaction at my mate's aroused state.


"Aw, my Bella…you want me?" I asked softly.


She nodded, so I unwrapped my arm from around her back and slipped my hand in between us, then let my fingers lightly tease the jean-covered juncture in between her thighs. She bit her lip and moaned, her lustful gaze looking pleadingly into my eyes.


She looked so fucking beautiful like this…so completely at my mercy and begging for the pleasure that only I could bring her.


My left hand stayed tight in her hair, keeping her held like this so that her neck stayed exposed to me, while my right hand continued to tease her.


I kissed her again, and when her little hips starting moving on their own against my hand, I whispered to her, "Does that feel good, baby?"


She gasped. "Edward…" she exhaled my name as a moan, and the sound was so fucking erotic.


Her cheeks lit up for me in another delicious blush and the sight of it was incredibly intoxicating. I suddenly wanted to reward her body's reaction to me. She was being such a good girl…so damn responsive.


I applied a bit more pressure and kept up a tight circular motion with one finger, intently focusing on where I knew that pretty little clit was, while I stared into her eyes.


"Yes, love?"


"I want you," she told me.


I chuckled darkly, never stopping my circling fingertip, and nodded. "I know…"


She bit her lip and moaned. "Edward, please…"


That's right, love. Fucking beg for it.


I smirked. "My Bella, so greedy…" I playfully admonished, bending my head to trail kisses from my favorite spot on her warm neck, down to her exposed shoulder.


Her moans and gasps gradually grew louder, and I knew that she was getting frustrated with my teasing, so after I let myself delight in a few more of those beautiful wanton sounds coming from my mate, I brought my mouth to her ear and murmured my assurance to her.


"Shhh, baby…I'll make it feel good," I said, then kissed her again, and let my lips skim along her smooth jaw, back down to my favorite spot on her neck, and sucked on the delicate flesh there, needing to leave my mark on her now.


I wanted to strip her naked and bury my face in between her legs until she was screaming my name in ecstasy, but I couldn't do that because of that damn infection. All clit-licking activities were going to have to be postponed until the morning, and I was suddenly so fucking disappointed and pissed off at that realization.


I'd be damned if I was going to leave my girl wanting though, so I kept up my ministrations and purred softly in my own content as I took her warm flesh in between my lips. I gently suckled on it, bringing her hot, pulsing, sweet blood to the surface and saturating my mouth with the heavenly taste of it. I lovingly licked the mark I had just made, then pressed a cool kiss to it, before moving an inch to the left and starting again on a fresh piece of flesh.


Fuck, she tastes amazing.


When her breathy moans turned into high-pitched whimpers, I tightened my fist in her hair and quickened the pace of my hand, then let out a small possessive growl as my mate climaxed because of me. All because of me.


Mine.


That's fucking right.


After paying the same reverent attention to the second mark I'd left on her skin, I brought my lips back to hers in a heated kiss. She sighed contentedly into my mouth, and clung to me. I relished in the sweet taste of her breath and gulped it down, wanting to take the very essence of her into my being. I loosened my grip on her long silky locks, then brought my hand out from in between us to wrap my arm around her again.


I picked her up off the counter and we continued exploring each other's mouths as I brought her over to the bed. She smiled against my lips as I sat us down, and kept her straddled in my lap. I laid back on the gold comforter and folded my hands behind my head, gazing up at the beautiful sight before me. She quirked a small smile as she bent down to give my lips one last chaste kiss, then straightened back up, straddling my hips.


"I love you," she told me.


I brought one hand out from behind my head and lightly trailed my fingertips along the surface of her flat belly. She giggled at the contact. I loved the sound of it.


"I love you too, Bella."


She moved her hips against mine then, sending an electric current throughout my entire body.


Ohhh fuck!


Her delicious heat was just right fucking there, and when my eyes flicked back up to hers, I saw a mischievous glint in them.


Yeah. She knew exactly what she was doing.


"Bella…" I warned.


She raised her eyebrows at me, a small smile playing on her lips. "What?" she asked lightly, before grinding herself on me again.


My hands shot out and caught her hips, stilling them and lifting her up in the air, so that there was at least six inches of space between her sex and mine.


She giggled at the sudden movement, as it caused her to lean forward and catch herself by sprawling her hands out against my chest. I smiled up at her as she planted a warm kiss to the tip of my nose.


I subtly shook my head. "Naughty girl…" I playfully admonished.


Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she slightly cocked her head to the side. "I'm so naughty," she agreed in a breathy voice, giving me a wink.


It reminded me a lot of Marie.


I chuckled, then moved her hips forward and sat her back down on top of me, relieved that she was straddling my stomach now. I started lightly caressing her stomach again and smiled up at her, glad to have my Bella back for the time being.


"Edward?"


"Hmm?"


She furrowed her brow in a confusion for a second. "Before, when I was in the bathtub…what the hell was that about?"


I smiled at the memory. "Isabella…yeah, she was all sparkly and I had to help her wash the paint off," I told her, deliberately leaving out the swastika details.


"Oh. Okay."


"It was adorable," I added as an afterthought.


She nodded, her stomach muscles contracting slightly under my cool, tickling fingers. Alvin and the Chipmunks were still playing quietly on the flat screen, so my Bella turned her attention to it.


I let my thoughts drift and was suddenly very unsure of what we just did…what the protocol was on sexual activity while she still had that wretched infection. Would she start hurting again? Will her skin get irritated? She's almost healed, and the irritation almost completely gone, but could having an orgasm reverse her body's progress?


I stopped my slow fingertips and gazed up into her eyes, concerned. "How do you feel?"


She turned her head down to look at me shrugged casually. "Fine."


Fine…I hate that fucking word.


Before I could interrogate any further, she asked, "Why?"


I smiled up at her apologetically and sighed, debating on how to tell her about the infection. I was kind of hoping that she'd be gone a little while longer, so that she wouldn't have to come back to irritated intimate skin and a bruised jaw.


I knew that she wouldn't want me, her boyfriend, to know about something like this. She'd be so embarrassed when she discovered that, not only did I know about the infection, but I've also been treating it. She shouldn't be embarrassed about any of her natural human functions or vulnerabilities, though. It's ridiculous, and it's not as if there was an alternative solution to this particular problem anyway. I mean, Isabella sure as hell wasn't going to insert the applicator and apply the medication. She'd just keep crying and expect me to fix it.


And that's exactly what I did. I fucking fixed it.


"You have an infection, sweetheart," I said hesitantly.


She furrowed her thin brow. "What do you mean?"


"Last night, Isabella woke up crying. So after asking her some questions about what was wrong, I checked her out. And…you have a yeast infection, baby," I informed her.


She gasped, but I continued on, ignoring her blush and the fact that her hands were now hiding her face from my view.


Aw.


"It's alright, sweetheart, I gave her the treatment and you're healing beautifully. You'll be fine by the morning," I assured her quickly.


She sighed and just barely spread her little fingers, peeking out at me through them. "I'm healing beautifully?" she asked, mumbling through her embarrassment.


I nodded and hummed in agreement. "Mm-hmm…I checked."


"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, lifting her leg and un-straddling my stomach. She plopped down at my side instead, muttering softly, "I can't believe this…"


I sat up and wrapped my arm around her frail shoulders, tucking her into my side. "Don't be embarrassed, love," I murmured softly in her ear.


She shook her head and let out a shaky breath. "I am…" she insisted.


"Are you embarrassed to be mine?" I asked simply.


"No," she said, her voice raised with her conviction.


I smiled. "Good…because you shouldn't be," I told her. "You're mine Bella, and I will take care of you. Always. You belong to me…every single part of you belongs to me," I reaffirmed as I placed a soft kiss to the two tiny marks I had left on her smooth skin.


Mine.


At her silence, I continued on. "If you hurt, I'll make it better. If you're sick, I'll take care of you. That's all last night was about, love…nothing more," I assured her with a subtle shrug, trying to maintain a casual façade about the situation.


She began to relax into my embrace as I ran my hand along the length of her bare arm. She sighed after another minute of silence. "Thank you…" she whispered.


I kissed her cheek. "I'll always take care of you, baby. No need to thank me," I assured her.


She nodded just as her stomach began to growl.


I hooked my index finger underneath her chin then, and tilted it to the side, trying to get her to look at me. She'd been avoiding my gaze for the past five minutes because of her embarrassment, and it was frustrating the hell out of me. I wanted to see her big chocolate eyes, damn it. I smiled in satisfaction when her eyes finally flicked over and locked onto mine.


Good girl.


"You fell asleep before you could eat lunch, so it's waiting downstairs for you in the fridge," I informed her.


She nodded. "I gotta use the restroom first," she told me as she slid off the bed and headed towards the bathroom.


I got off the bed and went over to the dresser. "Bella, wait…here," I said, as I handed over the small tube of external cream.


She took it from me and blushed as she looked down at her palm, realizing what I had given her. She mumbled a shy, "Thanks," then scurried off towards the bathroom.


Adorable.


I informed her that I would be downstairs in the dining room, getting her lunch ready for her. She closed the bathroom door with a shouted, "Okay!", completely dismissing me from the room.


I smiled at her lingering embarrassment; it was so cute, then turned and made my way downstairs. After I took the plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwich, teddy grahams and carrot sticks out of the fridge, I stared down at it and wondered whether or not I should make her something different. All three items could be classified as 'kid food', and my Bella definitely wasn't a kid.


Yeah…make something different.


I nodded to myself, and tossed Isabella's kid food in the trash, then took out the ingredients to make a normal, grown-up sandwich for my Bella.

BPOV

I finished up in the bathroom and washed my hands, marveling at all the thoughts running through my mind at the moment.


First, Edward is all up close and personal while I'm on my period, and now he's all hands-on with this damn yeast infection.


Ew.


I rubbed my bare thighs together, noticing the slight itchy sensation that proved my life was beyond fucked right now, and that this situation was really real. That this was actually happening.


Oh my God.


My boyfriend has been treating my fucking cooter infection while I act like a damn five year old.


What the fuck.


I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I took a minute to look at what Isabella was trying to show me. She showed me a memory of her laying on the bed, pantyless, while Edward hovered over her and pointed out different medications, explaining what they were. She felt his cold fingers rubbing a white substance on her 'cuntie', then sent me vibes of confusion at that particular memory.


Ugh…gross.


From what I can see, it's like a parent changing a baby's diaper. At least, that's what it reminds me of. Him cradling me to his chest, then laying me down on the bed, and taking my panties off while he offers me different toys as a distraction. Then…oh god, wiping me down there-


Where's my Edward? Isabella asked, interrupting my reverie.


I sighed and shook my head, not wanting to even think about what else Edward might have wiped.


He's downstairs making lunch.


I miss him. I want him. I wanna see him. Go downstairs and look at him. Now.


Damn, miss bossy…


No, Bell…go get the DS out and we can play MarioKart. My Peach is so badass- Marie started before Isabella interrupted her.


No, go see my Edward. I wanna see my Edward.


You see Edward all the fuckin time. Go get the game, Bell.


No, go see Edward.


I was on this fuckawesome race this morning, and I was winning, because I rock so fucking hard, and my Peach punked Bowser's ass, and we were speedin down-


Where's Edward?


-the ramp, and I got a star and it made my Peach all blinky, and then we were really haulin ass down the rainbow-


I want Edwaaard…


Quit being a whiny little brat, you whiny fuckin brat! She's not gonna go see Edward, she's gonna go get the game, aren't you Bell?


Fuck you! And I'm not a brat, you're a brat. I want my Edward and I want him now!


You're the brat, you whiny little shit-


OH MY GOD! I mentally screamed, fed up with the constant arguing that seemed to be happening between them a lot lately.


"Bella?" Edward called up the steps.


I scowled at my reflection in the mirror, knowing that the girls could see me.


Stop fucking arguing.


I left it at that and yelled back, "Coming!" before walking out of the room and meeting Edward on the third story landing.


Isabella giggled out My Edward… as he enveloped my hand in his own and walked with me down the steps.


Brat Marie taunted.


I rolled my eyes. Stop it.


You stop it Isabella said, mocking me.


Yeah, Bell…you stop it.


I furrowed my brow. Stop what?


Stop what? Marie mocked.


Ugh, you're annoying.


You're annoying Marie countered.


Yeah, Bella…you're annoying Isabella agreed.


Whatever.


Actually kid, you're pretty fuckin annoying Marie told Isabella.


Actually bitch, you're pretty fuckin annoying Isabella countered.


Fuck you, you annoying fucking brat.


Shut up.


You're a bitch.

You're a brat.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.


I sighed and slid into my seat at the dining table, trying to ignore the voices in my head.


Fuck you both, now shut up.


Fuck you, Bell. Now go get the game. I'll show you my Peach an-


Isabella gasped. Oooo! You talked mean to Bella, I'ma tell my Edward on youuuu!


Marie scoffed. You're such a fuckin snitch.


I closed my eyes and slowly rubbed my temples at the developing headache.


"Bella, are you okay?" Edward's concerned voice brought me out of my reverie.


I opened my eyes and looked over at him, then sighed and nodded, "Yeah. The girls are just arguing, as usual…"


"Hmm…they had quite the little argument this morning," he informed me lightly.


I picked up my sandwich and took a bite of it, looking at him questioningly.


He chuckled. "Yeah, it seems as though Isabella wanted a story time, while Marie wanted to watch her music videos."


I nodded, "Sounds about right. It's okay, though…I can deal with the arguing. I've dealt with it before, ya know? It's just been a really long time. It's gonna take some time getting used to it again…" I trailed off, grimacing.


He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, love?"


I widened my eyes a bit, realizing what I had just said. I didn't want the Cullens knowing more than absolutely necessary about my disorder, but I guess there's nothing wrong with them knowing that I used to be a multiple.


Right?


Don't tell 'em if you don't want to. All that stuff is just sposta be between us Bella, but you're bein a big blabber mouth by tellin my Edward's daddy all about it Isabella told me.


I tried to shrug nonchalantly, but I'm not sure how well that worked out, so I just swallowed nervously and confessed, "Um…I've had this problem before, Edward. You know…more than one voice in my head…?" I hinted.


"What are you talking about? You had Isabella when you were little-" he started before I cut him off.


"Yeah, I did have Isabella, but eventually…there were others," I said slowly.


His eyes widened a bit. Actually, they widened a lot, but I continued, wanting to calm any fears that he may have of any more 'people' popping up.


"But that's over," I assured him quickly.


He looked worried. "Okay, Bella…um, others? Please explain," he pleaded.


I sighed in defeat, resigning to my fate of telling the entire fucking house the full extent of my crazy. "Okay, Edward? Just calm down because it's okay. Really, it is. They showed up when I was a kid, and they went away when I was a kid. The last eight months that I lived with Jim, my mind split beyond Isabella and there were a few others. But, when I was ten, and the court ordered it, I was placed in that state hospital, and through all of their extensive therapy bullshit, the others went away. All of them went away. Well, all of them except for Isabella, anyway," I explained simply.


He sighed. "They went away?" he asked, squinting his eyes in uncertainty.


I smiled, and grabbed his hand that lay on the table top, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, honey. They went away."


He nodded, so I decided to explain a little more for his benefit. "See…Isabella was around for two years, then when I was seven, the others came around. So, needless to say, it was a huge complicated mess in my head for about three years, until I was ten, when they all went away, and it was just me and Isabella again. But she disappeared too, shortly after I left the hospital. Then, seven years later, Marie pops up. Then Isabella comes back. And then, boom…I'm a fucking multiple again. It's lovely," I said, letting my last comment drip with sarcasm.


To my utter surprise, he smiled at me. "That's great!"


What?


"What?" I asked with raised eyebrows.


He brought my hand that he was holding up to his lips, and quickly kissed my knuckles, before letting it go and standing from his seat at the table. He seemed so fucking excited for some reason.


"My Bella, don't you see what this means?"


I shook my head, utterly confused. "No…"


"You don't?"


"Please, enlighten me," I said dryly.


He chuckled. "Baby, if you got better before, then you can get better again," he encouraged with a bright smile.


I bit my lip and slowly nodded, wanting to placate him. I knew that it wasn't that easy, though.


His face fell momentarily as he seemed to think about something. "You said that Isabella stayed, even though these 'others' left…but that she eventually went away too, right? But not until after you left the hospital…" he trailed off in question.


"Yes. Isabella is very dominant, honey. She has a very dominant and possessive nature about her. She survived the therapy, fighting it every step of the way. She was very determined and adamant that this was her body as well, and that we needed each other," I informed him.


He furrowed his brow and nodded in agreement. "Right…"


"And that seems to be the problem now. With Isabella being so dominant, having the others around and being a multiple back then, wasn't that big a deal. I hardly even knew them, or what they did. In fact, I didn't even fully know their characters until I was about twelve years old and all the memories of what they had done resurfaced. It took two whole years after they were gone, to become fully aware of what they did in my absence. Isabella was always an the forefront of my mind, often dealing with the other personalities so that I didn't have to. But now, as you know, Marie has her own sense of dominance about her. When she showed up, it was just me and her, and now that Isabella is back, Marie views her as an 'other', and wants her to submit. But, Isabella views Marie in the same fashion, insisting that she was here first. Neither one is willing to back down."


He sighed sadly and sat back down in his seat. "That sounds so complicated, love…" he told me.


I nodded and took another bite of my sandwich. It was fucking delicious.


"But, you said that when the 'others' went away, some of their characteristics became apart of you?" he asked somewhat hopefully.


I swallowed and carefully fixed my gaze on him. Understanding seemed to dawn on me as I saw the hint of longing in his eyes. "Edward…" I said softly.


"Hmm?"


I gave him a small smile. "Will you miss Isabella and Marie after all of this?" I asked curiously in a quiet voice, already knowing the answer.


He nodded with a pained expression on his face.


Aw Isabella cooed.


Why the hell does Edward look sad? Tell him that I said 'don't worry, be fuckin happy' Marie told me.


I took his hand back in my own, loving him even more for his devotion to my two crazy alternates. "Honey, it'll be okay…I promise. And yes, some of the other's characteristics became apart of me. But, some of those same characteristics have split from me again, and now they are apart of Marie," I informed him.


He nodded, seeming to understand. "Okay…"


"Edward…I need you to understand something, alright? It seems complicated, but it's actually quite simple."


He furrowed his brow. "Okay…"


I nodded, then withdrew my hand from his and ran it through my hair, trying to figure out a simple way to explain this. I put my elbow on the table and rested my chin against my palm, gazing at the beautiful vampire before me.


"Marie is me. Isabella is me. When all of this is over, I will still be me. I will always be me, and that is who you fell in love with, right?"


"Yes, I love all of you, sweetheart," he assured me.


I nodded. "You love the five year old?"


He exhaled sharply at my mention of Isabella and immediately nodded. "Yes…I do. You can't even possibly begin to understand how much I absolutely adore-" he started, but I cut him off with a nod.


I sipped on my drink. "And the rebellious teen?"


"Yes, Bella. I love her so much. I always want her to be around…I never want her to leave. I'm addicted to her care-free attitude and I love listening to the sounds of her beautiful voice singing those-"


I smiled and cut him off again. "Okay, so do you see? You love them, and they are me. They'll incorporate themselves into me when all of this is through, Edward. Believe me…I know how it works. The process will be hard though. They are both vehemently protesting any type of therapy, or 'healing', for that matter, so I can't promise that any of this will be quick-"


"That's okay," he said quickly, cutting me off with a smile. "You take all the time you need, baby…as long as you want. We'll get through this together," he assured me.


I nodded and took another bite of my sandwich, loving the refreshing, cool taste of it. I smiled, knowing that Edward made it for me. Marie was right; he is bloody romantic.


What he said next took the smile right off my face, though.


"You have therapy after you're finished with your lunch, sweetheart. Carlisle has an evening shift at the hospital, so he's going to leave as soon as he's done taking care of you. Looks like you two have a lot to talk about…" he trailed off suggestively.


I swallowed my bite of sandwich and looked at him incredulously. "Why is it always like this?" I asked a bit forcefully.


He furrowed his brow at my sudden mood change. "Like what?" he asked, perplexed.


"Why is it, that every single time I'm here, it's time for another damn therapy session. It's like that's all I'm around for anymore!" I said, getting upset at the unfairness of it all.


Okay so, I'm not actually aware, so it's not like I miss Edward, or anything, but at the same time…damn it, I would like to do something other than therapy. I mean, can't I be aware long enough to go on a fucking date with my boyfriend? Is that too much to ask?


Yes Marie replied bluntly.


Why?!


He's mine Isabella reminded me.


How the fuck are we supposed to get to know the guy we love, if we don't have any motherfuckin time with him, Bell? You already know him. You've had your time with him. He's mine too and it's my turn, goddamn it Marie reasoned.


No, he's miiine… Isabella whined.


Edward shrugged, grimacing at the truth in my statement. "I don't know, sweetheart…"


I sighed, knowing that there was nothing I could do about my awareness habits. Marie had a point, and besides, it was out of my hands for now.


Damn right I have a point, doll. It's 'cause I'm fuckin smart she remarked cheekily.


I stood from the table, feeling pretty damn full all of a sudden. "Well, we might as well get this over with…" I grumbled under my breath.


Noooo… Isabella whined.


Be quiet.


You be quiet she mocked.


I rolled my eyes just as Edward pulled me in for a hug. "I love you so much, you know that, sweetheart? You're so strong, Bella. So beautiful…" he murmured and placed a cool kiss on my neck.


I nodded. "I love you too, honey…so much," I said before I turned my head fractionally to the side and kissed his strong, defined jaw.


Sexy.


"Mine," he whispered in my ear.


"Yes, Edward…I'm your's," I confirmed softly.


He smiled and nodded in agreement, then enveloped my hand in his own and walked with me up to the second floor, where Carlisle's study was in this ridiculously large mansion.

CPOV

I heard Bella's discussion with my son at the dining room table, and the subject of her multiplicity had me very intrigued. The human mind is very fascinating, and our Bella was proving that fact just by merely existing. Her mind shields certain vampiric abilities, and I have no doubt that it goes along with her ability to shield herself from unpleasant things by disassociating the way that she does. Her mind has split and healed, only to be split again. It is capable of extraordinary things, in terms of survival. I simply cannot wait to begin today's therapy session.


Just then, Bella strolled into my study, with my son close behind, escorting her to her seat, as usual.


I smiled. He's always such a gentleman.


I caught a small smile playing on his lips at my mental compliment, then voiced out loud, "Hello Bella, dear. How are you?"


"I'm fine," came her shy reply.


I nodded. "I was wondering about the Prozac medication? You haven't been on it long enough to really feel the effects, but I wanted to make sure you weren't having any negative reactions to it."


She shrugged. "If I ever feel weird, I'll let you know," she assured me.


I smiled.


So sweet. So cooperative. So unlike the other two…


Edward chuckled lightly at my thoughts, then kissed Bella's forehead, assuring her that he'd be right outside the door. As usual.


I tried my best to ignore the lover's exchange, and readied my leather journal for this particular session. I felt my excitement growing at the prospect of all the new information that Bella might offer up today.


She was a talker. She loved to talk in these sessions that we had together, and I loved that about her. It was like she treated me as though I was an old girlfriend, and the second that the door clicks shut behind her, she pours her heart out to me, eager to get everything out of her system, and I am more than willing to offer a friendly ear and some sound advice.


I smiled warmly at the broken girl across my desk, encouraging her to loosen her tongue and talk to me.


"You're very fascinating, Bella…" I trailed off in compliment.


She raised her eyebrows in question, then quickly nodded in understanding. "You heard…" she mumbled.


I leaned forward then, placing my elbows on the desk. I didn't want to seem too eager, though, so I refrained from grinning, and replied, "Yes, I did. Would you like to elaborate things for me…?" I asked in a gentle tone, successfully concealing my enthusiasm on the subject.


She nodded. "Sure. But you know how I roll, Carlisle…once I talk, I don't stop, so you're going to have to stop me if I go over our allotted time. I don't want you to be late for your shift at the hospital," she reasoned.


I nodded. "Of course, and thank you for taking my plans into consideration, sweetheart, but you know that you are a top priority for me, Bella. You come first, not the sickly people of Forks. You are my daughter, and they can wait. So, by all means, talk freely, my dear…" I trailed off encouragingly.


She nodded and sighed, curling her legs up under her, obviously trying to get comfortable for the upcoming session.


"Well…at the age of seven, I had advanced from a split-self to a multiple personality, Carlisle. I had been fragmented, split into different compartments to hold all my pain and anger. With all it's creativity, my mind found a way to save me. But what was survival for me as a child, is proving to not be a functional way of life for me as an adult," she pointed out.


I nodded, putting my pen to the blank page of my journal.


Keep talking.


"After all these years, it doesn't surprise me that Isabella was the one to come back. She was always the most dominant one. But even though she expected it to be just the two of us again, just like old times, it's not, because now Marie is here. Marie is still brand new and was created in Isabella's absence, so now I am dealing with the same things I had to learn to cope with ten years ago. Multiple voices in my head, multiple views and opinions on things…it always causes a conflict of some sort; whether it's what TV show to watch, or what to wear that day, there's always a fucking argument going on in my head. It's a nuisance, but also a comfort in some ways, in the sense that it is familiar. I've dealt with it before, and I can deal with it again."


"Well, I'm glad you have the confidence that your previous experience has given you on dealing with this," I commented.


She nodded, and seemed to think about something for a minute before she spoke again. "Putting experiences into words like I've done these last few sessions puts structure, sequence, and a kind of rational overview to events that were not at all that way. How can I adequately describe terror, Carlisle? How can I put into words what some of these events were like for my internal self?" she asked softly, conflicted.


I knew that these question were rhetorical, so I stayed silent, as I could see that she was currently lost in thought.


"I talk as though there was a cohesive, sane thread running through my existence, when there wasn't. It was both external, and internal chaos. Even as I tell you my stories, I realize that I am telling you as my 'Bella personality' remembers it. Isabella would tell you a completely different story. Her tale would be one of absolute rage at being locked up and hurt. She would say how she hated everyone by the time she began school, trusting no one, stealing pencils and milk money from other students' desks. She would stand defiantly in front of the principal and deny that she stole the teacher's watch at recess."


"She was the designated 'guard personality', I guess you could say…she was the one who had an internal radar for danger. She could read every gesture, and every twitch of an eyebrow on Jim. She ran outside to the trees, or hid in the garage at the merest hint of Jim's rising anger. Isabella was crafty, clever, and completely self-serving. She loved me, but at the same time, she would only save me because we shared the same body," she explained.


"I have a love and attachment to many people, while Isabella loves no one. Edward and Granny are the only people who have ever found a way into her guarded heart. She didn't care about frivolous things, like relationships, for she had a job to do: survival. She learned it early and she is very skilled in different tactics. Cheat. Steal. Lie. Manipulate. Be cute. Smile. She's a human coyote who learned to survive where other life forms would wither away."


"In her anger, Isabella could escalate the abuse from Jim. A deliberate sassy walk, an ever so quiet mutter of defiant words, a stomp of her foot, a deliberate smashing of a plate. It didn't happen often, because survival was her number one priority, but she did it enough…just enough to convey an 'I hate you back' to Dad."


I smiled at her encouragingly, not wanting to interrupt, and realizing that we were 'on a roll' now, as Bella would put it. I would only speak up if I had an important question to ask. But as for now, I write…


"I've been telling you things as though I remember a time when she was not there. But, I really don't. From my earliest memories, I shared a life with Isabella. She was my playmate, my friend, my enemy, my protector - as I was hers," she admitted quietly.


"Control slid with fluid ease back and forth between us. I imagine that Siamese twins learn the same sort of interactive relationship. There were agreements and arguments on who got 'body time'. This sounds vastly complex, I know, but compared to my outside world of unexpected and horrific violence, this was not a stress to me. It was a comfort…Isabella was a comfort. I got secret satisfaction at her rage. She always did what I was too terrified to do. She was aggressive, while I was sweet," she informed me with a small smile.


She sighed then, switching positions and sitting Indian style in the high-back leather chair. "Isabella had two big passions: eating popsicles and playing hopscotch. From my earliest memories, I can see her - us - jumping on one foot. She jumped on all the designs of our huge living room carpet. She hopped upstairs and downstairs. She hopped in the basement. I think that the hopping might have served as some sort of a release of tension; I don't know. I would get so tired, and Isabella would still be hopping, and hopping…just fucking hopping away."


"Isabella was a more twitchy, nervous person than I was. Dad would slap us for her various grimaces and rhythmic twitches. We both had our nervous habits, though. I was the hair chewer, and Isabella was the hopper. I would gnaw endlessly on the ends of my long braids. When they finally dried, the ends would be all stiff. My teachers would yank them out of my mouth, saying that it was a disgusting habit, but it wasn't…it was a calming habit. I imagined that there was juice in my braids, just as there was in my thumb. We both had an addiction to our thumb, but while I was pretty much content to go without pacifiers after a year of not having access to them, Isabella still had a wicked craving for them. We would pass by a baby in a stroller, or a kid at the park, and she would snatch the binky right out of their mouth, and stick it in her own."


She subtly shook her head and continued on. "I thought it was really horrible that Isabella liked the color pink. We had a pink dress that I would only let her wear on Thursdays. That was pink day. She also liked a silver dog pin that she had stolen and kept insisting that we wear, making me nervous that the police would find out. Isabella didn't care about things like jail. She would jay-walk across a busy street all by herself. I was the kind who would hold Mom's hand and wait at the corner for a green light."


"She was a lot bolder than I was, speaking her mind more than I did. People liked her, even though she didn't really care if they did, or not. She hated them all, while they adored her. I always cared about whether people liked me, though. I desperately wanted to be loved. Isabella was louder and funnier, with an irresistible sense of humor. She said things at school that made everyone laugh. It embarrassed me when she caused my classmates to turn and look at us, but she liked the attention. Sometimes, she would say or do something on purpose to humiliate, or draw attention me, because, as you know, I blush really easily. It was weird, though…because Isabella rarely ever blushed. She took delight in my flaming pink cheeks, and teased me about it a lot."


"Isabella was far more calculating. She liked the attention that she got from being cute. Even in kindergarten, she knew how to hug people, or touch their hands in a way that would have them be warm back. I was never as daring, except maybe once or twice with a teacher. I shrank away from touching, always afraid that the contact would mean pain."


"Isabella loved to decorate our school projects with drawings and doodles. She took pens and drew flowers around the burn marks on our legs. She would color a clown face on a big black-and-blue bruise on our thigh, or some other hidden body area. She stole a pink marker and colored our toenails with it. She loved cosmetics. Every chance she had, she put them on. Halloween was always her favorite holiday, since she could wear lots of makeup. She always wanted to be a princess or a lady, creating the image with tissues stuffed in one of Mom's old dresses to make it look like we had boobs. I always wanted to go in a pirate outfit, or a ghost costume. We used to fight about this a lot, but she always got her way, so every year, for five freakin years, we'd wobble around the neighborhood in high-heeled shoes, going door to door trick-or-treating."


I chuckled at her statement, knowing how much Bella hated high-heels, and it earned me a small smile from her. She probably knew what I was thinking, but I didn't comment on it, not wanting to interrupt her.


She began running her fingers through her long hair as she spoke more about her past. "I always wanted to have a long neck, like Audrey Hepburn, because I once heard Daddy say how he loved her long neck…it was graceful, and delicate. I wanted him to see me in that way, for some reason. Isabella always wanted big lips. She would deliberately push ours out into a full, pouty look. She took kool-aid and stained our lips red. She took the watercolor brush and painted on red lips, telling me not to lick the pretty color off. I remember in third grade, she swished the thick red poster paint and colored us a deep crimson color for our lips. I got in trouble for that. I was also punished for her habit of eating the sticky white paste at school."


"She loved to play dress-up games, probably adding to our dissociative abilities. She'd smuggle clothes out of Bobby's closet, or use Mom and Dad's clothes to come up with hilarious outfits, where we would always be someone else. She could invent great escapist stories as we pranced around in front of the bathroom mirror."


"Any movies, books, fairy tales, or television shows we saw became fuel for our imaginative play. We invented and reinvented ourselves. In the end of our pretend dramas, I always found love, and Isabella found adventure and excitement far from the confines of the basement."


She squinted her eyes in thought then, and bit her lip. "It surprises me that I am the one who survived as the stronger self, and not Isabella. She was angrier, more extroverted, more manipulative, the headstrong, impulsive one, prone to dominating me and constantly in communication with the other personalities. They showed up when I was seven, and I hardly knew them. I almost never talked to them. Isabella wouldn't allow it. As I'm sure you already know, she has a very possessive nature, and according to her, I was her friend, not theirs, so there was no need for me to associate myself with them. Isabella placed herself as the coordinator of things, and what I knew about them is just mostly what she told me. I filled in the lapse spaces of memory with what my friends and Isabella told me I did. It was two whole years after I had integrated with the other selves, that I recovered the full extent of the memories of what they did and who they were," she revealed.


Fascinating.


"When I was in the state mental hospital, I was put through constant and extensive therapy. And it worked…sort of. Isabella resisted treatment at every turn, much like she's doing now. She fought tooth and nail with the doctors, nurses and orderlies. But after eight months, when my mind was silent, and everyone was gone…all except for one, the hospital released me into my mother's partial custody. Isabella eventually disappeared as well, shortly after I was discharged, but, apparently, she never really went away. Not really," she assured me.


"Do you remember your awareness habits back then, Bella? How often did you dissociate?" I asked curiously.


She subtly shook her head. "I certainly wasn't dissociating all the time, because then I would have been rendered non-functional. Stress, pain, terror, and isolation, were some of the things that made me shift into my other selves. I was very tiny when I began filling in the blank spaces, and inconsistencies. Not being able to account for minutes or hours at a time, finding myself in different clothes or locations, was just an accepted part of my life. I became very adept at scanning the scene and putting together what the other self had just done or said, and I'm an expert at it now," she explained.


I nodded, so she continued on.


Yes…keep talking.


"I would feel bewildered at moments, coming back into awareness after a time lapse, and was always the one who was left picking up the loose threads of my life. Isabella and the others simply existed and acted out their own little roles, while I was left to explain to people or apologize for what my body had done while I was not there. I was very young when I figured out that no one believed me when I said that it was Isabella, or Joey, or Sunshine that had done things. They laughed at me. I learned to simply apologize.
I would say, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that."
I knew inside that it hadn't been me, but it was easier to look at a teacher or a school friend with my big doe eyes, and just say, "I'm sorry." I was forgiven for a multitude of sins because a part of me…the 'Bella personality', I guess you could say, was contrite and gentle and cute."


"I see…" I trailed off.


"My behavior was erratic because my many selves didn't connect with each other. Because of the continual social confusion, we all agreed to try to cooperate. Even though Isabella had bestowed herself as 'coordinator', I was the one who seemed to constantly be trying to organize the others. We all learned very early on to stick by 'The Code'."


"The code?"


She nodded. "Mm-hmm, when I was very young, about six years old, I learned about The Boy Scout Code of Honor from Timmy, a boy who lived down the street and played with Bobby a lot. He had patches and badges, and I was enthralled with the idea of having a code of honor. So, when chaos began to ensue in my split mind, I made Isabella talk to the other selves; we made some rules, such as they had to call themselves Bella in public. They weren't allowed to hit or bite, even when they were angry. Sunshine wasn't allowed to suck her thumb in public and Camille wasn't allowed to be blind in the street. The list was long. Isabella was the code keeper," she explained.


Intriguing…


"Isabella and I were definitely the two main personalities. There was always a dialogue in my head, from my earliest memories. We would discuss taking turns. She liked numbers, so I would let her do all the math in school. My mind was more open when I was younger, and I could choose to be aware when I wanted to be. I'm not sure why it's not like that now. Most of the time, when Isabella was using our body, it was as if I were the distant observer, watching as though a gauze curtain had been dropped over me. I would shrink tinier and tinier. I would go away…so far away, and it was through the shimmer of blurry white gauze that I would see and hear what was going on, but I would not participate in it. But then, sometimes I would disappear. Just be gone…like I do now. I would cease to exist for a period of time."


Interesting…


"Can you describe for me what dissociating was like for you?"


She nodded. "Yeah. It's like…I don't know, maybe you've been driving a car. And you've been stopping and starting and turning, yet five miles down the road, you realize that you don't remember anything you've just done. The mind went elsewhere and you went on auto-pilot. Dissociating is like that," she explained simply.


I nodded in understanding. "That makes sense," I commented.


She sighed, absently twirling a strand of hair in between her thin fingers. "There was a comfort in the basement to have another voice, a playmate. Isabella began as a friend. I liked her when we were little, even admiring her spunk and anger. There was also a satisfying disbursement of emotional and creative energy at dealing with the others. None of it was a conscious choice; it was just a way of organizing the chaos and horror. At the time, it was an insane way to survive an insane father. It was putting structure to my inner world, which held no safety in my outer world," she explained.


"It is only now that I am more experienced, and less scatter-brained, that I can look back at my mind before, when I was a child, and try to communicate what it was like to be split into many different selves. It was constant chaos, Carlisle. It was continual non-equilibrium. It was like being caught in an avalanche of snow and rocks, where the turning and churning never stops. It was a life with no grounding, no soft center, and no inner quiet. For three years, my life had the feel of a carnival room with crazy mirrors. Everywhere there were distortions, lack of orientation, and an unrelenting sense of anxiety. But whatever my inner distortions were, they were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the abuse that created them," she said with conviction.


"No matter how may times I try to describe it, there are no adequate words for what it was like to lie in my canopy bed at night and wonder if this was the night that Daddy would come in my room and plunge the purity knife into me. Stepping out of bed in the morning, feeling the pain as I moved my battered body, I'd wonder if this was the day that my eyes would get poked out. I'd check my room and closet, feeling the urgent need to keep it memorized for the time that he finally blinded me. I had to deal with the endless stress of survival; the hunger, the bone-chilling cold of the basement in winter, and the thirst in the summer. My eyes had to stay alert and see the oncoming danger at all times. My small hands had to always be careful not to spill, and my bare feet could never be noisy or bump into things. My ears always strained to listen to every speck of sound in the big, creepy house. I resolved my death. I drifted away from the terror."


"I've learned that multiplicity is a way of numbing what is more horror than the mind can deal with. I know a lot about my disorder, Carlisle, and that's why I'm doubtful that you and your therapy can help me. I am so educated on the subject, and I've already been through different recovery programs, yet I am still plagued with this problem," she stressed.


I nodded in understanding, then offered, "We have to try, Bella. For your own good, and for your health…we must try."


She furrowed her brow and nodded in defeat. "Alright, well…like I said, I know all about multiplicity, and I know that it's a way of organizing the brain's constant mixed messages. For example, I was Mommy's Sunshine and she cherished me. I was Daddy's evil dirty Kike, meant to only be tortured and killed, for Jews were meant to die. I was good. I was bad. I was pretty. I was ugly. I was isolated for endless hours…and I endured unrelenting physical pain. It turns the mind into a mess of vibrant disarray. I've also learned that dissociation is a form of self-abuse, when someone puts their feelings and actions out of the realm of conscious choice," she informed me.


"Sounds like you've read some medical books…" I hinted.


She nodded and admitted, "I have."


"That's good though, Bella…it's very helpful that you are so well-informed about your disorder," I told her.


She nodded and sighed, then continued on. "Isabella learned to like certain kinds of pain. A fist to her jaw eventually brought a smile to her face. She learned to delight in the metallic taste of a bloody lip or nose. There was a time, when Jim took me to the big echoing room for a purity session. He had punched me, knocking out a loose baby tooth and giving me a bloody lip. He laughed while I cried. But soon, my sobs turned into Isabella's maniacal giggles, pitched to match his own. She began laughing right along with him, licking at the trailing blood on her chin. She stared up at him defiantly, and laughed louder as his laughter began to die down. Jim was not pleased, to say the least. I remember when she took a needle and thread, when I was nine, and she sewed black cross-stitched X's on the soles of our feet. I pulled them out later with a pair of tweezers. When I was ten, and Mom took me to get my very first training bra, Isabella was very upset. Our body was growing up, but she wasn't. She stuck sewing needles in our nipples and wove pink thread around them, protesting the budding mounds on our chest," she informed me.


"Wow…that's some protest," I said in disbelief.


"Yes. It was fucking ridiculous," she said with a slight roll of her eyes.


"I agree."


"Anyway…I imagine that schizophrenia isn't too far removed from dissociation, when one reorganizes their reality to reach some new way of finding a sense of safety. There's a certain safety in multiplicity. There's emotional satisfaction in it, too. I was horrified to watch Isabella steal or Joey hit people, but there was pleasure, too, at seeing them being brave enough to do what I never could. It was like going to the movie theatre and watching the Terminator level a room full of bad guys. There was so much pain inside, that I let the pain find expression in the actions of my others, because it was inconsistent with what I could accept doing as myself. I accepted public blame though, but I never felt guilt for what my others did."


"At the age of seven, my multiplicity wasn't that upsetting to me, but in the span of three years, I grew older, and frequently became very upset and humiliated by my other selves. Keeping friends, and interrelating with people when my behavior was so unpredictable, was a stress that made me retreat from any real social life. I functioned, but it is only now that I am finding some form of predictability in my life, that I know the enormous stress multiplicity causes."


I nodded, absorbing her words and writing every single one down.


"What is merely unacceptable behavior for a child, such as having temper tantrums and acting out, is really humiliating to have to deal with as an adult, Carlisle. I know that Isabella throws fits. I know that she sucks her thumb and enjoys her new binkies. I don't like it. Adults are expected to have control over their impulses and feelings, but I don't. Marie is blunt and instinctual while Isabella is selfish and possessive. These traits won't allow me to act rationally a lot of the time, and it drives me crazy. Even when I was small, I tried to find a way to control my inner group - hence, The Code."


"Hmm…would you like to know about them, Carlisle? The others?" she asked then.


I nodded, hoping that I didn't look overly enthusiastic at hearing her trauma. "Yes, Bella, please…share whatever you're comfortable with sharing," I told her with yet another encouraging smile.


She nodded. "Alright, well…I remember that Joey was the worst offender at breaking The Code. It seemed that there was always trouble when Joey came out. Marie reminds me a lot of him. I couldn't talk to him like Isabella could, though. I was always trying to piece the story together later. Joey would always fight, while Isabella cheered him on. In second grade, he jumped on the back of the class bully; a boy named Jed, who tripped smaller kids as they went to their desks, and squished sandwiches. Joey pummeled him with our fists, giving him a bloody nose and a black eye."


Yes, that sounds like Marie.


"When he was out, he wanted to be a boy, and even told my teacher, after one fight, that he was Joey, not Bella, and then he went and spit on her. Later, when I was in detention after school, I felt deeply ashamed for what he did and it irked me that I had to listen to the teacher lecture me about hitting, spitting, and even lying about who I was.
"Bella, you make no sense at all. One minute, you can be sweet and cooperative. The next, you're an aggressive, angry child. Your school work is unpredictable, too. You turn in beautiful, neat papers one day, and scribbled, messy ones the next. You must try harder. What is wrong with you? Are you unhappy?" she nagged at me.
"No, I'm fine. I'll try to be better," I would say flatly in a monotone voice, while staring distractedly at the ceiling above me.
Joey liked sports of all kinds. He liked messy things; clay, mud, spitballs. He rejected all things feminine. He was obsessed with the idea of being hungry. He sometimes stole food out of other kids' lunchboxes, since Dad sometimes sent us to school with too little. After school, he picked through the trash barrels when no one was looking, and smuggled half-eaten apples or thrown-away sandwiches into our lunchbox. He stashed food in every crevice of our bedroom that he could find. Ants became a problem in our room after he showed up. It was especially bad when he put jelly sandwiches under our shoes or underwear. I remember being angry at Joey when I had to shake ants off my panties before putting them on in the morning."


"Joey was a very oral person. Not only did he like food to the point of obsession, but he was probably the world's best bubble gum blower. He was passionate about bubble gum. He picked it up off sidewalks, out of trash cans, stole it, and coerced our friends out of it. He could chew three pieces at a time, sometimes four. He kept stashes of chewed, hardened bubble gum behind the headboard of our canopy bed, and under our desk at school. It took only a little while to get it soft again. He snuck a stack of chewed gum in the basement, so when we had our interminable hours down there, he could practice for hours on end. I didn't like it because my jaws got sore and Joey didn't care that the huge bubbles popped and got stuck in my eyelashes and eyebrows."


"Joey was proud of being Jewish. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the strong Jewish face of our real father, Charlie. He'd seen a picture of him on Granny Hadassah's bedroom wall. He wanted to be very tall and wear a mustache under his nose, as well. No one but Granny ever talked about Jews. Joey knew very little, but what information he could find out, he clung to. He would steal Bobby's baseball cap and use it in the most peculiar way. Alone in our room, when I would unbraid my hair, Joey would come out and put a twisted tendril of hair in front of his ears, then tuck the rest of the hair up under the cap."


"One holiday, a big box came from Germany. One of Dad's relatives had sent it, and in the bottom of the box, was a beautiful candle with little wax chickens and roses on it. Joey stole the candle and hid it in our room. On Hanukkah, Joey lit it and put on the beanie cap and draped a little shawl, that he'd made from a strip of an old sheet, over his shoulders. He made up his own little prayers and chants in jibberish and singsong words. He didn't even know what Jewish meant, but in his heart, he was a damn good Jew."


"He was also a very angry Jew. He hated Daddy. He was mad at Mom for never, ever talking about our real Jewish father. When he grew up, he was going to be a rabbi with a beard and chant wonderful things in a temple."


"He coveted Bobby's BB gun. Joey liked the idea of revenge. He played dark, violent death games with the little clay figures he made. He took great delight in helping Bobby put a cherry bomb in an anthill and blowing it to smithereens. Sophie was angry. She got upset when Joey wanted to kill things."


"Sophie was Jewish, too. She was born old…came into existence that way. I think that she represented my Grandmother, and that my mind created her because I missed my Granny so much at times. From my earliest memories, she was an old woman. She was a nurturing self…a gentle, kind care-giver. She loved cooking and tea parties. She loved making food look beautiful on plates, like a lovely picture. She enjoyed preparing food for Joey, who was always hungry."


"She adored plants. She took care of daffodil bulbs in the backyard and checked them everyday to see how high they had grown. She planted vegetables in secret garden plots behind the orange trees. One summer, when I was nine, she grew and ate a whole patch of her own carrots, which she watered with a heavy sprinkling can. Sophie grew sweet potatoes held up with toothpicks in glass Skippy peanut butter jars. She enjoyed seeing the stems trail down to the floor and search for the light. She always identified with those potato plants…how the leaves always knew where the window was. Sophie always knew where the window was, too. She was always looking out of it, always waiting for something…what, I don't know."


"She was the melancholy self. Death was a constant theme for Sophie. She thought about it, worried about it, imagined it. She was into global grieving. I remember that she cut out pictures of starving Jews behind barbed-wire fences from a LIFE magazine. She kept the pictures in the bottom drawer of our dresser, and on regular occasions, she would take the pictures out and rock back and forth, crying, and studying the bony faces, just trying to understand the reason behind all the suffering."


"Every animal that Daddy killed was a trauma for Sophie. After the dead pets were buried in the backyard, Sophie would go and dig them up at regular intervals, to see what stage of decomposition they were in. When she dug up King with a shovel a few months after he was buried, and found that he no longer had his eyes, she covered him back up and rocked back and forth on the mound of dirt and mourned. Mourning to Sophie was sort of a Hopi Indian chant we'd seen on a movie once. It was just the right sort of sound for grief."


"She dug Cocoa back up and put her in a shoe box. Sophie didn't care that Cocoa's body was all squished from Jim's car, or that her stomach wasn't even there anymore. Sophie wrapped the kitten in a soft cloth and would bring her out from under the bed and rock and pet the soft fur. I was the one who had to throw the cat away; Sophie would have just kept petting and petting."


"She put our favorite white hamster that Dad killed in our blue lunchbox, wrapped in a Kleenex. Sophie took the hamster out of the lunchbox everyday after school and held the stiff little creature in her hand and softly stroked it with her index finger. It began to stink in the lunchbox and it made my sandwiches taste odd. I dumped it in the trash can at school. Isabella said that Sophie was all upset about it."


"She picked dead things off the sidewalk to carry around; beetles, spiders, and long worms that had drowned in a heavy rain. She would put the worms in my coat pocket and I always jumped at the cold, slimy feel when I reached into the pocket because I wouldn't see Sophie do it. Her obsession with dead things really made me angry sometimes. Joey would stomp on worms and snails, Sophie would pick them up, I would step over them, and Isabella would hop around them in circles."


"Camille was very sweet and quiet. Some of my most humiliating moments have been when it was Camille's turn to have the body. It was next to impossible to explain to anyone why I was seen running into things, or feeling my way through the sightless world of Camille.
"I was playing a game," I lied to whoever confronted me with my unusual behavior.
"You are the strangest child," said one teacher. "You are like quicksilver the way you change constantly. I don't understand you at all."


"Camille was the perfect victim; docile and apathetic to the world. More than anything, she wanted to be loved. She thought that if she didn't cry or protest when we were being hurt, that maybe, just maybe, we would be loved. Camille loved Mommy and Daddy - and nearly everybody. She was wonderfully, heroically blind. This personality made Bobby very angry.
"Stop pretending you can't see," he demanded. "You're acting really stupid."


"Camille organized our drawers and room to function in her blackened world. She knew the number of steps from one room to another, and that there were eighteen steps down the back stairway. She was lovely and frail, with tiny little wrists and a long neck. Camille would count the steps into Mom and Dad's room when they weren't around and go in Mom's closet and sniff the perfume she always wore. She would feel in Mom's drawers for her folded sweaters and hold the cashmere to her face and bury her nose in the soft armpits to get the smell of Mom. She yearned for softness. She liked the feel of Mom's real silk blouses. There had been nothing soft in our room since Pooh Bear was killed. She would count the precise steps to the bathroom and pat herself gently with Mom's bath powder, feeling the soft powder puff against her skin."


"Camille would go to Daddy's closet and feel all the nubby jackets, the tweeds and woven wools, and just the smell of the wonderful aroma of him. She even liked the stench of his weekend socks thrown in the back of the closet. She stood in the darkened closet of the very person who had stabbed her eyes out and sniffed the body smells of the father that she wished would hold her. For a while, Jim smoked a pipe, and Camille sniffed the tobaccos in the can and sucked on the bitter pipe end. She liked the idea that what was in his mouth, was now in hers."


"There was no anger in Camille, no survival drive. She was perfectly content to be blind or to die. It made no difference to her. She didn't deal with concepts of fair or right and wrong. Life simply was as it was."


"She liked strong flavors in her mouth. She sucked bay leaves and cloves from the kitchen cupboard, and enjoyed cut lemons. She felt her way outside and sucked the drops of nectar out of the honeysuckle flowers, standing still so the bees that we were allergic to wouldn't sting her, and breathed in the fragrance of the flowers through her nose in long, slow breaths. Camille found pleasure in the midst of her blackness."


"Sunshine was six, while Isabella was five. No matter how old I got, those two stayed the same age, and remained very immature. This wasn't too big a problem when I was younger, but now, as an adult, it's complicated. I don't like thinking that I'm capable of acting like a five-year old."


"They wanted bears…soft, fuzzy ones that they could cuddle. Much like Isabella, Sunshine spoke in a high-pitched little kid voice, but unlike Isabella, she actually liked the dark basement. Sometimes, she would go down there and sit in the blackness and be very small, nearly invisible."


"Sunshine was a nest builder, with blankets and pillows and shiny trinkets. She was attracted to sparkles, like a blue jay. She decorated her tiny arms with glittery bracelets and kept stashes of fake diamond jewelry, hiding them in the pillow slips. She had a terrible habit of biting herself and sucking on the skin, leaving big purple marks. I used to get angry because it was hard enough in school to hide Jim's abuse, let alone Sunshine's."


"Sunshine was like one of those cats that didn't get nursed long enough. She always wanted to suck things. She kept asking Daddy if she could suck on his nipples for a while. She was trusting and innocent and never saw danger."


"Baby Bell wasn't even a real personality. She was a very tiny toddler who only longed and felt, but barely existed. She wet herself and cried and curled up in a little ball. Sometimes she needed to come out and get in a crawling position and rock back and forth, just trying to stop the pain with a rhythm. She'd lie with her chest on the bed and her legs drawn up under her and her rear in the air, like a stink bug on alert, and rock her bottom back and forth. She'd rock until she became so small, she was invisible. She'd rock until she didn't see the blood anymore."


"The personality who means the least to me is Cassandra. I don't know when she came into being, or why. She was rarely around when I was a child, and mostly made her appearances after Jim was out of my life. I didn't like her. She was condescending to the rest of us and rather bossy. More than once, Isabella stepped up and kept her in line."


"Cassandra was also an outgoing, loved, and funny person. She was German, and so very proud of having parents who were successful; a business Mommy and an artist Daddy. She did have some good qualities. She had a zest for living; she actually liked life. She loved the cultural things we learned in school, classical music, and beautiful paintings. Her favorite memory was when we went on a field trip at school to an art museum."


"Keeping Cassandra from taking off on an adventure was always a problem. She loved to travel and see new things, meet new people. The city bus and her became quick friends. She loved public transportation - it took her anywhere she wanted to go. She was the flamboyant, people-loving cultured one. She knew the names of some fine wines, and could tell exactly what spices flavored a new food. She craved new sensations, new sights, new sounds. Every room she entered, she made a new friend."


"She felt disdain for my limited child's world; always wanting it to be bigger, wanting more. Where I was hindered by my many fears and panics, she was a lighthearted, care-free soul. She dressed in bold, bright colors, and smoked Mom's cigarettes, and drank coffee out of Mom's coffee pot in the morning. She was fearless, for her childhood had been happy and secure. She talked endlessly about her family in Germany and the shopping trips she had shared with her mother in the city. She was in denial about our actual history. Her Daddy loved her…he would never hurt her."


I raised my eyebrows. "She smoked? But your childhood asthma…" I trailed off in concern.


She nodded. "Yeah, I got bronchitis twice because of her. And Joey couldn't stand her. He thought she was a great big phony, with all her interest in Van Gogh and Brie cheese with fresh garlic and pine nuts. She collected obscure bits of knowledge to sound intriguing to the grown-ups. She had a wealth of statistics, and if in doubt, she made them up. She was entertaining before she was accurate, the story always far more important than the reliability."


"Unfortunately, like Joey, Cassandra broke The Code a lot, feeling that she was above the system of rules for the 'little people' that she was stuck sharing a space with. She deeply complicated my life by introducing herself as Cassandra to people and giving our home phone number to strangers. Actual charity organizations would call and ask me if Cassandra was home and if she and a parent would like to help out with their fundraising, and strange kids that she had charmed on the playground would call to invite me over."


"Cassandra liked to help people and spread the cheer. There was the summer when I was eight, when Cassandra took over our body a lot, and decided to explore Christianity, despite Joey's constant objections. She got baptized four times in different churches, one of them being The Church of Christ, by immersion. The small congregation held a special reception for her after the service. Later, Isabella came out and asked the Pastor if he was going to fuck her. I pieced all of this together when the Pastor came to our house with a Bible and said that he would pray for my soul, for I was a wicked sinner. I rolled my eyes, and when he asked me if I was a virgin, my mom told him to leave the house. I begged Cassandra to stop her ridiculous escapades."


"Joey was furious at the baptisms since he was a devout Jew. He went into a synagogue once and, in talking to a rabbi, found out that he wasn't even a full Jew because our mother wasn't in the bloodline. He completely rejected this information, and dug the beanie hat out of a drawer, reverently setting it atop his head. Then, with a blue marker, he defiantly drew the Star of David all over his naked body. Standing in front of the mirror with blue stars everywhere, he could see his circumcised penis between his legs."


Hmm…


"There was about as much conflict between Cassandra and Joey, as there was between Isabella and me. Joey was always angry, while Cassandra remained cheerful and enthusiastic."


"Cassandra was terrible with money, always blowing my allowance on stupid crap. She thought that the Dollar Store was the best invention in the whole wide world. I learned not to accept more than ten bucks, or so, from my mom, to go out with friends, because Cassandra would go on a shopping spree. She was wonderfully generous though, giving every last dollar in her little princess purse to any beggar who approached her. Out playing on cold winter days, she would give her coat to kids who didn't look warm enough to her."


"One Thanksgiving, when Mom was expecting lots of guests for the holiday dinner, Cassandra boxed up the roasted twenty-pound turkey and put it in the little red wagon in the garage. She grabbed the black handle and kept up a determined stride, as she walked with it down the road to the shelter for abused women. She was the light-hearted giver, and I was left to face the consequences of leaving my Mom to serve barbeque hamburgers to all her guests, since it was too late to cook another turkey. Mom yelled at me and scolded that 'family comes first'. I was grounded for two weeks for embarrassing her in front of her coworkers like that. The whole ordeal only added strain to our relationship. Things had changed between us the first year we were away from Jim. She thought that I was odd, and she was very accurate in her assumption."


"As an adult, Marie is the personality who stresses my life the most with her stealing and attempted promiscuity. I feel ongoing, deep humiliation over her exploits. Sophie wandering through cemeteries, and Sunshine laying in the closet with mounds of blankets and stacks of glittery bracelets, is nothing compared to finding myself with a half-drunk man in some motel room that smells of old cigarettes and room freshener, with flashing lights blinking on and off past the filmy windows. I hate that more than anything else my other selves have ever done. There have been young boys, old stinky men, and guys with beer guts so big, they couldn't possibly have proper sex. All of them were unconscious from the brutal beating that Marie so lovingly bestowed upon them. Her favorite game is Seduce & Scream. She loves to make them think they are going to get lucky, only to beat the hell out of them for taking the bait, then she falsely accuses them all of being rapists, just to excuse her abhorrent actions. She's addicted to her game. She is obsessed with the idea of a man screaming for her. In pleasure, or in pain, it doesn't matter. She's a lot like Jim in that way; a scream will always get her to smile. Thanks to Charlie, she has a never-ending supply of mace, a pair of brass knuckles, and is a very skilled fighter. Those poor guys never knew what hit 'em."


"Marie likes speed. Everything has to be fast. Fast orgasms. Fast cars. Fast music with a strong beat. Roller coasters. Carnival rides. She's found that an adrenaline high can make the pain of the abandonment go away. Why she hasn't become a more hardcore drug abuser, I don't know. Maybe because my mind can alter reality without any chemicals…" she trailed off, then added, "Just after you guys left, Marie stole a big green car with the tail fins flaring in the back. Someone had stupidly left the keys shimmering on the floor mat. Marie sped down the freeway to Seattle, where the fair was happening, and she rode all the roller coasters until all of her money was gone. She returned the car in the dark, where she'd stolen it from, when she was done."


"Around Christmas time, she flirted herself into a job as a topless dancer a few towns over, but the job only lasted until the second night, when the owner asked for her proof of age."


"She went on a road trip with two friends from La Push down to Skid Row in Los Angeles just to see what it was like, and another time to Pershing Square to see the old Chinese man they'd heard about who had curling fingernails about a foot long. They found him, and shared a joint, just to see how he'd manage it with the long nails. Marie, like Isabella, is never short on ideas."


"We have similar friends, but also completely different sets, so that is extremely difficult to juggle. We usually don't like the same kind of people, ya know? Marie smoked in the bathroom between classes, and I never did that. I liked science and tried to be a good student…I absolutely loved the library. Marie just liked the football games and school assemblies."


"Did anybody notice your behavioral habits at school? You and Marie are quite different, Bella. I can't imagine someone not noticing the change…even if it's just your tone of voice that they noticed…"


She subtly shook her head. "My behavior swings did not go unnoticed, by any means. I knew that I was often the topic of conversation amongst my peers; I was a 'head case'. I confided in no one. Only Bobby and Mom ever knew about my other selves. They could tell which one was out. Bobby liked Joey a lot because he'd go outside and play baseball with him, and he really liked Isabella because she was very imaginative and always lots of fun. The secret of my many selves was as safe with Bobby as was the abuse. We lived in a world that just didn't make any sense."


"When Mom and I moved away, and Jim went to jail, we took Bobby with us until the state could find him a proper foster home, which was about six months later. Soon, we just stopped talking about my multiples. My shifting attitudes and behaviors were just a part of their view on who I was."


"The integration of my many selves into one whole person, when I was ten years old, was slightly upsetting to my Mom, because she saw how much I had changed. Turns out, she liked my more flamboyant aspects. In the incorporation, some characteristics of the others have become apart of me, others have become apart of Marie when she showed up in November. Isabella still remains the same," she explained.


I nodded. "And with all of your experiences, both past and present…is there anything in particular that is upsetting to you right now?" I asked curiously, my pen hovering over the page and eagerly awaiting her answer.


She nodded. "Yes, what deeply bothers me now, is how I was so willing to maintain a structure built on self-deception for so long. To other people, the situation seems illogical, and I know that there is no way one body of a given sex and age, can house other selves of varying sexes and ages - and even claim to have different parents. But that's exactly what I did," she told me with a little shrug.


"And as far as the voices go…everyone is capable of internal dialogues, like when you're considering buying a car and you list the pros and cons, or when you have conflicting feelings about anything. So that part's not so crazy. My mental illness is that I honestly believed the others were real. That I still want Isabella and Marie to be real. Now, that is fuckin crazy," she insisted with a nod.


I furrowed my brow, not liking that she was describing herself as 'crazy'.


"I made an inner comfort zone as a child, Carlisle…a set of characteristics and attributes that I labeled and identified as completely separate entities in order to deal with my ongoing trauma. So maybe I am the expert escape artist, not Isabella…" she trailed off.


"Maybe," I commented.


She nodded, and squinted her eyes a bit in thought. "Yeah…I almost feel embarrassed at looking back at a decade of an elaborately maintained self-deception. My mental illness is not the multiple personality disorder…it's that I was willing to forego holding up my thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors to any extent that would allow me to examine myself, or who I really was as a person," she insisted.


I nodded. "You're a smart girl, Bella," I complimented.


She bit her lip, gazing at me thoughtfully then.


I gave her a small smile. "…what?"


She shrugged. "I dunno…it's difficult to explain this to you and expect you to believe that I could grow up, go to school, and be in a relationship, while maintaining all of this insanity, Carlisle. I want to write a book about it, but I'd feel like Edgar Allan Poe, taking a pen in my hand, and expecting anyone to find credibility in my account of events, when I am clearly a very unreliable narrator."


"Writing a book about this could be quite therapeutic for you, Bella," I told her.


She nodded. "I love his quote, 'Believe me, though I am quite mad…'"


I nodded and hummed in agreement. "Mm-hmm…it's interesting."


She smiled. "It's awesome. And I can totally relate."