I sat without question.
She lowered herself in the chair on her side of the desk and blew out a long breath that lifted the loose tendrils of hair from around her face. “Vincent… What the hell?”
“He was hurting you. I heard your screams.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and groaned. “He wasn’t hurting me. I was…enjoying it.”
I stared at her. “You were screaming.”
“Because it was good! Jesus, Vincent. You know how it is when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.”
I didn’t. He did. But I didn’t. He taunted me with those memories, of women writhing beneath me, but none of them were mine. They belonged to Scythe.
And so will she.
“No!” I ground out.
Bliss jumped. “You don’t?”
My head swam in dizzying circles, the blackness always trying to creep in. It hurt to keep it out. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my ears, trying to force his voice away. I didn’t want to hear his thinly veiled threats. His promises that he’d take the one thing I really wanted.
Soft fingers wrapped around my wrists, drawing my hands away.
I opened my eyes.
Bliss was on her knees at my side, staring at me with huge, worried eyes. All the fire and anger had disappeared. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
Her voice was like honey. It soothed through everything inside me that felt frazzled and raw. “I told you I had a medical condition. It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
She stared at me blankly. “Okay. What’s that?”
“Most people know it as a split personality. Or multiple personalities.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, that was not what I was expecting you to say. And this conversation clearly requires me sitting down.” She stood and grabbed the chair from her side of the desk, dragging it around to mine. When she was sitting, her hands in her lap, she tilted her head to once side. “Okay. Tell me.”
I’d never explained this to anyone. Not in all the years since I’d turned eighteen and taken myself to a doctor, where they’d run every test under the sun, eventually confirming the diagnosis I’d always known. “Do you remember how I said I didn’t date in high school?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“I did… Apparently. I just don’t remember most of it because I wasn’t the personality in control for all of those years. He was.”
She bit her lip. “Who’s he?”
“Scythe.”
Her gaze fell to my hand. “Like your birthmark?”
I nodded.
There was no judgment in her tone. No fear, but that was only because she didn’t know him. I didn’t want her knowing him.
“How does it work?”
I wanted to say it right. I wanted her to understand and not be scared. All I could do was tell her everything.
“Me…Vincent… I’m the dominant personality. Mostly.”
She nodded. “But sometimes you aren’t?”
“Sometimes I can’t keep him out. I try, but sometimes there’s no stopping him.”
“Have I…met him?”
I shook my head quickly. “No. You’d know if you had. He’s nothing like me.”
“The breathing…and the covering your ears. That helps you keep him at bay?”
“Tonight it did. It doesn’t always. Sometimes he comes on too strong and too fast. I have no hope of winning when he’s like that.”
Her hand landed on my leg, just above my knee, her thumb smoothing over the fabric of my pants. “Why do you fight so hard to keep him in? It looked painful.”
“It is. But bad things happen when I let him out.”
She froze. “Like what just happened with War?”
If getting into a fight was the worst thing that Scythe had ever done, I would have let him out as often as he liked. It would have been a lot easier. A lot less painful. His demands grew by the day, silently eating away at me. “Worse,” I murmured. “That was nothing compared to what he’s capable of.”
Her voice shook, the fear I didn’t want her feeling creeping in. “Tell me. I need to know.”
I didn’t want to say it, but I wouldn’t lie to her. Not ever. “Murder. Mayhem. Violence. Sometimes I can regain control in minutes. But sometimes it takes me years. Like when I was in high school. I barely remember anything from that time. He keeps his memories locked away where I can’t reach them.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, kneading the muscles there. “I really needed a drink for this conversation.”