Twisted Affair Vol. 5 (2 page)

“Is there a treatment?” I wasn't sure why I asked. It wasn't like anything could resurrect a dead seven year-old and turn her into the woman I'd fallen in love with.

“Again,” Dr. Fraser said. “There are different schools of thought on the subject.”

“Don't you people agree on anything?” I muttered.

She chuckled, a brief, dry laugh. “Not often,” she admitted. “The problem with this disorder is that there's no physical proof it even exists and, therefore, no physical proof that it's cured. Most mainstream psychologists and psychiatrists go with one of three types of treatment. Some believe that the best course of action is to destroy the other personalities. Force the original to mentally kill the other.”

I flinched at the suggestion, unable to imagine Livie ever doing something like that, even in her mind. Worse was thinking about how horrible it would be to have Katka killed...I shook my head. One thing at a time.

Dr. Fraser continued, “Others take an integration approach, where the main personality is taken through the traumatic events of their life, bringing out each personality so that all of them can come to grips with what happened and the alternates realize they're no longer needed.”

My chest tightened. Integration sounded like a much more pleasant option, but either way, it would be my Kat who'd be lost. “You said there were three main options.”

“The simplest one is to just live with it.” The doctor's voice was flat, giving me no indication as to her thoughts on the matter. “In pretty much all cases, the host personality doesn't know about the alternates. Sometimes the alternates know about each other and about the host. To live with it, they all have to be aware of the others so that they can put precautions into place, have someone help them make sure the personalities don't do anything reckless.”

“So the personalities can do things that the host might not want to do.” I felt sick as I thought about what I'd done. I'd essentially slept with Livie without her consent.

Dr. Fraser nodded. “But unless the personalities are vastly different from the host – like someone with a personality of the opposite sex or a very different age – there's no way for someone to know that the person they're with isn't the true personality.”

That didn't make me feel any better.

“Blayne.” She leaned forward slightly. “I'm not going to ask for names, but I am going to assume that this isn't some hypothetical situation you dreamed up for no reason. My advice, get this young lady professional help. No matter what course of treatment she decides on, she needs to know what's happening. The longer it goes on unchecked, the higher the chance of someone getting hurt.”

Someone already had, but I wasn't going to tell Dr. Fraser that. Instead, I stood. “Thanks. I appreciate all of the help.”

I didn't wait for a response, but simply turned and walked out. She was right and I didn't want to accept it. If I did, it meant I had to find Livie and tell her the truth. Whatever chance I had of making things right with her would be lost. And no matter what choice Livie made, Katka would be lost to me forever.

The only two women I'd ever truly cared about were the same woman, and saving them...saving
her
meant breaking her.

Chapter 3

Katka

A week ago, I cut out my heart and stomped on it. Anyone who thought I was exaggerating what this felt like had clearly never been in love. I'd moved out of the apartment, not wanting either her or Blayne to come see me. I didn't want to risk a face-to-face meeting with either of them yet. I knew it would take Blayne a while to accept my decision. I just hoped he'd have the sense to do it soon and turn to Livie before it was too late.

My sister wasn't making things any easier on me. I'd tried calling her a couple times, but it just went to voicemail. Texts went unanswered. I didn't want to tell her why Blayne was certainly in a bad mood, but I knew that if she didn't talk to me soon, I might have to confess. If he hadn't done it already.

That was what I'd been worrying about the past couple days. Without anywhere to go or anyone else to talk to, I'd spent the entire week in my hotel room, alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the television, neither of which kept my brain from running and re-running everything. At first, it had been the greatest hits. All the times Blayne and I had spent together, every touch, every kiss. Then it had been most feared scenarios, the most recent of which had been Blayne being angry enough at me for my leaving that he decided to confess everything, including how the two of us had first gotten together, making Livie furious at us both.

I'd seen it play out a thousand times. I imagined him telling Livie how I'd pretended to be her to deceive and seduce him. How we'd lied to her, maybe even adding in that he'd wanted to tell her the truth, but I'd said no. That last bit wasn't entirely true, but he could sell it. And if Livie believed him, she might see him as the victim in all of this. In a way, I supposed he was, but I'd done what I'd done out of love for my sister. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.

I climbed off the bed and headed into the bathroom. I'd been sleeping so sporadically that only the clock let me know whether it was night or day. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and grimaced. My hair was a wild nest of tangles and the bags under my eyes looked like bruises. I tentatively sniffed myself and made a face. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd showered or changed my clothes. I didn't even want to try to figure it out.

I needed to shower and put on something fresh. No one would see me except the people who'd been bringing me room service – not that I'd managed to eat much of anything this week anyway – but it would at least make me feel semi-human. Without a heart, I didn't think I could ever feel completely human again.

A pang went through me as I thought about what Livie would say to me if this had been a normal break-up and not me dumping my sister's husband so they could work things out. She would've accused me of being melodramatic, I knew that much. And she'd be right. It still didn't change what I felt.

I didn't even know how many hours she and I had spent watching movies and tv shows where we'd laugh about how the heroines reacted to break-ups. I may have been a hopeless romantic, but I'd never understood the depression that could follow a break-up. For me, it had always been about moving on to the next man, trying to find my prince.

Tears burned in my eyes as I stepped into the shower. I'd thought I found my happy ending. It had even been twisted enough to be a legitimate fairy-tale happy ever after. But, in the end, my love for my sister had been stronger. And now I didn't know if she'd ever speak to me again.

Not that I had any clue what I would say if she did finally answer her phone. “Sorry for fucking your husband, but I dumped him so that should make it all better” didn't really feel appropriate. I'd just wanted to protect her, but attempting to convince her of my honest intentions felt like I was making excuses, trying to justify what I'd done. No matter how noble my intentions had been at the beginning, I'd still fallen in love with Blayne and continued a relationship with him behind my sister's back. I didn't deserve to offer an explanation that gave me any sort of reason, no matter how valid.

When I stepped out of the shower nearly thirty minutes later, I didn't exactly feel better, but I at least didn't feel worse, so I considered it a win. I was in the process of digging through my clothes and trying to find something to wear when someone knocked on the door. I frowned, pulling the hotel robe more tightly around me. I hadn't ordered anything to eat this morning, though I supposed they could be coming to check if I still wanted to refuse maid service.

I looked through the peephole and my stomach flipped.

Blayne knocked again. “I know you're in there. Please, I need to talk to you.”

“Go away, Blayne,” I called. I rested my forehead on the door, fighting back tears. “It is over between us.”

“Please.” He sounded so broken that I couldn't refuse again.

I opened the door and stood back. I couldn't let him close to me. If I did, I wouldn't be able to stay strong. If he touched me, I would give myself to him and damn the consequences.

“You said you needed to talk.” I crossed my arms over my chest, all too aware of that I was naked under the soft cotton. I felt my body responding to his presence and cursed it for its betrayal.

“You're going to want to sit down,” he said.

Panic spiked as a horrible thought occurred to me. “Is my sister all right?”

A pained expression crossed his face and he gestured towards the sofa sitting against the far wall. “Please, sit.”

I did, clasping my hands on my lap and trying not to look like I was about ready to burst into tears. He paced for a moment, seeming to struggle with whatever it was he had to say. I knew then that Livie couldn't be hurt. He would've told me to get dressed and come with him. It couldn't be worse than that because he wouldn't have been even the least little bit composed.

“How much do you remember about your family?”

I blinked. That was a strange question. I'd always assumed that Livie had told him what had happened. We didn't like to talk about it or even think about it. On the anniversary, we rarely spoke to each other at all, as if talking about it would somehow break something fragile between us.

He crouched down in front of me, but didn't touch me. “What do you remember about the day your parents died?”

I swallowed hard and my heart began to pound. “I do not like talking about it, Blayne. Why are you here?”

“I need you to trust me,” he said gently. “Please.”

I took a good look at him this time. He looked almost as haggard as I did. His usually messy sandy brown hair was even wilder than usual, like he'd forgotten to get a haircut recently, or how to use a comb. His skin was pale. His eyes, however, were calm. A steady dark gray without a hint of a storm. No matter what had happened, he was still the man I loved and I did trust him.

I nodded. “All right.” I thought for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths to try to calm myself as I let my mind travel back to that day. “The four of us were watching television. I do not remember what. I was playing with my dolls. A man burst into the house. He killed my parents, shot them because they did not have enough money. My father first. Then my mother. Our neighbor stopped him before the man could hurt us.”

“After the man killed your mother, but before your neighbor came in,” Blayne spoke slowly. “What happened?”

I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, my pulse racing. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I shook my head. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

He reached out and took my hands. His eyes glistened with tears as he spoke again, “Yes, something did happen. You know it did. You have to remember...Livie.”

Chapter 4

Livie

I frowned. What was Blayne doing here? Why was he crouching in front of me, holding my hands and looking like he was about to cry? It happened sometimes, moments where I found myself somewhere I didn't remember going, but I'd always had so much going on in my head that I'd chalked it up to not paying enough attention to my surroundings. The fact that it generally happened when I was working made sense.

This past week, I'd had a hard time concentrating on work. Being stuck in the hotel room while I waited for my sister to accept my calls had made me lose all sense of time. I'd found myself pacing, then laying on the bed. Staring at the ceiling or suddenly in the middle of a television show I didn't remember starting. The whole thing was miserably surreal.

Now though, I felt like something was wrong. Like I'd been jerked awake in the middle of a dream or a nightmare. And there was my husband, those familiar eyes fixed on my face. But I didn't know why he was here or how he'd gotten into the room.

“Livie?” he said my name tentatively.

“How are you here?” I could feel the answer trying to work its way through the fog and the thought of learning it sent a strange stab of panic through me. “What is going on?”

“Do you remember what I just said?” he asked.

I swallowed hard and shook my head. “Blayne, what is happening?”

He stood, releasing my hands, and then moved to sit next to me, close but not touching. “I asked about your family.”

“I told you what happened to them,” I said, still confused.

“And then I asked what happened between the time your mother died and your neighbor came in.”

“Nothing happened,” I answered automatically. The panic grew. “Why are you asking about something so painful?” My voice was sharp. I pressed my hands together to keep them from shaking.

“Something did happen, Livie.” His voice caught on my name.

“No.” I shook my head emphatically. “The man shot my mother and then the neighbor came in and stopped him. That is all.”

“No,” he said gently. “That's not all.”

I kept shaking my head, noticing for the first time that my hair was wet. Had I taken a shower? I was in a robe too, so I must've. But how could I have taken a shower and not remember doing it? The worst part wasn't the lost time though. The worst part was the feeling in the pit of my stomach, like whatever was happening was going to change my life in ways I didn't want.

“Liv.” He reached out and cupped the side of my face, stopping me so that I had to look at him.