“I’m sorry, did I ask your fucking permission?” I snap.
Grayson grits his teeth and looks back at his computer. Realizing that he is angry, I pull my leggings on and walk out of the room. When I get downstairs, I hear Grayson coming up behind me. As soon as I get to the door and open it, he pushes it shut and spins me around to face him.
“You need to lose the attitude and talk to me if you have a problem,” Grayson says firmly.
“Oh, fuck you,” I scoff. “Why the fuck would I want to talk to you about it when you just shrugged it off like you were discussing lightbulb brands? You fucked the woman three times a week for how long? Two years? And she means nothing to you? I might be a fucking lunatic, Grayson, but I’m not an idiot. Don’t fucking treat me like one.”
I duck under his arm and go back upstairs to get away from him. This time, I go to the bathroom and lock the door. I go to the corner and slide down the wall to sit. I have my eyes closedas I think about Molly. I miss her, even though she’s not real. When I open my eyes, there she is. She’s standing in the shower holding a razor. The straight razor that Grayson moved earlier. She’s crying. No. Sobbing. Reality starts trickling back in, little by little.
Molly isn’t real.
She isn’t crying.
She isn’t in the shower.
I am Molly.
I am crying.
I’m in the shower with the razor.
But I’m not in the shower.
I am sitting.
I squeeze my eyes shut and think of the vibrations. The song Grayson sang to me. When I open my eyes, I scream and throw the razor out of the shower and away from me. By the time Grayson gets to me, I am cowering in the corner of the shower, terrified that I’ll pick it up again. Where did I get it? I don’t understand. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I cry as I cling to Grayson.
“It’s okay, Milly. You’re okay,” he says, rocking me. “What did she have?”
“A metal nail file,” Adam says.
“It was the razor,” I say tearfully. “I’m…”
“Look, Milly. Look at it,” Adam says, grabbing my hand and setting something in my palm. “Look at it, honey. You’re safe.”
I sit up and look at my hand. In my palm is a nail file. It’s not a razor. “What happened?” Grayson asks, cupping my face.
“Uhm… I went into the bathroom and sat against the wall. I opened my eyes, and Molly was in the shower crying. She was holding the razor. But I’m Molly. It was me. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them back up, it was me. I was holding a knife, so I threw it. I was afraid I would hurt myself. I didn’t want to.”
“You did good, Milly. That’s progress,” Grayson says. “Baby, you just now have started to sort out your hallucinations. It’s going to take time.”
“Would medicine help?” I ask.
“I believe it will,” he says. “There isn’t a specific medication that treats dissociative disorders, but because yours is more connected to complex PTSD, you aren’t presenting the same. I think if I treat the anxiety and help you manage the triggers, it will help significantly.”
“I want to try. I don’t want to feel so crazy,” I say.
“Adam picked it up on his way here today,” he says. “You’re going to be okay, Baby Girl. I promise.”
“I just want one day of peace,” I sigh.
“Want to start with one night?” he asks me with a smile.
“Yes! Does it involve you beating me up?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “We are going to be in a private room for now, though. I’ll show you off when you are comfortable.”
