Page 49 of The Promise

“Why is that?”

The answer was not so easy.

Karine glanced over her shoulder at Roman who sat exactly where he had been a few minutes ago. His presence gave her strength, but it didn’t dull the sharp, blinding shame that spiraled through her when she told the doctor, “Some weeks were worse than others—the medications didn’t help when it came to having any real understanding of time, or days ... specific months, even.”

Michelle met her stare, asking only, ‘What medications?”

“I really don’t know ... well, you see—”

“That wasn’t something Karine had a choice in—it was just a method used by people around her to keep her compliant, and manageable,” Roman spoke up from his side of the room. The first time he did, and she was grateful that he saw her struggle and was willing to help.

The doctor didn’t even look his way, but did make a note of it in her notebook before coming back to Karine with a gentle smile. “Okay, back to the time thing. Other people know, don’t they? They are aware of exactly what you did in the time you find yourself losing?”

“I mean, Masha says stuff sometimes, and other people do, too, but I don’t know ... I never did what they say I did.”

Her words came out in a rush while her hands trembled where she had folded them in her lap. She didn’t like that idea at all. It nearly made her sick to think about how much time she couldn’t account for—empty spaces in her memory where there was just nothing. She was always brought back to consciousness with a gasp, and a throbbing ache at the back of her head, and she couldn’t quite say it felt like waking up.

Because it didn’t.

Unable to stand the crawling sensation under her skin, or sit still a moment longer, Karine stood up from her chair with a jerk. She needed to move to do this—to give those thoughts in her mind space to breathe.

The woman’s gaze stayed on her as she paced the length of the room, and so did Roman’s.

“But then I have times when I see things—like I’m remembering them,” Karine said as she toyed with the ends of her hair, still pacing. “But they don’t feel like mine.”

“Do you hear them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you seen any evidence from the other identities?” Michelle asked when Karine rounded the middle of the room and headed right back for the windows in mid-stride. “Something that interests them but has nothing to do with you?”

“Drawings. Sketches left by Katee.”

It pained her to say one of the names—to finally accept it for what it was—because a part of her had been avoiding doing that. Just ... saying it. Out loud.

“Are they any good?”

Karine shrugged at that question. The truth wasn’t hard to say, she just didn’t care to do it because it didn’t matter. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to recreate those sketches herself. They were made by a different person. And yeah, they were good.

What difference did it make?

“Do you hear voices that you don’t recognize, or that other people can’t hear—ones you can’t explain, that say things you’re frightened of, maybe? Or do you see things other people can’t or don’t see?”

“No.”

Silence filled the room. The only sound was the scratching of the pen while Michelle made more notes in her book. Maybe she was waiting for Karine to continue, but she didn’t know what to say. Eventually, she found her way to the tall windows where she could enjoy the view of the lake and towering trees with sprinkling leaves.

“Do you want me to explain Dissociative Identity Disorder to you? Perhaps you don’t fully understand it—the mechanics of it, we’ll say. Although, I’m not fond of that word. It’s very distinctive from other disorders in certain ways, but DID itself can look very different from person to person.”

Karine’s reflection showed the proof of her flinch, but no one else could see it except her. The woman had already mentioned the name of the disorder in the initial course of their conversation, but she had been quick to turn the questions around on the doctor at that point.

But there it was.

Karine looked over with her heavily hooded eyes. The woman continued.

“The most common question I’m asked from patients is what makes DID different from say, a disorder like schizophrenia, or even a state of psychosis where you’re hearing voices—and the answer is simple. Those are chemical, the voices they hear don’t exist. Yours do. Essentially.”

Still wary, Karine blinked, taking that in.