Page 129 of Lucky 14

“He deserved to know.”

“You didn’t…” I’ve been racking my brain for days to recall everything I can about DID. What are the clinical consequences of telling someone they’re a system in an unsafe environment? I know that from childhood, most people learn how to cope with and integrate trauma. Someone with a dissociative disorder does that too…but in their own way. By isolating and forgetting. Which means that unlocking memories while not feeling safe can be completely overwhelming for their brain. Their brain forgot them for a reason.

“Oh my god…” I breathe, the gravity of the situation overtaking me. Alters being overwhelmed could make them act irrationally. They could do drastic things they wouldn’t normally do to maintain balance, including locking certain alters in place for extended periods of time or bringing out alters that we haven’t yet met.

Oakley turns. I look past him to see one of the alters walking toward us in the dark hallway. By the scowl on his face, I assume it’s Wyatt.

“What’s this?” He’s holding something and shoves it up. It looks like a piece of paper. I frown, unsure what it is, but Oakley takes a step back toward me.

“You have something to tell me?” Wyatt’s eyes are wild. He looks out of control.

I straighten, immediately wanting to meet his chaos with my control. “Want to check your tone?”

Wyatt snarls at me, ignoring my attempt, then locks gazes with Oakley, holding up the paper. “What kind of games are you playing?”

“I…I’m not…” he holds his hands up.

Wyatt just…stops. He stares at Oakley, breathing hard, and I watch as his anger morphs into something…else.

“Why?” he asks, but the anger has changed into something high-pitched. He takes a step back, looking around him, then back into the hall. “It’s dark.” His chest rises and falls quickly. “Where’s Krypto?”

Both Oakley and I just stand there. Wyatt, or whoever’s, whole body trembles, like adrenaline is dumping through them.

“Oakley.” I reach for him, wanting to pull him behind me. He takes a step toward me, but steps in front of me, blocking me with his body.

The person fronting ignores us.

“What is it?” I ask, motioning at the paper.

“My journal,” he says back.

His journal?

Whoever is fronting is definitely not Wyatt anymore; his shoulders start caving in on themselves, and somehow, the huge man looks so much smaller. He’s staring at a spot on the wall.

As he does, his muscles relax, and slowly, he straightens. He frowns, running a hand through his hair, then looks at us. He evaluates us, and I can’t tell who’s out.

“Ky?” Oakley breathes.

The man looks at Oakley, then down at the paper in his hand. He frowns, running his hand through his hair again. “What the hell is going on?” His voice is gruff.

“Uh…that’s my…” Oakley tries to reach for the paper.

The man frowns, holding the paper back. “Mousey?” He sounds like he’s trying to hold back a shake in his voice.

“It’s just…it’s what we talked about.” Oakley’s pleading now. “Someone else read it.”

Kyan shakes his head, blinking a few times. When he looks up, he locks eyes with me. It’s then that I realize I’m still holding the phone.

Immediately, Kyan’s face transforms into a snarl. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

I’m not used to seeing this kind of anger on Kyan’s face, but it looks like he’s covering up some other emotion. It looks a lot like…fear. Is Kyan a protector alter for whatever part was just out?

“Miss…‘better bill your insurance for orgasms’?” Kyan is stalking toward me now, and the reality that he knows hits me like a brick.

He knows. And he knows that I know. Everything is falling apart.

Oakley shoves himself between us.