We Wage War Against Ourselves

(This is the sixth installment of the My Alternates series. If you haven't already, read the first here.)

[Content Warning: attempted suicide]

The dark crept in through the window, burying itself in Phoebe’s heart. She stared down at the streetlights as they flickered, lighting up the tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t move a muscle. And the tears fell.

Soft music played through her earbuds and she turned away from the window, curling her hands into fists.

None of this was fair. None of this should have happened.

She clenched her jaw.

They were fine. They were free. They were happy.

She didn’t hate Thea, not like Dalia did, but a part of her still resented her.

She knew what happened had torn Thea apart. She would never be the same after this. None of them would ever be the same after this.

It wasn’t Thea’s fault. She wasn’t the one to blame. That was Phoebe.

Thea had brought them to that house, but Phoebe had been the one to step inside. She could have, should have, turned and walked away, walked home and never looked back. But her kind heart made her wonder. It made her foolish.

Dalia hated Thea, but it was Phoebe she should despise.

After all, Phoebe despised herself.

The intricacies and complexities of their brain had always helped them. It was key to their survival. When they couldn’t handle the pain, they separated from it, and while one of them held onto it, the others went about daily life, oblivious.

They shared the same brain, the same body. They had more similarities than differences, but to them, it was the differences that mattered.

Phoebe felt betrayed. By herself and by her own mind.

What happened sickened her. She didn’t remember the event, but she remembered waking up in the police station, being questioned about a murder she had committed and couldn’t recall. They had shown her pictures, had told her in grotesque details what had happened. Her hands had trembled, and she’d cried. They’d had to acquire her medical records to affirm her diagnosis. Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Phoebe had told them everything she remembered, and Sahar had even talked to them, explaining, in detail, what had occurred. She was the only one among the eleven of them that could control and access memories. She filed them away in a little library in their head and kept the door locked tight so none of the others could retrieve a memory they weren’t ready for.

Luciana had to take them home. Not even Shark was in a capable state to take care of their body.

The event had shaken them all past the point of return.

Phoebe trailed her hands along the sunset orange of her covers.

Her heart burned and pinched and ached. She lowered her head into her hands and rocked back and forth, breaking into teeny tiny pieces without a cry even breaking the air.

Long ago, she had perfected the art of silent suffering.

Phoebe dug her fingers into the flesh of her arms, and shut her eyes tight, soaking in the pain she felt she deserved.

You’re pathetic.

The voice slithered through her head like a venomous snake.

Just look at yourself. Weak. Broken. Damaged. No one is ever going to want you.

She wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

Go away, Dare.

Laughter echoed in response.

You think you can get rid of me? I am your darkness. I am your evil. Your pain twisted beyond repair. You cannot stop me.

Phoebe shook her head, but a part of her was drawn to Dare’s words. She did feel broken and weak and damaged, and hearing it confirmed strengthened the depression inside of her. She wanted to let it consume her, to let it overtake her, and destroy her. She didn’t deserve to be happy.

I can help you.

Phoebe bit her lip.

No.

She knew exactly what kind of help Dare was offering and she couldn’t do that. She had people to protect. Theo, Dalia, Whisper. She needed to be stronger than this.

You’re the opposite of strong. Dare hissed. You’re falling apart.

For a moment there was silence and then their dark voice crept back through Phoebe’s skull.

I can put an end to it. We don’t have to feel this pain.

More tears fell down Phoebe’s cheeks as she rapidly shook her head.

That’s not what I want.

But she wasn’t so sure.

Everything felt hopeless right now. Everything felt dark.

It’s the only thing you want. It’s the deepest, darkest desire in your heart. Let it out. Let it go. Let it consume you.

Phoebe tried to push Dare away, but their anger retaliated, and fury washed over Phoebe’s body.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

She clutched at her head and turned up her music, trying to drown out the vicious hiss in her mind.

But she could still hear it. The big voice burning into her brain.

But it wasn’t Dare’s this time. It was all hers.

You’re worthless. Weak. Pathetic. Useless. You’ll never be loved, never be wanted. You’ll never find happiness, not after this.

Please, please, please, please.

You know what you have to do.

She shook Dare’s thoughts away, but they pressed closer, and she could feel the tingle of their presence in her body. She tried to fight it, tried to keep hold of herself, but Dare was stronger. Their emotions overpowered Phoebe’s.

Dare shifted in the body. Their jaw clenched and a glint formed in their eyes. Their head tilted to the side and they cracked their neck, a cruel smirk taking up over their lips.

Inside of them, emotions boiled.

“You’re so weak, Phoebe.” They snarled out loud. “You can’t understand what has to be done.”

Dare got to their feet and walked out the room into the kitchen. They pulled out their pill bottles, antidepressants and mood stabilizers, and panic clawed at Phoebe, trapped inside her own head. Dare returned to their room and climbed onto the bed, and the night drew their eyes to the window. The streetlights down below flickered from yellow to red. They uncapped the bottles.

Phoebe wrestled the body from Dare’s grip and screwed on the caps tight with Dare fighting her every movement. It was a battle against herself, and there would be no winners.

Dare gripped at their head and hissed through their teeth. They tore off the caps and poured the pills into their hand.

The pills scattered across the floor as Phoebe violently took back control, and green light streamed in through the window as the streetlights changed.

Dare cursed Phoebe, cursed themselves, cursed the world. They got on their knees and gathered up the pills and snatched up the glass of water. Yellow streetlights flickered and flickered below as Dare lifted the pills to their mouth. They shut their eyes and the edge of their hand touched their lips just before control was torn brutally from their grasp, sending them spinning back into the depths of their mind.

Sahar lowered her hand and placed the water back on the bedside table. Outside the streetlight flickered out.

Her jaw clenched and her eyes were cold. She picked up the pill bottles and refilled them, then returned them to the kitchen, finding Winsley standing in her bedroom door, wrapped in her robe.

“Everything okay?” Winsley asked, eyeing the pill bottles in Sahar’s hands.

“No.” Sahar answered.

Winsley pressed her lips together, running her gaze over Sahar’s stance, observing her body language.

“Go back to bed.” Sahar said. “I’ve got it handled.”

Winsley nodded and reluctantly backed into her bedroom.

Sahar returned to her own room and sat down on the edge of the bed. She sighed.

She didn’t come out often, or ever really, unless something like this happened. She was brought forth by bad events, by the others behaving harmfully, by extreme flashbacks and panic attacks that needed to be cut short, by dangerous encounters, and suspicious characters.

Sahar coming out was not taken lightly.

Anger burned through her veins, but she did not let it show.

She forced Dare deep into their head and locked them in until they could calm down. She and Dare had never got along, but when Dare acted out like this, there was a special kind of fury reserved just for them. She checked on Phoebe, tended to by Shark and Luciana, and then she prepared them for bed. She shut the curtains on the broken streetlights and crawled under the covers. She laid on her back, her hands on her stomach, staring up at the ceiling. Phoebe, Whisper, and Shark had placed little glow in the dark stars up on the plaster, and it almost made Sahar smile.

They were free, independent, safe.

And yet, they were anything but.