“Harley, can you tell me why you’re here?” I peer through my bangs, a woman sitting in a chair across from me looks at me skeptically. She has brown and gray hair braided into a mess on her head. Wrinkles under her eyes, and she’s wearing a white V-neck, and white pants.

She looks like a doctor of some kind.

I look around the room curious how I got here. Last thing I remember was being at the gas station with Viper and Benjamin.

“Where am I?” I ask, my lips trembling with confusion.

“Harley? Can you remember anything?” she asks, her head tilted down as she assesses me. I shake my head, my breathing labored as I look around the room. My head hurts, and my vision blurs from the blood racing through my limbs so quickly.

There’s a bunch of windows on one side of the room, and the other side is covered in posters about not giving up, and yoga positions to help with anxiety. Am I in therapy? A hospital?

I look down at my nails scratching into the wooden arms of the chair anxiously. Red stains the cracks of my nails and I furrow my brows. I bring my fingers closer, the smell of metallic lacing up my nostrils and breathing sin into my lungs. It’s blood.

My eyes widen into saucers. Where did I get blood on my hands from?

“Do you remember hurting anyone?” the doctor asks.

My head snaps in her direction. My eyes filling with tears as my lungs burn for air.

I look at the lady like she’s lost her mind.

“Hurt? I hurt someone?” I question, a tear slipping down my face. I would remember hurting someone, and I didn’t.

She sighs, setting her things on her desk before sitting on the edge of her seat.

“You were at a gas station with your dad and some friends…”

“Benjamin… I remember him being there, and Viper. We went on a beer run for the club and Viper was inside buying cigarettes with Benjamin,” I explain, but that’s all I remember. Everything after that is a vision of darkness.

“A woman bumped into you and spilled a slushy or some kind of drink on your feet, do you remember that?” I don’t reply because I don’t remember that happening at all. I look down at my feet and see a sticky residue all over my black boots. When did I put those on? “There were some words spoken, and you grabbed a beer bottle from the case Benjamin was carrying and… well, you broke it and stabbed the woman.”

My eyes flutter as my hands try and smother the gasp spilling from my mouth. I stabbed someone with a beer bottle? That doesn’t even sound like something I would do.

“No, I didn’t do that. I would remember.” I shake my head, my world crashing around my feet. They must have the wrong person.

“Do you black out often?” She continues with squinted eyes.

I can’t breathe, let alone speak so I just nod in reply. My life bleeds from blackout to blackout. I wake up in odd places, around people I don’t know.

“I see. Do you know anyone named Farrah?”

I lift my head slowly from my palms. She said my name. How does she know my name?

“I’m Farrah,” I whisper confused. See they do have the wrong person.

“I see, and are you aware of Harley then?”

“Who?”

“Farrah, you have a disorder called Dissociative Identity Disorder—”

“What is that?” I sneer, anger pummeling through me like a hot knife.

“It’s where, well, multiple people live within you, or Harley. I’m not sure which one of you is in control as I’ve just met you.”

“That’s… that’s insane.” I shake my head. None of this is making sense, I’ve never even heard of that disorder before. It can’t be real. This is a nightmare, it has to be. I grab my arm and pinch the skin between my nails, I feel the pain and I’m still here. In this confusing, scary scenario.

“It’s a lot more common than people think. It usually happens from trauma, or an abusive past, it’s a coping mechanism. Has anyone hurt you or Harley before?”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” I scream with tears raining down my cheeks. She jumps from my outburst, but I continue to stare at her with hostile eyes.

I’m so sick of people calling me Harley. We’re different people, with different lives. No wonder they think I killed someone, they think I’m Harley. God, what has she fucking done this time?

Clearing her throat, she settles herself back into her leather chair as if I didn’t just scream at her.

“It’s common for you and Harley not to be aware of each-other—”

“I know of her, I’m just not her!”

“I see.” She writes things down on a notepad, and I feel like I’m being judged.

“Where is Benjamin?” I demand. I can’t take this anymore. I look around me, thinking of running out of here. I didn’t hurt anyone, I shouldn’t be in here.

“Tell me, Farrah, where is your family? Who is Benjamin?”

Closing my eyes, I breathe through her questions.

“My family is gone. A club adopted me, and Benjamin is, I don’t know… a friend,” I reply with a shaky voice. What is Benji to me? I’ve never had someone ask me that before. He’s… always there for me. He’s like a brother.

“So, you and Harley are different people?”

My head throbs, my vision funneling in on the stupid doctor in the chair. What does she mean different people. Can she not tell I’m different, that I’m not Harley? Is she not listening?

“I WANT Benjamin!” I scream, done with these stupid questions. Done with her.

The lady sighs. “I’ll go get him if it will make you calm down—”

“BENJAMIN!” I scream so loud my face turns red, my heart pounding in my ears to the point all I hear is ringing.

The lady quickly stands and leaves the room with haste. I sit back in the chair, close my eyes and try hard to remember what happened.

But all I see is black. The depths of hell burning fire and ash as I press my fingers into my eye sockets.

“What is wrong with me?”