Glass crashes to the floor and Professor Prescott stands there looking at me with wide eyes and the biggest bulge I’ve seen in a pair of dress slacks.

I look around me. I’m in some sort of classroom or something.

“Farrah?” Prescott asks timidly; scared even. I turn, my cheeks warm, and my panties wet and sticking to me uncomfortably. I hate panties. There’s tension in the air and the desk is flipped over with debris everywhere. Something bad just happened.

“What’d you do?” I ask, my chest rising and falling rapidly. He must have hurt Farrah, why else would I be here. She wouldn’t let me come to the front so easily, she wants me here. My hands slide along soft material, and I notice I’m in a damn dress again.

“Me?” he scoffs, but I’m done asking questions.

My eyes fall to the broken glass on the floor, water pooling around it. Bending down, I grasp the glass, my palm cutting into the sharp edge and staining the water on the floor beneath my feet. Standing with the shard of glass in my hand, I point it at him.

He holds his hands up. “What the fuck did you do?” I seethe, demanding an answer now.

“Whoa!” His face pales as if he’s looking at me for the very first time. The real me.

Harley Vander.

Students crowd into the auditorium and I grit my teeth. It’s time for the next class. I’ll have to wait to kill him, I guess.

“You’ll regret this,” I hiss, dropping the shard of glass. My palm stings from the cut, but I don’t let on. There’s a far more painful tinge in my chest, and I’m guessing the professor is the cause for it.

I may not care for Farrah as she fucks everything up, but nobody fucks with her.

Stomping out of the auditorium the wind shifts, reeling in a new air. One that is colder, hostile, and willing the true colors of who I am. I’m going to fuck this campus up.

I need to do what I came for and get the fuck out of here.

Head down, I head to my room. I’m going to get the professor and the fucking governor to pay up what he owes my club. I just have to figure out how. Opening the door to my room, I slam it shut. Hysteria climbing up my throat until a violent roar fills the room.

He was right there, I could have easily kidnapped that wimpy suggestion of a man but fucking witnesses had to ruin it.

“Harley?” My head slowly turns finding Benji standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed.

Taking a step forward he musses his hair with his hand, his blue Caribbean eyes staring at me. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt under his club cut. The sight of worn leather bringing me home.

“Benji!” I cry, running into his arms.

His large arms wrap around me and I close my eyes. The smell of leather, weed, and spice makes me inhale a large breath and hold it in. God, he feels so good. I missed him.

“What is wrong?” He senses my unease. His lips press into the top of my head. His hand slowly rubbing up and down my back in a comforting manner.

“He… did something to Farrah,” I whisper into his hard chest. Benji warned me since we were kids not to trust any man. That having a split personality disorder, only he could tell who I really was, and who my alters were.

Benji freezes in my hold.

“Who?”

“The professor.”

I pull away, wiping the lone tear off from my face.

“The professor? Did you sleep with him?” he seethes, his tone turning from caring to dominant. “DID YOU?” he roars, jealousy ringing in my ears. I turn, looking at him. Seeing him so jealous is a turn on but it breaks my heart at the same time. As much as I want Benji, I wish he’d leave us at being friends as I will only hurt him in the end. Can’t he see that.

“Answer me!” He steps forward, his figure taking up the entire dorm room.

“I don’t know!” I hate my life. How I live from one blackout to the next. “My blackouts are worse, Farrah has taken over—”

“It’s worse because you forgot your fucking medication at the club, Harley,” Benji schools, his tone of voice rougher than he’s ever spoken to me before. I glare over my shoulder, shaking my head.

Launching forward he grabs me by the hips and throws me over his knee.

“What are you doing?” I toss my hair from my face, my legs and arms sprawled out awkwardly. Benji raises his arm and strikes my ass cheek. My hard nipples press into his legs, my body tingling with unexpected desire. One, two, three, four times he spanks me like a child before standing me upright.

I stand there confused, hair in my face and my butt cheek stinging. I pull the dress up, revealing red handprints staining my butt. It’s so fucking hot to see. The dominant, controlling side of Benji is undoing my restraint.

“You had me fucking worried sick, Harley!” He gets in my face, but I’m still trying to piece together what just happened, and why I liked it so much. He spanked me, he fucking spanked me. I didn’t feel like a child though, I felt naughty.

“Why are you here?” I tilt my head to the side, trying to change the subject. I need all things spanking out of my head, and now. I mean, I knew he’d find me, I just didn’t realize how quickly. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m just going to leave.

Stomping forward, he grabs me by the neck with a firm grip. It’s dominant, and the graze of his thumb against the hollow of my neck doesn’t go unnoticed. His touch callused but passionate. I swallow, looking into the eyes of who Benji really is. The Enforcer of the Shadow Keepers MC, not the little boy I grew up with.

Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong this whole time.

I saw Benji as the boy downstairs who snuck weed from our fathers for us to smoke in the motorcycle graveyard, rather than the Enforcer of the Shadow Keepers MC. A killer, drug dealer, and outlaw the police can never catch. He’s much too smart and strong for that.

“I’m here because I fucking care! Because no matter how many times you try to friend zone me, I am your man. I fucked that pussy first, and I will be the only one to ever be in between those legs. You better fucking realize that, and quick. Because I’m tired of worshipping a crazy bitch that doesn’t even know it!”

Worship? The word makes me suck in a tight breath.

“How? How can you want to be with me when you don’t even know who I really am?” I cry, shoving him away with frustration. Having a split personality disorder steals your life, and you live from blackout to blackout. It’s no way to live, and having a relationship is out of the question.

His brows pinch forward with rage.

“Because I don’t give a fuck who you think you are or how fucked up you might really be. I love your crazy ass, and I would do anything for you. You’re just too stupid to see that!” He points to his head in anger, his tone rough and furious. “Don’t you see. Farrah, Harley, who the fuck you might be… it’s all you. They are all pieces of you split up to help you cope with shit you can’t do by yourself.”

A tear slides down my cheek, my backside now on fire from where he hit me.

“You make it sound so simple,” I mutter. Why can’t I just do drugs or become depressed to deal with stress. Why do I have to have these demons taking over my life?

“It is. You just need to figure out when this all started and figure out why Farrah was created to help you cope.” His hands stretched out wide as if the bigger picture lies within his palms.

“What? Did you talk to a doctor or something?” I scoff. I’ve looked my condition up, I know everything he’s saying, but to hear that he set club business to the side to try and help me become better. It does something to me. It makes me feel normal. Wanted. Loved.

I’ve blacked out and woken up confused all my life. Personalities have come and gone, but Farrah, she’s always here.

“Can I have a glass of water, Mommy?” echoes in my head like a bad tune.

I close my eyes. Urging the words out of my head. I don’t even know what they mean. I just know when I hear them… everything goes black. My teeth clash as if they might break. I feel… different.

It’s said that there is no cure for what I have, but sometimes if you can figure out why the alters were created, such as abuse or some kind of trauma, and cope with it. The alter that was created to deal with whatever happened, will disappear.

I just don’t know why Farrah was created in the first place. If I did, maybe then we could cope together.

“It doesn’t matter!” I reply in frustration, wiping the tears from my face.

I turn, looking him in the eyes. The stupid dress skirting around my legs making me feel vulnerable, I cross my arms and look around the room for my leather jacket.

“I needed to prove I belong to the Shadow Keepers. That I can handle a job,” I explain.

He cups my throat, lowering his head in a menacing way.

“You belong in that club more than any of us, but we’re a brotherhood, we do shit together. You running off by yourself putting yourself at risk proves you are not ready to sit at the table regardless if you have dick, pussy, or fucked up in the head,” he scorns, and my eyes widen to saucers with revelation. He’s right, the club is a team. No one manhandles shit on their own. That’s why they’re a brotherhood. They work together with common end goals.

His lips graze along the shell of my ear, and instead of pushing him away like I normally do, I sink into him for more. I’ve never been so scared in my life, and having Benji here I feel safe. It shows me how much I really care about him and need him. I’m ready to take on why I came here in the first place.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers, “both of you.” His broad nose rubs amongst the soft skin of my neck as he breathes me in and unwinds the hostility wrapping around us.

My head lolls back, his hands on my hips. My sex pulses with need, wanting so badly to have Benji explore my body. I’ve never forgotten my first time with Benji, it was perfect. He’s been the only guy I’ve been with.

His left hand snakes up my dress and grasps my right tit firmly. My nipple buds and aches for more.

“This is insane. Us together is crazy,” I pant, my head and heart battling with what is right and wrong.

I want Benji, I do. But my condition is not fair to him, I’d be selfish allowing us to turn into something.

I push him away and turn around panting for air.

“What the fuck, Harley!” he growls, angry with my teasing.

I shake my head and look at the floor. It’s not my intention to lead him on. I want him, I do so fucking bad, but every time I let myself think for a second I am capable of loving him. My father’s words come to mind.

“Stay away from that boy. You’re not right, Harley. You can’t love anyone because your heart isn’t whole. It’s split up, and it’s unfair to love with only half of your heart.”

“I can’t love someone, Benji,” I explain.

“I’ve loved you since we were fucking kids,” he says calmly. I peer at him behind my bangs. He said he loved me. He’s never said that to me. It breaks down barriers I can’t keep up if I tried. Lifting his cut, he pulls out a worn blue notebook and unexpectedly tosses it at me.

I catch it before it hits the ground, my brows furrowing at what it might be.

“I’m starting to think you just keep me around so you’re not alone,” he rasps, his statement a slap in the face. I am alone because nobody wants to be friends with an insane person.

“That’s not true,” I frown. How can he think that? I care about Benji, that’s why I am pushing him away not because I’m scared of being alone.

“Well, I’m done being your fucking puppet, Harley.”

I open my mouth to speak, but the words of hurt slip off my tongue as the smoothness of the worn notebook caresses my fingertips. The door slams behind him, and I hang my head. I may have just lost my best friend.

I open the pages of the blue notebook. My eyes filling with tears as I look at the pages. My mouth parts in astonishment. My hand presses against my lips as my heart is torn apart and put back together in a matter of seconds.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. My tongue slipping across my bottom lip, the taste of my tears filling my mouth.

Dating back to when we were kids there are names, and descriptions of every alter I’ve ever had.

Mia – Nine Years Old-

Mia likes art but doesn’t like me. Her mother is a painter and her father died on the job as a firefighter. She always has ink or paint on her clothes, and dresses like a hippie.

Farrah – Nine Years Old-

Farrah wears dresses and heels from the club girls. She flirts with me, and every boy she comes across. Her feelings are hurt easily though, so I have to be careful. When she’s upset she’s dangerous.

Billy – Ten Years Old-

Billy is rough and likes to wrestle. He thinks the club is cool but instead of jackets, we should wear capes.

A small laugh racks my body reading the cape part, and I turn a few pages.

Aria – Fifteen-

Very religious, scared of the club and always hides in the club’s freezer. She hates the color black and makes me pray with her often. She’s odd.

Farrah – Fifteen

Farrah tried to sleep with one of the hang arounds today, and I ended up hitting him in the head with a wrench from the garage. Dad was pissed. Farrah comes and goes, but one thing is persistent. She wants love, just not with me.

Hastily, I turn three more pages.

Peyton – Seventeen-

Angry with the world, tired of not being around kids her age and is self-destructive. She cut herself on purpose in her bathroom upstairs. I cleaned it up and even stitched her arm the best I could from a YouTube video we found so Harley’s dad would never know.

When the wound was healed Benji paid for my first tattoo to cover up the scar. My fingers rub along the saying underneath the intricate forest etched into my skin.

“Learn to get lost a little bit.” I didn’t put ‘baby’ because I didn’t want Benji to think anything more than us as friends, but when I look at the words, the small space after ‘bit,’ I see the word baby. I hear it in my head as if it was just yesterday. I feel it in my heart, right down to the very vessel that makes it beat.

I slam the notebook shut, the lump in my throat hard to swallow. Benji has been loving me every day we’ve been in each other’s life. Every little piece of me since we were kids. If he can love the crazy in me, why can’t I love him back with the pieces I have to offer?

I may not be perfect for him, but I am good enough for him.

I need to find Benji.