turned - muke - the distortion trilogy 2

0.8

MICHAEL'S P.O.V.

"Hi, Michael," Dr. Lancaster smiles at me as I walk into her office. I plop down on the couch, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "How are you doing today?"

"Dandy," I shoot her a fake smile, lacing my voice with sarcasm.

She frowns at me, scribbling something down on the notepad situated in her lap. At that, I do roll my eyes.

S-stop it. She'll n-notice that s-something is off.

"Whatever," I mumble, hoping that Michael will shut up.

"So, I have a question to ask you," she says, folding her hands in a way that many professional people like to do, because they think it makes them look smarter or something.

"Shoot."

She cautiously asks, "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?"

I tense up, and Michael does, too. "Don't you f ucking dare," I warn Michael quietly, because I can tell he's going to try to gain control.

Please don't lie to her.

"Nope," I say, popping the 'p'.

Dr. Lancaster raises her eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"I said no," I growl.

But Gordon-

"Stop whining!" I snap at Michael.

I...I think we have dissociative identity disorder.

"Who're you talking to, Michael?" Dr. Lancaster asks.

"No one," I say sharply, fighting not to roll my eyes. I hate when people call me 'Michael'.

"Are you sure it's not Gordon?" Dr. Lancaster suggests.

"I'm Gordon," I say, finally rolling my eyes. How unobservant could this woman be?

"Then where's Michael?" she asks.

I shrug. "Wherever it is that I usually am," I say. "All we did was trade places."

"Is it possible that I could talk to him?" Dr. Lancaster asks.

I let out a harsh laugh. "Not likely," I snicker. "Takes a while for me to gain control, I don't give it up easily."

Dr. Lancaster has an excellent poker face. She takes a deep breath, giving me a toothless smile. "Well then, Gordon," she says. "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Whatever."

"Would you consider Michael or yourself to be the 'dominant personality'?"

I snort. "Have you met Michael?" I laugh. "He's like a baby animal."

Hey-

"That doesn't answer my question." She gives me a pointed look that makes me a bit uncomfortable.

I shift in my seat. "Well, I guess Michael's present more often, if that's what you mean," I admit. "But I have him wrapped around my finger."

"Oh?"

"He's f ucking terrified of me," I say, not even bothering to hide the proud smile creeping onto my face. "He'll do whatever I say, whenever I say it."

"Mmhmm," Dr. Lancaster says, sounding exactly like a stereotypical therapist. She looks me in the eye, and it unnerves me. It looks like she's trying to read into my soul. "Michael, how do you feel about that?"

My eyes widen in shock and some form of betrayal, anger beginning to course through my veins. "What the f uck?" I ask.

"Michael?" she repeats, and I stand up.