"Come up here," Father yelled from upstairs. He always yelled. There was no talk; there was only yell.
"Busy," it called. it was in the kitchen, trying to make something for lunch.
Lunch was always a hard task, and so was dinner. it never knew when he was going to get called upstairs.
it dreaded the upstairs. The creaking steps as it slowly went up. The walls with chipped paint and broken nails sticking out. The chains that clinked around his ankles with every step it took. it had never seen sunlight. Once, a long time ago, it thought it had. But maybe that was a dream.
it still had dreams at night. But sometimes they turned to nightmares. And sometimes a worse thing happened. it woke up.
"Get up here right now," screamed Father.
Father was angry today. It was never good when Father was angry. it knew that. But Father had been angry the day before, and the day before that. There was no break for it this time. it hated that.
it left the sandwich on the counter with the peanut butter and the honey. "Coming."
The stairs didn't creak this time. it smiled. it hated the creaking noise of the stairs. it hated the noises Father made upstairs. The groans and the moans and the screams and the shouts and the whimpers. Young girl, old girl, young boy, screaming boy, shaking girl, hurt girl, dead boy. But Father didn't make all of those noises. Other people made those noises. Father just caused them. Father forced.
"Hurry up," Father said. "I need your-"
"Here." it stepped in front of the door to Father's toy room.
There were chains on the walls, and mats on the floor. Strange shaped objects sat in a chest, along with a bunch of smooth, silky rags. it had asked what they were. Father said they were clothes for people to wear, but to it they didn't look big enough to be clothes. Clothes were supposed to cover things.
The lights were turned down in this room. There were no windows. A small, it-sized cage was in the corner. it knew that cage well. it knew this room well. It was often a place where it stayed.
"Today?" it asked.
"Today I'm going to show you some of my toys." Father grinned wickedly. "Sit." He pointed a gnarled finger at the bed.
it sat down on the filthy, unclean bed and frowned as Father began to unbutton his pants and take off his shirt.
"What?" it asked.
Father turned around and stared at it. "What do you want?"
"Already?" it asked sadly. it hated this Father. Father was better when he was not angry. When he left it alone.
"Not yet." Father put a hand down and began to touch himself. "Just getting ready."
it closed his eyes. it wanted to puke. But when it had puked last time, Father had done terrible, horrible, nasty, filthy things. And Father had liked it. And it had puked more.
"Open your eyes," commanded Father. it obeyed. There were tears in it's eyes.
Father opened a drawer. He took out chains and handcuffs and a large, funny-shaped thing. it pointed to it and Father said, "I'm not going to tell you the names. I'm just going to show you what they do."
Father moved to the other bed. it looked and saw a large lump. Father ripped away the sheets and it saw a naked girl not much older than itself. She was crying, her face red and her eyes wide and terrified. There were strange marks on her body, not tattoos- it had seen tattoos before. it had never seen marks like these before.
She kept moving her stomach and her hips, trying to get free. There were ropes binding her to the bed and with every struggle the ropes burned her skin.
it wanted to look away. it looked at Father, and he shook his head. it began to whimper.
"Shut up!" shouted Father at it. "I want to hear her noises."
Father took the funny-shaped object and moved it towards the girl. She began to scream against the gag in her mouth, choking and thrashing and burning herself on the ropes. Father took the object and pressed it all around her face and then moved down farther.
"Father!" it said.
Father turned and glared at it.
"She."
"What about her?" asked Father.
"Unlike."
"She doesn't like it?"
it nodded.
"She loves it. She's a filthy slut. She loves the feeling. She savors it." He looked at the horrified girl. "Right?"
She shook her head and thrashed more.
"See?" Father said. "She does."
He continued moving the object lower and lower. He began to lick his lips. it saw a funny thing in his eyes and he was still touching himself. Then he moved his hand to the girl.
"Stop!" shouted it. "She hates it!"
Father whirled around and it whimpered. it had said more than one word. it had broken the number one rule. Only one word at a time. Only one. But it had not obeyed. Now it would be punished.
"Come here," growled Father.
it backed away towards the door.
"Go to your cage."
it kept backing up. The door was somewhere soon. Then the stairs. Then it must get out. it must get away. Or it would die.
"Get to your cage, I said."
it shook it's head.
"You son of a bitch! Obey!"
it cried out, "I won't!" and sprinted out of the door.
Father took lunging steps after him and it darted to the side. Father couldn't slow down in time, stopping a few feet out of the door, and it rammed past him into the room. it kicked father in the knee, crippling him for a few, crucial seconds. it bit off the ropes from the girl and pointed to the window.
"Out."
She was teary and hurt but she rambled over to the window. "I'll tell them. I'll tell them you're here. I'll help you," she said.
"Go."
"Thank you so much," she said. "Thank you so much."
"Leave."
She left.
it had already turned around. Father was coming.
Father stumbled towards him but it jumped out of the way. Father punched and made contact with it's head, but it kept running. it rolled onto the floor and hopped back up, dashing to the stairs.
it got to the first step.
Father chased after. Father leapt off the top and landed on it.
it tried to avoid him, but failed. They both crashed through the side railing and onto the solid, rough floor below. They fell for miles.
it's head cracked the floor.
it didn't wake up.
<><><><><>
The doctors sat in a circle around it's bed.
"How many different ones will he develop?" asked one girl doctor with long hair.
"Depends. On how many people he knew and how well he knew them. I'm just glad we found him in time. Could've died." The bald doctor sighed. "Whatever happens, he won't ever be the same. If he keeps this personality, it will become angry, tortured, a monster. And if he loses it, he will have to start his entire life over again."
"Who will take him?" a third asked.
The bald doctor looked down at a clipboard. "An adoptive mom has volunteered. They live well away from here. Depending on how many personalities he develops, we may have to find another adult. A mom or somebody can take care of him. Maybe his aunt and uncle"
"Why can't the mom take care of both?"
"We don't want the two personalities to be that close. They need to be separate, in all ways possible."
The girl doctor sat thoughtfully. "There's no chance that he will just develop a different one? Like trade them in."
The bald doctor shook his head. "He will never be normal. Always two people, always two lives. Maybe that's for the best. One person can't bear this much of..."
it stirred beside them and they all looked over.
"Is he leaving behind any friends?" the girl asked, motioning at the bed.
"No."
"Are there any siblings coming to visit?"
"No. He has none. Thank god."
Tears threatened to overflow in her eyes. "Does he have any hope?"
<><><><><>
"This is your new parent," Dr. Crosswel said.
He and it were sitting in the living room of a small house. it was going to have a home. it was going to have a name. it was going to be a person. Dr. Crosswel promised everything would be wonderful and happy and fine. But Dr. Crosswel was a liar.
"She looks mean," it said.
The woman sitting across from them did not stir. She was unperturbed. She was tough. it liked that about her. it just hoped she was not an angry woman; it hoped she was not like Father. Father had died, they said. Father had lost his mind and died. But it thought Father had deserved it and had never had a mind.
"She is a very nice lady," said Dr. Crosswel. He was calm; too calm. "Isn't that right?" He looked to the woman.
"Yes," she said. "I'm nice."
"I don't like her voice."
The woman glanced at it and seemed sad for a moment but then straightened up. Her eyes turned to Dr. Crosswel. "Will he always be like this?"
"Of course not. He will learn to love you." He turned to it. "Any questions for your new mom?"
"What's my name?" it asked.
"Xavier. Your name is Xavier."
<><><><><>
Xavier didn't go to school the first day when he could. Instead, he went to the store. Waking up in a strange home with a mom he didn't know had messed with his mind. Xavier hated the clothes he was wearing. He hated the way his body felt; unnatural and disturbing. So Xavier went to the store and bought some loose-fitting clothes so nobody could see what he was missing. What she should have had.
But she would never be normal.
Xavier went to see Dr. Crosswel on her own. He was surprised at first to see her, but slowly began to look sad, nearly depressed. He gave her a pitying glance and drove her around the city until they found a strange-looking door with strange-looking people inside.
They sat down on couches and talked. Xavier didn't say a word.
"Will she ever be normal?" the man had asked. He was supposedly her uncle. She had never had an uncle before. She wondered if he was angry. He looked scary.
"Shh, honey." The woman held the scary man's arm. "It doesn't matter. She's ours now. Our first kid!" She wasn't angry. Women weren't angry. This Xavier had learned. She liked the women who took care of kids. But the men she was afraid of. Were they all angry?
"Any questions?" Dr. Crosswel asked. It was a strange question, to ask for questions. She realized he was talking to her. It was a shock. To be addressed kindly. She had so many questions for him. Where to begin?
"I don't know my name," Xavier said.
"Abigail. Your name is Abigail."
<><><><><>
Abigail sprinted into an alleyway. The date with Caleb had gone well. Amazing, actually. The movie was fantastic. But she had to leave. She had to go home alone. She wanted to hug him, to hold him, but she was changing and so she left suddenly. She wondered if he had cried.
In the alley, she changed her clothes but left her hair down. People always wondered why Damian had such long hair but there was no way to stop it. Either he or Abigail would be seen as weird. At least she was normal to Caleb. Until tonight.
Damian smiled to himself. He knew when Abigail woke up -maybe in few hours, maybe in a week- she wouldn't remember what he did or who he was. He could do anything. He could be different.
He could find Caleb.
He heard Caleb's voice from an alleyway and that sweet feeling filled his heart. Although he was no longer a girl, the feelings Abigail had gained stayed with him. Xavier was lucky. Xavier never felt this way. But because he was Damian -because he was both Xavier and Abigail and himself- he felt everything from both. Right now, he had to act. There was no stopping the thumping of his heart.
He found Caleb. He flirted with Caleb. He scared Caleb.
He loved Caleb.
He loved being a freak.