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I pick my head up and almost bang it on the hood, my heart in my throat. I lose sight of the engine for a few beats.

The memories are right there in front of me like they never stopped. I can feel their hands on my arms and their feet coming down on my knuckles and how almost every part of me throbbed even when I was laying in bed. I can smell the bleach in the bathrooms and the overcooked meat in the lunchroom and blood drying on my skin.

All the feelings come back, too. The heaviest despair I’ve ever felt. A hopelessness that went so deep I thought about dying every day. A place like Rick’s shop seemed impossible to me when I was lying on a concrete floor, having my hands broken into a million pieces. A house of my own? That was never going to happen.

The torture I went through becomes one long memory that’s filled with pain and screaming and worthlessness. It gets so loud that the shop fades away.

What the fuck.No one’s called me Aden in years. No one but her. My Haley. My girlfriend. Only when she needs me to be Aden. When that part of me has to come out.

I didn’t make it up. My friend Nathan, who I used to see all the time at the bar, is leaning in through one of the garage’s doors out front. It’s been fucking years since I’ve seen him. Since that first year I found her.

None of the other guys seem to have noticed anything happening with me. They’re still going about their business.

Fuck. That was close. If it never happened again, I’d be glad.

Nathan lifts his hand. “Hey! How you doing? Saw this place was open and decided to stop by. I’m back in town. Am I interrupting?”

“No, I’m good. Good to see you man. Just let me—” I grab the nearest rag and wipe at my hands while I go across to him. It’s too loud in the shop to carry on a conversation, and I need those few seconds to collect myself. My heart’s going way too fast. It slows down as we step outside into the fresh air. I take my hat off and let the breeze blow through my hair. The fresh air settles me down some more. So do the sounds coming from the shop. “Next time—I don’t know if you forgot, but I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“Oh, shit, right.” He claps my shoulder. “Sorry, man. It was for therapy, right? The fuck was that called again?.”

“Yeah. An anagram. I know it probably doesn’t seem?—”

“Nah. My fault. I won’t screw it up again.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” I’m relieved, though. I tried to be Aden for a little while. I wanted to leave all this shit in the past. And then Haley got an idea. It was Haley's plan.

I thought people might give me shit when I started going by another name, but they didn’t. They know what I went through. Honestly, they know too much.

Nathan gives me a once-over. He doesn’t look concerned, exactly, but he does look...interested. Like he cares about how I’m doing. It’s not because he knows what I’ve been doing. The plan Haley had. I have to tell myself that over and over again. People aren’t looking at me because they’re suspicious, or because they want to get me in trouble for looking back.

Or because they know I have that thing with my head. They don’t know that part. Haley said to keep it a secret.

They’re just looking.

That’s what people do when they haven’t had rule number one punched into them so many times it’ll never leave.

“Honestly, man, I’m happy for you. The name thing seems like a decent way to—” Nathan waves his hand. “You know. Dean, Dean, Dean. I got you man.”

I let out a laugh, like it doesn’t do things to me, to hear that name.

“It helps compartmentalize, you know? Keeps things separate.” He changes the subject and rattles on about being back in town and needing a job. I let it all go. I leave all the thoughts that creep up to sit there and wait. Wait for Haley. She’ll fix this feeling inside of me.

She always does. I’m glad she found me. I didn’t know how to find her, but she was able to find me.

HALEY

The door creaks, and all my attention focuses on the sound. My body goes so still I can feel my heart beating and hear my pulse. It’s after hours at my office, so there are only a few people who could be walking in.

“Who’s there?” I call, my voice steady.

“It’s me.”

The sound of his voice comforts me. I like knowing that the footsteps approaching belong to him. I like knowing that he came here for me, and nobody stopped him. Nobody can.

I unfold myself from my chair and get to my feet as he comes into view, the lamplight soft on his features. He knows he’s not supposed to be here. We’re not supposed to be seen together really, but I guess since the cops came and saw us it doesn’t matter. We couldn’t stay hidden forever.

“Aden?” I question. Unsure of which personality I’m talking to. Aden or Dean. His dissociative identity disorder was far too easy to diagnose when I found him. It’s fucking shocking the state didn’t diagnose him.