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He did those things tome.
I gulp. Come to a stop. Press the palm of my hand against the cold brick wall and just breathe.
No, it happened toher,to Jocelyn—
Who is me.
Dr. Sterling made that much clear.
“Professor?” A student’s voice breaks through, a young woman’s. “Are you okay?”
I look up to see a vaguely familiar face. Gabby something-or-other. She’s in my class, the one I’m probably late to now.
“Fine, thank you.”
Today, right now, I am not Jocelyn. I am Elizabeth Davis. Only Elizabeth Davis.
I straighten, beckon for her to proceed before me into the lecture hall. The room, loud with laughter and talking, goes quiet as I enter. I attach my laptop to the dock, pull up the lecture, and begin speaking. Luckily, I know this material by heart. After twenty minutes, I’m feeling a little lightheaded, so I make a last-minute deviation, calling up the assignment I’d planned to give for homework. “So today, we’re going to break into groups and come up with the edits needed for this draft paper.”
This is not how this class normally goes—with eighty or so students, it’s too big for group work. But I need a break, need eyes to be anywhere but on me. It will be chaotic, and few will actually accomplish anything because they’ll all take out their phones or whisper about what they’re doing next weekend, but the class seems happy for a change of pace.
I sit on the edge of a table at the front and just breathe as they work. My gaze lingers on a young couplesitting together. I’ve seen them before they enter my class. They walk the halls laughing, shoulder to shoulder, touching, flirting.
It makes me think of Jocelyn and Lucas.
They used to fool around, didn’t they?
Butthere is no Jocelyn.
Which surely meansIused to fool around with Lucas. Were we a thing? I can almost see it in my head, the way I’d smile around him, would light up. I cared about him at one time, felt safe when I was with him.
I think back to Louisiana, to seeing him at the hospital, the way my whole body warmed, how I’d feltsomethingtoward him, even if I couldn’t remember the history.
My body hums with the knowledge that I’ve kissed him. That I don’t even recall it.
Soon enough, the bell rings, class ends, and I rush out as fast as the students. Normally, I stop by my office, hang around in case any students need to speak to me, but not today. I go directly home, get into bed, prop my pillows against the headboard, and dig back into reading about dissociative identity disorder. People with the illness can experience different types of amnesia. Some candepersonalize, literally split their personality in two. They can see themselves objectively as someone else.
Me, as Jocelyn.
But it doesn’t make sense. That’s basically multiple personality disorder, right? I google it and learn that the term is outdated; it’s not how doctors view a person now. I chew my lip, hitting the back button, scanning the internet for anything and everything.
What it comes down to is that I’m not crazy. I’msuccessful. I finished college and graduate school, have held various jobs down for twenty years now. I have an apartment, pay my rent on time. I go to the store, buy food, and exercise. I have relationships. They’re not perfect relationships. I’m not . . .perfect. God knows. But the way these articles describea person . . .
I’m not sure I can reconcile it with me.
It’s just unbelievable.
And exhausting.
At some point, I fall asleep. I’m jolted awake by the stutter of my phone over the nightstand. I grab for it, but I’ve missed the call. I groan, toss the phone back where it came from, and fall back into bed. Finally, I was sleeping, and without any pills for once. Irritation runs hot through me, but a second later, the phone vibrates again.
This time, I sit up, push my laptop away from the edge of the bed so I don’t dump it on the ground, and reach for the phone.
Lucas.
My stomach flutters, remembering my earlier thoughts. That it wasn’t Jocelyn, it wasme.
“Hello?” I answer, just before it flips over to voicemail.