Page 53 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Isobel

I take notes like a madwoman in the back of the school auditorium, hanging on every word Professor Jane Montgomery says about dissociative identity disorder. Everything she explains seems to fit Marcello’s vicious behavior to the letter.

These last few days, he seems even more determined to control that side of himself.

As if afraid that his alter might show up at any given time just to hurt me.

His training sessions at the gym have become even more intense.

At night, when he nods for someone to challenge him in the ring, he’s no longer content with just one opponent.

Instead, he’s dead set on fighting two men at a time.

I can no longer stand idly by and watch Marcello in the ring every night.

It hurts too much to see his alter flicker through, taunting whoever is across from him.

It hurts even more to watch how he lets his opponent strike first, as if the monster is punishing Marcello for not letting it out of its cage during the other twenty-four hours of the day.

Every night, there’s a new gash, a new bruise. My heart stops every single time he steps out of the ring a little more broken than before, and I can’t bear it anymore. There has to be a safer way for him to navigate his illness, a way to cast out his demons without destroying himself.

However, it’s the quiet times that concern me more.

The lulls in Marcello’s day. Sometimes when he doesn’t think I’m watching, he looks so lost, as if he doesn’t quite understand himself.

It physically hurts my heart to see him like this.

I want to help him, but I’m not entirely sure how.

That’s why this lecture is so important.

I need to understand every peculiarity about DID and how it’s triggered, so I can help ease his suffering.

Deep down, I know I should be more worried about my case than Marcello’s mental well-being, but something shifted inside me last Saturday when he left me at his house.

I was so afraid he wouldn’t come home. Afraid he might get himself hurt, or worse…

killed. It was only when he slipped under the covers of our bed that I allowed myself to breathe.

Only when I felt the warmth of his body cocooning me in his embrace did I find peace.

A part of me believes that Marcello seeks me out because it’s the only time the voices in his head are quiet, and he can hear himself think.

That it’s in my arms that he finds that same peace, too.

If this is the only way to help him fight his demons, then I’ll happily share his bed every night.

It’s better than the alternative he’s been forcing himself to endure.

Once Professor Montgomery finishes her lecture, I have half my notebook filled with scribbled notes. Students fly past me as I thread through the crowd to reach her at the front.

“Professor Montgomery?” I call out as she wipes the whiteboard clean.

“Yes?” she responds on autopilot, turning to face me. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light and upbeat. “I’m Isobel Graham. I’m doing my thesis on the criminal mind and enjoyed your lecture very much.”

“Oh, yes. Professor Burns’s star pupil. I’ve heard much about you.” She smiles brightly at me.

I should feel grateful for the praise, but that’s not why I’m here.

“Do you mind if I ask a few follow-up questions about your lecture?”

She glances at her watch. “If you don’t mind walking me to my next class, I’d be happy to.”

“I don’t mind,” I say gratefully as she packs her books into her messenger bag and starts walking up the auditorium stairs beside me.

“When you were discussing alters, you mentioned that sometimes the host is aware of what’s happening.

That they know they are living with a split personality disorder. ”

“Not in the early stages of the disorder but as their self-awareness increases, they may begin to recognize the presence of alters and even learn their names, roles, or triggers,” she confirms. “As I explained, the trauma the host suffered doesn’t always make it obvious that the alter is a direct byproduct of said trauma.

In most cases, it takes years for the host to even realize it’s happening.

They often attribute memory lapses or blanks to other factors, such as intoxication or drug use, since substance abuse is quite common among individuals with dissociative identity disorder.

Their desire to escape the so-called voices in their heads makes them more prone and vulnerable to experimenting with illicit narcotics.

When this happens, it becomes unclear to them what came first. Are the drugs making them erratic, or is it the disorder that prompted them to act this way? ”

“What if the hosts don’t take drugs? What if the patient leads an absolute clean life?”

“Then those hosts would probably be more in tune with the changes in their personality. Having said that, in the cases I’ve personally monitored, all my patients suffered from some kind of unhealthy addictive behavior.”

‘Just like Marcello’s manic need to work out every day and beat some poor guy’s face to a pulp every night,’ I think to myself.

I prompt Professor Montgomery to explain more about DID, while furiously taking notes on my phone.

“Is it possible for a host to have conversations with their alters?”

“Great question. And yes, co-consciousness can happen in some cases. The host is aware of what the alter is doing in real time, like watching from the back seat, or through a fog. Some hosts even make internal agreements, giving consent to the alter to break through when they aren’t equipped to handle certain circumstances or events. ”

“Agreements?” I repeat, confused.

“Yes,” she confirms. “Every alter is different, of course, but some abide by the host’s unwritten rules as a form of survival.

Subconsciously, the host has set certain boundaries or rules in place, forcing the alter to work within those lines.

It’s also the safest way for the alter to protect itself and remain hidden from the world. ”

“Subconsciously? So the host has no idea of what those rules even are?”

“I’m afraid not. Again, these are rare cases. Most of the time, the ones making the rules are actually the alters, not the hosts.” When she sees me typing frantically into my phone, she laughs. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very. Can I ask another question?” I probe as we walk the halls. “Is it possible to eradicate an alter completely?”

To this, she frowns. “In all my cases, I haven’t seen that happen, no. Alters linger, even if only in the back of the host’s mind. With a solid daily routine and medication, it can be manageable but never eradicated.”

“Even if the alter… is a sociopath?”

Her laugh starts lightly but dies when she sees I’m dead serious.

“Well, psychopathic behaviors don’t usually originate with the alter. It’s the host who must have had those tendencies all along.”

“What if the host never showed any signs of psychopathic behaviors before? What if their environment was filled with such personalities instead?”

She pauses, considering my question. “It could be a plausible explanation for it, yes. If the host lived in a toxic environment, the alter could have absorbed those characteristics to protect the host.”

“So the alter is protecting him?”

“‘ Him? ’” She raises an eyebrow.

“I mean the host,” I quickly backpedal.

“Within the parameters you’ve described, I’m inclined to say yes. Though I’d need to actually have a few case studies to say for sure,” she says thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Professor Montgomery. This talk has been immensely helpful.”

Her brows knit as she studies me. “Are you considering including DID in your thesis, or is your curiosity based on personal experience?” When I don’t say anything, she quickly realizes it’s the latter.

“I see.” She nods knowingly. “From what Professor Burns has told me and this small interaction we’re having, I can tell that you’re a very astute and bright young woman.

However, DID cases need psychiatric assistance.

No matter how much you read or learn on the subject, it won’t be much help if the person in question doesn’t seek professional aid. ”

“What if the person can’t seek help?”

“If money is a concern—”

“It’s not about the money,” I interrupt. “They just… can’t. Their… um… profession would never allow them to seek psychiatric help.”

Her expression turns sullen as she places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that. But if that ever changes, I’m more than happy to refer your friend to a specialized clinic that deals with DID patients. They don’t have to live with this condition alone.”

“He’s not alone,” I defend.

“No,” she smiles. “I can see that he’s not. But I offer you my assistance, nonetheless. DID isn’t only hard on the patient. It’s also difficult for everyone around him, especially those who love and care for him. Most people give up altogether, finding it too painful a situation to live through.”

“That’s not me. I won’t give up on him. He needs me. There must be a way for me to help him,” I whisper, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “I have to find a way.”

She looks deep into my eyes and offers me a commiserating smile.

“If his employment is the only impediment for him to seek out help, then maybe we can work around that,” she offers. “Whenever your friend is ready, my door is open. To you and to him.”

“Thank you, Professor.” I let out an exhale, unaware that I was holding my breath the entire time. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“For your friend’s sake, I hope you do.”

I’m on my back on the yoga mat, doing some crunches, when a blonde shadow eclipses everything else in the gym.

“Hi,” I smile when I see two familiar, light-blue eyes staring at me.