My symptoms escalated to the point where I couldn't ignore them anymore. The amnesia was too much and my brain had finally started to accept the fact that maybe someone was in control of my body sometimes. Since I never remembered mornings, I left a note on the bedside table before I went to bed. It was on a simple post-it note, written in black pen: "Who are you? What's your name?".

When I had regained consciousness the next morning in the kitchen, I found a note scribbled back beside me. The writing was small and neat and said "My name is Mel. I speak to you sometimes". At first, this scared me, but I soon found myself smiling whenever I'd find a note around my apartment. I found out that Mel was like a protector. She would take over my body to look after me, like make sure I eat food and take a bath. Everything started to finally make sense.

However, it wasn't all good news.

I spent almost a year in and out of the bar. Every evening I would head down the street. end up sitting at the bar and drinking like there was no tomorrow, absentmindedly watching as the dancer on stage weaved herself around the pole like a snake hypnotising its prey. Men stopped whistling at me every time I entered. The regulars knew they wouldn't get a response out of me. Liz, the bartender, knew exactly what I needed when she saw me. Sometimes it was just some beer, other times it was vodka.

Despite my sudden depressive state, I maintained a high standard at work. No matter how bad my personal life got, I had to succeed at something. It was the only part of my life I had under control.

One Saturday evening, I was on my way to the bar again; the days had been getting longer and the sun was only starting to set. It cast long dark shadows along the street and the only thing that cut through them was the bright neon sign that had mesmerised me that first night. Now I didn't even look up at it as I walked through the rickety wooden door.

I sat in my usual place at the very edge of the bar and waited for Liz to hand me a glass.

"Good evening ma'am. What would you like?" A male voice asked and I looked up in confusion. Behind the bar stood a man in his late twenties, with dirty blond hair and chiselled features which made him seem older than he was.

"Where's Liz?" I immediately asked. I wasn't in a mood to start explaining how exactly I wanted my drink.

"She's not here at the moment, I'm afraid. Just me." He sent me a smile that made me take a second look at him.

He's nice looking.

So what?

You should flirt.

I don't know how to.

"Well then call her over and tell her that I'm here." I wasn't a fan of talking to strangers. "My name's Jane," I added when I remembered he doesn't know me.

"Sorry, she's not at work today. She's taken a day off. That's why I'm here." He shrugged and pulled out two shot glasses. "You'll be happy to know she told me to expect you, so I know what you usually get." He winked and pulled out a bottle of vodka. "On the house."

"She's never off," I said as if I hadn't heard the rest of what he'd said. Nevertheless, I gazed as he poured the liquid perfectly into the small glasses, not spilling a drop.

"She's at a funeral, Jane." The way he said my name made my heart do a cartwheel and my mind got confused. What was I doing? "Her mother passed away. So you're stuck with me for now."

"I don't mind that." I blurted out and mentally kicked Mel. That was definitely her talking.

"That's good." He laughed and passed me a glass. "Cheers." He lifted his and I did the same.

"Cheers." I grinned and we downed the shots.

A few rounds later, we were sitting and chatting like old friends, only occasionally interrupted as he had to serve drinks to other clients.

After one particularly funny story he told me, when our laughs finally died down, there was a pause and he smiled at me.

"You know what?" He suddenly said. "I'm gonna take a risk."

"A risk?" I giggled. The alcohol had always made me either unbelievably giddy or simply depressed. Thankfully that day it was the former of the two.

"Yeah." He paused and smiled, looking up at me as he leaned forward on the counter. "I'm asking you on a date. What do you say to that?"

I could feel my already red cheeks get more flushed and I felt Mel's excitement. In that moment that I hesitated she quickly took hold of the steering wheel and spoke for me.

"I say, that I'd like that." She smiled through my blush and downed another shot, something she did solely to act like me. She was never a fan of alcohol, only drinking it when she had to. This wasn't the first time I was conscious while she was in control but it was still a rare occasion which I found jarring and uncomfortable. She knew this so she let me front again soon after that.

"Alright then, next Saturday evening? Dinner at The Windflower?" I could feel his inspecting gaze as he picked the biggest and most popular restaurant in this part of the city. One which was known for its luxurious meals and not-so-luxurious bills.

"I'm... not sure I can—"

"I'm paying." He interrupted me. "And don't try to change my mind." He had a knowing smile on his face and I wondered where he would get the money from. I guess it should have been obvious at that point that a bartender wasn't his main job.

After a few more minutes of talking, I finally gathered myself and started to head out the door.

"Here, let me get you home." He offered but I refused.

"I don't even know your name," I mumbled trying hard to focus on the path in front of me. I may have exceeded my limit of units that night.

"At least let me get you a taxi." He inspired and a muttered a half-hearted agreement. A few minutes later, the car pulled up outside the bar. I scrambled in and told the driver the name of my street. I wasn't comfortable sharing my exact address.

"See you... on... Saturday." My speech was starting to get slurred and I giggled again, smiling through the open window.

"Six on the dot." He grinned. "The name's Ethan, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Ethan." I grinned back and waved as the vehicles drove away.

***

The next morning I woke up with a splitting headache I was always expecting. I pulled out an energy drink and drank half the can in one go before making myself a sandwich.

As I sat in the kitchen I came to the conclusion that I need to start doing some spring cleaning, so I shoved the rest of the bread in my mouth and headed back to the bedroom. I pulled out boxes of books and papers from under the bed and started filing them into neat piles on the floor. A lot of the stuff I couldn't remember putting there since it was usually Mel's job to tidy the house.

Speaking of Mel, I could feel her trying to take control but I refused. I didn't know why she wanted to front so badly at that moment, so I ignored her and told her to just let me work in peace.

As I was emptying a container, I came across something that made me freeze.

A notebook. The notebook.

Despite Mel's further protests I started flicking through the poems again. I wasn't scared of it anymore. I knew who had written the words inside. The poems belonged to Mel and expressed her emotions towards her role as a protector of my body.

Our body.

We had a discussion a few days earlier about D.I.D. and I realised I needed to stop referring to everything as mine. It was our body. Our life. Our future.

Then suddenly I reached that poem again. The poem titled "That Winter Evening".

Stop!

Mel's sharp voice echoed in my head, effectively making me freeze. My hands gripped the notebook tightly as she tried to close it, but I stood my ground and started to read it.

That winter evening,
as the stars burned bright,
I struggled to sleep,
Through the shouts of the fight.

My breathing then stopped,
when I heard the sound
of footsteps at my door,
and my heart started to pound.

The door was opened,
and with a loud roar,
I was wide awake
And on the floor.

There he stood like always
that vile monster,
and he raised his arm,
and—

My vision went black before I could finish the poem. I was engulfed in darkness and I was standing in the void once more. I sighed as I came to the conclusion Mel must have blocked me out.

"I told you not to read it."

I whipped around in the darkness. Behind me stood a woman in her early twenties, with short brown hair just past her chin which was pushed back with a blue hairband. She was smaller than me but she radiated maturity like my mother did. She looked at me like at a child who had been naughty.

"Mel?" I asked, shocked. "How..? Why am I seeing you? Aren't you in control?"

"You're in the inner world, Jane." Her calm voice explained. "It's where we all are when we're not fronting."

"But I'm never here when you're in control."

Mel simply shrugged. "When you're not fronting you're either co-conscious, you black out or you end up here. It just depends. You seem to just black out usually."

"So who's fronting right now then?!" I exclaimed. If we were both here, who was looking after our body?

"You made Jay front," Mel said sternly. "Again."

"Jay?" I looked at her, puzzlement clearly evident in my expression.

"I'm not your only alter, dumbass." She rolled her eyes. "There are others."

I started to silently freak out. I knew from my research that there were usually multiple alters with different roles and responsibilities. I got so used to just Mel I had ignored the fact there could be others.

"So you all just... sit here? In a void?" I eventually asked and she laughed.

"That's just what you see."

Before I could question her, I blinked and the darkness around came into focus. I started making out shapes: a bed, a chair, a small table. After a minute we were standing in a bedroom, and not just any bedroom. My childhood bedroom.

The desk was piled high with school textbooks and handwritten notes. A schoolbag lay in the corner by the lamp which illuminated the room. I looked at Mel again with question in my eyes.

"The inner world is made up of multiple places. Every alter has their own place." She explained brightly and sat on the bed. She stretched out her legs and leaned against the wall casually.

Too stunned to speak, I just absorbed every inch of the room I was standing in. The colour of the walls, the shape of the curtains and the crooked angle at which the wardrobe stood.

"So... who's Jay?" I finally asked. "And how did I make him front?" The thought of a male controlling my body made me uncomfortable.

"He's..." Mel hesitated. "The trauma holder."

"Trauma... holder?"

"Yeah. He blocks out anything that could... trigger us. Anything to do with the trauma." She sighed sadly. "That poem belongs to him. He's the only one who knows what happened that night. And all the other nights."

We shared a moment of silence. At that moment, the weight of my past finally dropped on me. After so many years I finally accepted that my father didn't just want me to succeed. He was abusive and caused young me many nights of fear and trauma. He was the reason I had a shattered mind. He was the cause of my insecurities, my fears and my failures. He thought he'd make me strong but all he did was make me a mess.

"Jane!" A high pitched voice squealed and someone ran through the door and into the room behind me. Before I could turn around, the person wrapped their arms around my torso and squeezed tight. When they finally let go, I turned around.

In the doorway stood a little girl, no older than five years of age. She had curly golden hair past her shoulders and rosy cheeks which made her look like a doll. She wore a pink lace dress, white knee-high socks and small pink slippers with flowers on them.

"Hello?" I inquired cautiously as the girl grinned at me wildly.

"You're here! You're here! You're finally here!" She giggled and jumped up and down in excitement. "Mummy told me you don't know about me so I came to tell you! My name's Poppy!" She thrust our her small pale hand and I took it with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Poppy," I said. "So.. um... where's your mummy now?"

"Silly!" Poppy giggled at me. "She's sitting right there!" She pointed at Mel, who waved at me.

"You...?" I started, trying to wrap my head around the situation. Mel had a daughter, who was another one of my alters. It was a bizarre situation.

"You'll get used to it." Mel smiled. She looked like she was about to say something but stopped herself and paused. She seemed to be listening to something. Or someone. "Jay says he doesn't want to front. You should get back."

"But how?" At that moment I started to hear a noise. Loud talking and music coming from all around me. It drowned out whatever Mel had been saying and my vision blurred.

As I blinked rapidly, I suddenly found myself sitting down. I felt soft material under me and I looked around. It was in my living room on the sofa. The noise was coming from the television in front of me. I instantly noticed the notebook again, sitting in the coffee table. A letter was nearly folded and sitting on the cover filled with scribbly and uneven writing.

"Dear Jane, please don't read the poems. You'll only do yourself harm. Our father was very abusive and you would not like to hold the memories that I hold. They are filled with terrible nights and ugly scars. I exist to relieve you of that burden. I'm here to ease your suffering and to keep the past where it belongs. So please, don't try to remember. For your own sake more than anything. Also, hello. This is Jay".

I smiled. "Hello Jay," I said aloud and picked up the notebook. I turned off the TV and placed the notebook on the bookshelf, between my poetry anthologies which I had taken from my mother's house.

Mum. I realised I hadn't visited her in a while. I considered going the following weekend, but then I remembered I had a date. I smiled at the thought. The visit can wait, I told myself. I was in the middle of fixing my life.