Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
ANNA
One second I'm nowhere, and the next I'm staring at my bloody hands under flickering fluorescent lights.
"What the—" I gasp, disoriented and dizzy.
The bathroom around me is filthy—cracked tiles, yellowed sink, air thick with the smell of cheap bleach and something worse underneath. My reflection in the cloudy mirror shows a stranger—wild-eyed, hair tangled, blood streaked across my cheek.
I spin around, trying to understand where I am, and a sharp pain rips through my back. When I reach over my shoulder, my fingers come away red and wet.
"What the fuck," I whisper, pulling up my shirt to see a long, jagged cut across my shoulder blade. It's still bleeding sluggishly, the skin around it already darkening to a deep purple. "What did she do this time?"
My heart races as I try to piece together what happened. Last thing I remember was New Year's Eve. Domhnall and I—no, Domhnall and Mads—kissing as the clock struck midnight. Then nothing until now.
I grab a handful of rough paper towels and wet them in the sink, biting my lip against the sting as I try to clean the wound. The water running off my back swirls pink down the drain.
"Focus, Anna," I tell myself, voice shaking. "Find out where you are first."
I finish cleaning up as best I can and step outside, blinking in the harsh sunlight. I'm at some decrepit gas station in the middle of nowhere. A single ancient pump stands in front of a faded convenience store. There's not another building in sight, just empty fields stretching to the horizon.
And there, parked haphazardly by the side of the building, is my car.
I walk toward it slowly, my stomach dropping as I get closer. The back bumper is crumpled, the trunk dented, and there's a long scratch down one side like someone took a key to it.
"What the hell happened?" I mutter, circling the car in horror. It looks like it's been in an accident—or several.
When I open the trunk to look for the first aid kit I know is there, I freeze.
A suitcase. Packed and zipped up tight.
With trembling hands, I pull it out, set it on the ground, and pop it open. Inside are clothes, toiletries, cash—a lot of cash—and a passport I've never seen before. With my face but a different name.
"She was leaving," I whisper, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "She was running away."
Rage flares hot and sudden, burning away the confusion.
That bitch was just going to disappear. Take our body and leave without a word. Leave Domhnall. Leave our life.
"No." I slam the suitcase shut. "Absolutely not."
I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find one labeled simply "N.O.
" for Nuclear Option. Dr. James Renwick.
I called this number only once before, for a consultation.
He said he thought he could help me, but that it might come at a cost, and I don't mean the monetary kind.
His approach is diametrically different from the work Dr. Ezra's been doing with me to foster communication between alters.
At the time of the consultation, I fundamentally disagreed with Dr. Renwick's approach. But I kept his number just in case Mads ever got too out of hand. Looks like "in case" is now.
He picks up on the third ring. "Dr. Renwick speaking."
He gave me his private number. He said he'd be thrilled to work with a case like mine. I'd considered it a red flag at the time. Today, I have no more fucks to give.
"This is Anna Madison," I say, giving the name I originally gave when first inquiring with him. "I need an appointment. Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the absolute latest."
There's a pause. "Anna. I've been expecting your call."
A chill runs down my spine. "You have?"
"I thought you might reach out eventually. What's happened?"
I laugh, a brittle sound that scrapes my throat. "My alter tried to run away with my body today. I woke up bleeding in a gas station bathroom in the middle of nowhere with a packed suitcase and a fake passport."
Another pause. "I see. I can fit you in tomorrow morning at eight. First appointment."
"Thank you," I breathe, relief making my knees weak. "I'll be there."
I end the call and throw the suitcase back into the trunk, covering it with a blanket. No one needs to see that. Not now. Not ever. Especially not Domhn.
The drive home is a blur. I follow the GPS, watching the landscape as it takes hours to go from empty fields to suburbs to the familiar streets of our Dallas neighborhood. My hands don't stop shaking the entire time.
I pull into the garage and park carefully, positioning the car so the damaged bumper is hidden against the back corner. Domhnall won't be home for another hour yet, if I'm lucky. If I'm fast, I'll have time to clean up whatever mess Mads left behind. Again.
Inside, the house is exactly as I remember it from New Year's Eve. It's only been a day, but it feels like weeks have passed. I drag myself up the stairs, every muscle aching, the cut on my back throbbing with each step.
Our bedroom is a disaster—drawers left open, clothes strewn across the floor. And there, on Domhnall's pillow, is a folded piece of paper.
I snatch it up, my hands shaking as I unfold it.
Donny,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I have to leave.
I'm sorry for everything I've done, and everything I couldn't be.
Always yours,
M
"No," I whisper, rage building inside me again. "You don't get to do this."
I tear the letter into tiny pieces, letting them flutter into the trash can like snow. Mads doesn't get to make these decisions for us. She doesn't get to decide our future. She doesn't get to run away from Domhnall.
I strip off my bloody clothes, shoving them to the bottom of the laundry basket and piling other clothes on top, then step into the shower, turning the water as hot as I can stand it.
I scrub until my skin is raw, watching pink water swirl down the drain.
The cut on my back stings under the spray, but I welcome the pain. It helps me focus.
As I dry off, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are mine, not hers. My body is mine, not hers. There's a cut at my temple, so I blow-dry my hair to hang over it.
"This ends now," I tell my reflection. "No more."
I drink three Red Bulls in quick succession, the caffeine making my already racing heart beat even faster. I won't sleep tonight. I can't risk losing control again. Not before I see Dr. Renwick tomorrow morning.
When Domhnall comes home, I greet him with a kiss and a smile that feels stretched too thin across my face.
"Hey, love," he says, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. "Everything alright?"
"Just tired," I lie, leading him to the living room. "Sit down. Let me give you a massage. You look tense."
He does as I ask, settling on the couch with his back to me. I dig my fingers into the knots in his shoulders, focusing on making him relax. On being a good fiancée. On appearing fucking normal.
"That feels amazing," he murmurs, head dropping forward. "You're too good to me."
Guilt twists in my stomach. I should tell him about Mads, about the car and the suitcase. But the words stick in my throat. She tried to leave you. To take me away from you.
He'd be devastated to know she was planning to leave. And maybe, if my plan works, he'll never need to know.
"I love you," I whisper, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "More than anything."
He doesn't suspect a thing. And I can't tell if that makes me feel better or worse.
Later, after he's fallen asleep, I curl up in the armchair across from our bed, another Red Bull clutched in my hand. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the lines of his face in the dim light.
I won't lose him. I won't lose this life we're building. Not to her. Not to fucking anyone.
The night passes in a haze of caffeine and determination. By morning, my eyes burn and my hands shake, but I'm still here. Still Anna.
I leave before Domhnall wakes up, a note on my pillow saying I have an early appointment with Dr. Ezra. Another lie to add to the pile, but frankly, I can't give a good goddamn. When I say I'd do anything to stay with Domhn, I mean it. The fury at Mads has shaved down any guilt I might be feeling.
Dr. Renwick's office is in a nondescript building downtown. The waiting room is empty when I arrive, exactly at eight. The receptionist leads me straight to his office—a warm space with leather chairs and bookshelves lining the walls.
Dr. Renwick himself is older than I expected, with silver hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He stands as I enter, extending his hand.
"Anna," he says. "It's good to finally meet you."
I shake his hand, trying to ignore how mine trembles. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
He gestures for me to sit. "I've been curious about your case ever since we first talked. It's quite remarkable, the progress you've made with traditional therapy."
"Not remarkable enough," I say bitterly. "She's still here. Still taking over whenever she wants."
"And that's why you've come to me?" His voice is gentle, non-judgmental. "You want her gone completely?"
"Yes." The word comes out sharp and definitive. "She was going to leave my fiancé without even consulting me. Just take our body and disappear. Without a word to anyone." My voice breaks. "I can't let that happen."
Dr. Renwick nods slowly. "I understand your concerns. But you know the risks of what you're proposing, yes? Forced integration can be traumatic. In some cases, it can create new fractures rather than healing existing ones."
"I know the risks," I say. "But when my father hypnotized me to forget everything, Mads was gone. Buried so deep I didn't even know she existed. I want that again."
"But you remember what happened when those memories came flooding back," he counters. "The breakdown. The hospitalization."
I lean forward. "This time I'll be prepared. This time I want it to happen."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Very well. If you're certain this is what you want, we can begin today with a preliminary session. But Anna, you must understand—this is not a magic bullet. It's a process, and it will require work on your part."
"I'll do whatever it takes, and I'm not afraid of hard work," I promise. "I just want my life back. I want Domhnall and me to have a real chance, without her interfering."
Dr. Renwick rises and crosses to a cabinet, retrieving a small device that looks like a metronome. He sets it on the table between us, then dims the lights slightly.
"Make yourself comfortable," he says, his voice taking on a rhythmic quality. "Focus on the pendulum. Let your eyes follow its movement—back and forth, back and forth."
I do as he says, watching the small golden weight swing in perfect arcs.
"That's right," he continues. "Just watch and listen. With each swing, your eyelids grow heavier. Your breathing deepens. You're safe here."
The tension begins to drain from my muscles. My racing thoughts slow.
"I'm going to count backward from ten," Dr. Renwick says, his voice seeming to come from far away now. "When I reach one, you'll be in a deep state of relaxation, fully open to my suggestions."
Ten... Nine... Eight...
My eyelids flutter, growing impossibly heavy. It's a sensation that feels familiar.
"Don't let her take him from me," I whisper.
Seven... Six... Five...
The room around me blurs and fades.
Four... Three... Two...
I think of Domhnall—his smile, his touch, the future we're going to have together.
One...
I slip under, surrendering control willingly for the first time in my life.
Because I would never, in my right mind, leave Domhnall.
So I'll do whatever it takes to make sure the malignant part of my brain called Mads never gets the chance to take him away from me again.