*Trigger warnings* Dissociative Identify disorder/ Multiple Personality Disroder, mental health issues, distress, C-PTSD,
When I open my eyes again, I'm somewhere else. Not in the tower, not in the lab—somewhere small, somewhere cold. A distant ringing echoes in my ears, and my body feels weak, wrong. The air smells of antiseptic and blood. My fingers curl uselessly against the smooth floor beneath me.
I know this place.
The Cube.
No. No, no, no.
I jerk forward, heart hammering, panic surging so violently through me I feel like I might break apart. My breath catches, shallow and fast, and my throat aches like I've been screaming.
I'm back.
I'm back.
A shadow moves in front of me, and I flinch so hard my whole body spasms.
A hand catches my shoulder, warm and steady.
"Cherish?"
The voice is low, careful.
But it's not the one I'm expecting.
I lift my head, blinking hard. The Cube flickers, distorts—like a glitch in reality—and suddenly, Miras is in front of me, brows drawn together, his grip firm but not harsh. He's kneeling, eye-level, the edges of his usually sharp features softened by concern.
I stare at him, my pulse racing.
This—this isn't right.
I was there. I was there.
But now I'm here?
I don't understand.
"Hey," Miras says, quieter now, like he's afraid of startling me. "You with me?"
I shake my head, the movement jerky. "I—I can't—" My voice comes out hoarse, like I've swallowed glass. My breath is still too fast, too shallow. "I don't—I don't know what's happening."
His fingers tighten around my shoulder, grounding me. "You're safe."
I let out a short, hysterical laugh. "No. No, I'm not." I look past him, scanning the room wildly. "He's coming. He's always coming."
Miras' expression hardens. "Who?"
I can't say his name.
I just shake my head, curling in on myself. My body is trembling—whether from fear or cold, I don't know.
Miras moves closer. "Cherish, listen to me—"
I grab onto his sleeve so hard my nails scrape against his skin.
"Don't let me die."
Miras goes still.
I don't realize I'm crying until my voice breaks. "Please—Miras, I—I don't want to die here. I can't—I can't go back in. Please, please don't let him take me—"
His hand is suddenly on my face, cupping my cheek, his touch the only solid thing in a world that's unraveling at the seams.
"Cherish." His voice is firm, urgent. "You're not there. You're not there anymore. He can't get to you. I won't let him."
I shake my head, gripping onto him like he's the only thing keeping me from falling apart. "You can't stop him." My breath stutters. "No one can."
His jaw clenches. "The hell I can't."
A sob rips from my throat, and I don't even care that I'm falling apart in front of him.
Miras shifts, pulling me against his chest, his arms coming around me, steady and strong. "I've got you," he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. "You're safe."
The pain stops so suddenly it leaves me breathless.
For a moment, I just stand there, dazed, the aftershocks still rolling through me. My skin is damp with sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Something feels off.
I blink hard, trying to focus, but the world around me is too sharp, too bright. The room is too full—people standing too close, watching me like I'm something fragile, something breakable.
Miras is in front of me, his hands still gripping my shoulders, his face twisted with concern. My stomach twists violently. I hate that look. I hate the softness in his eyes, the weight of it pressing down on me like I'm some wounded animal he's trying to coax back from the edge.
I rip myself out of his grip, stepping back so fast my legs nearly buckle.
"What the hell did you do to me?"
Miras opens his mouth, but I don't give him the chance.
"Don't call me that," I snap before he can even say my name. My fingers fly to my temples, nails scraping against my skin. My head hurts—not just from the procedure, but from the wrongness of it all. I remember being terrified. I remember begging. But that wasn't me. That wasn't me.
I rip the wires from my head, barely feeling the sting. "I told you all I didn't want this. I told you—"
"Cherish," Imani says, his voice calm, even. "You were stuck. Your mind was fragmented. This was necessary."
I round on him so fast he actually takes a step back. "Necessary?" A short, sharp laugh rips from my throat. "You just ripped me apart."
"Sweetheart," Aunt Nayley starts gently, stepping forward. "I think—"
I glare at her. "Don't try to talk me down."
Dewey lets out a low whistle. "Okay, I liked the other Cherish better."
I snap my gaze to him, and he immediately throws his hands up. "Shutting up now."
My father, silent until now, finally moves toward me. "This is for your own good."
His words slam into me like a punch to the gut.
I laugh again, sharp and venomous. "Oh, that's rich. You don't give a damn about what's good for me—you just want control over what I remember."
His face hardens. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
The air in the room is thick, suffocating. My heart is racing, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.
I turn back to Imani, my voice low, shaking with fury. "Turn it off."
Imani frowns. "What?"
"Turn. It. Off." I take a step forward, my whole body burning. "Whatever you did, undo it."
He hesitates.
Wrong move.
I lunge.
Or—I try to.
Miras is faster.
His hands clamp around my wrist before I can reach Imani, yanking me back just enough to throw me off balance. I whip around to face him, my breath ragged, my pulse a thunderstorm in my skull.
"Let. Go."
His grip tightens. "Not happening."
My body vibrates with fury. "Miras, I swear to God—"
"Swear all you want," he cuts in, voice low. "You're not thinking clearly."
I jerk my arm, trying to tear away from him, but he doesn't let go. "You don't get to decide what's clear for me."
"No?" His jaw tics. "Then tell me—who were you begging for your life five minutes ago?"
The world goes deathly still.
Something in my chest cracks.
I swallow hard, breath stuttering.
I can feel everyone's eyes on me, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to crumble.
I refuse.
I shove it down, shove him down, the broken, desperate version of me that clawed at Miras like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.
That wasn't me. That wasn't me.
I lift my chin, force my lips into a smirk.
"Cute," I say, letting the words drip with mockery. "You think you matter in all of this."
Miras doesn't flinch, but I see the flicker of something in his expression—something cold, something hurt.
Good.
He tightens his grip for just a second before letting me go.
"Sit down," he says quietly. "Before you do something you'll regret."
I roll my shoulders back, forcing the tension out of them, forcing myself to breathe like I'm not seconds from coming undone.
"The only thing I regret," I say smoothly, "is trusting any of you."
The world tilts, then slams back into place.
A sharp gasp rips from my throat as I stagger forward, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. My mind burns, overflowing with memories—my memories—surging back all at once, suffocating and all-consuming.
I see the Cube. The cold. The way my body trembled, how my screams echoed against steel walls. Amar's voice, smooth as silk, dripping with false sympathy. "You can't hold on forever, Cherish."
I see home. The warmth of Aunt Nayley's kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and sugar in the air. Miras smirking at me over a chessboard, his hands hovering just above the pieces, waiting for me to make my move. Dewey's laughter, bright and reckless.
I see everything.
And I remember.
My breath shudders out of me. My entire body feels like it's been wrung dry, like something deep inside me has been ripped open and rearranged. I sway where I stand, my pulse hammering in my ears.
There are voices—muffled, distant, like I'm hearing them from underwater.
Then—Miras.
"Cherish?"
I blink hard, the world coming into focus. He's in front of me, his brow furrowed, tension carved into every inch of his face.
I take a step back. My vision tunnels in on him, on the raw concern in his eyes, the hesitation in the way he reaches for me but doesn't touch.
He's waiting.
Waiting to see who I am.
I swallow hard. My throat feels raw, my entire body trembling with the aftershocks of what Imani has just done to me.
I shift my gaze—Aunt Nayley, her lips pressed together in quiet worry. Dewey, looking awkward and deeply uncomfortable. My father, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. And Imani—calm, composed, like he didn't just shove my mind back into place with his own two hands.
I exhale shakily, forcing my shoulders to square, forcing my voice to stay steady.
"I'm here."
Miras doesn't move. "Which you?"
The question shouldn't sting. But it does.
I glance down at my hands. My fingers twitch slightly—an old habit, one I'd forgotten until now.
I lift my chin. "The real one."
Miras watches me for a moment longer, searching for something in my face, in my voice. I don't know if he finds it, but he exhales softly, his shoulders dropping just slightly.
But Imani—Imani is still watching me like a scientist observing an experiment.
Miras moves before I can.
One second, I'm standing there, the weight of everything pressing down on me, my mind barely holding together at the seams. The next, Miras is stepping between me and Imani, his voice low, sharp, edged with something dangerously close to desperation.
"That's enough."
Imani doesn't flinch. "No, it isn't."
Miras' hands curl into fists at his sides. "She's back. You did what you wanted—she remembers. There's no reason to keep pushing this."
I blink, still unsteady, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch the standoff.
But Imani is calm. Infuriatingly calm.
"She's not stable yet." His voice is measured, almost clinical. "The memories are still settling, and there are gaps. If we stop now, she could slip again."
"I won't," I bite out, though the words feel flimsy, uncertain.
Imani doesn't even look at me. His eyes stay on Miras, his expression unreadable. "If you stop this now, and she loses herself again, what then?"
Miras' jaw clenches.
"She needs all of it," Imani continues. "Not just the pieces that came back first. You know that."
A thick, suffocating silence stretches between them.
Miras' breathing is heavy, his shoulders rising and falling with barely restrained frustration. I can see it—the war inside him, the fear he's trying to bury beneath all that anger.
He doesn't want to lose me again.
But Imani doesn't back down.
And the worst part?
Somewhere deep down, I know he's right.
My stomach twists violently. I force myself to breathe, to think through the fog still clinging to my mind. The procedure isn't done. There are still pieces missing—pieces I can feel, just beyond reach. If we stop now, if I falter, if I wake up tomorrow and half of this is gone—
I swallow hard.
Miras is still standing in front of me, a wall between me and whatever comes next.
I press a trembling hand to his arm. "Miras."
He turns to me instantly, his expression shifting, softening.
I hate this. I hate that I'm doing this to him.
But I nod. "Let them finish."
Miras stares at me, searching my face, looking for any sign that I don't mean it.
I don't blame him.
I almost wish I didn't.
But he must see something in my eyes, something that makes his shoulders sag, his jaw go tight.
His voice is barely above a whisper. "Are you sure?"
No.
Not even a little.
But I nod anyway.
Because I don't think I have a choice.
The second the current surges through me, I know.
It's not a gradual shift, not a slow unraveling of thought and identity. It's instant, like a whip cracking through my skull, snapping me into place.
A sharp breath hisses between my teeth.
The warmth in my chest—the shaky remnants of fear, of vulnerability, of weakness—is gone. Burned away.
My fingers twitch, flex, curl into fists.
I lift my chin. My vision sharpens. The heaviness pressing down on me evaporates.
I know who I am again.
And I hate them for trying to take that from me.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips.
Miras sees the change first. His entire body tenses, his hand still hovering near my arm like he could hold onto me, like he could stop this.
Too late.
"Finally," I murmur, rolling my shoulders, shaking off the last ghost of her—the one who pleaded, who wavered, who thought Miras could save her.
The silence in the room is thick. Stifling.
I glance around, taking them all in—Imani's ever-calm face, my father's calculating gaze, Aunt Nayley's worry masked as quiet strength, Dewey looking like he really regrets being here at all.
My attention flicks back to Imani.
I tilt my head, amusement curling in my chest. "You really thought I'd let you win that easily?"
Imani exhales through his nose. "This isn't about winning, Cherish."
"Mm," I hum, unconvinced.
Miras steps forward. "Cherish—"
I meet his gaze, and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.
He's hoping. Praying that I'm still the girl from a few minutes ago.
But she's gone.
And I make sure he knows it.
I step toward him, slow and deliberate, until there's barely any space between us. I lift a hand—watch as his breath hitches, his shoulders tightening in anticipation of something soft, something familiar.
Then I pat his cheek.
"Don't look so heartbroken," I purr, letting my nails scrape just slightly against his skin before pulling away. "I liked that version of me, too. But we both know she was never going to last."
His jaw clenches. He doesn't move.
Good boy.
I turn on my heel, already bored, and face Imani again.
"Alright," I say, spreading my arms. "What's next? Another round? Or are we finally done playing this game?"
I feel the shift—the subtle crackle in the air—before I hear Imani's voice, firm and clear.
"This is enough."
His voice carries authority, the kind of control that makes the air feel heavier, like a storm is about to break. Imani doesn't wait for me to respond. His fingers move quickly, steady, like he's done this a thousand times before. He steps toward me, and for the first time, I don't move, don't even flinch.
His hand hovers over the device, and I watch the tension in his shoulders as he hesitates for just a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. But then his eyes narrow, and he presses forward.
"You're not staying like this," Imani mutters under his breath.
I don't have time to react. The moment he activates the machine, a sharp, painful pull begins inside my mind—like a snap of a whip, quick and merciless. It's the same sensation I've felt before when he's tried to reset me.
But this time, it's worse. It's more intense.
I want to fight it.
I want to scream, push back, but it's like the world itself is being rewritten, like the very fabric of my consciousness is being torn apart and reassembled. The cold clarity I've just found begins to slip away, unraveling in an instant.
I can feel it—the old me returning, the version of me that's always been confused, always unsure, always trying to reconcile the fractured pieces of myself. I feel the anger dissipate, the sharp edges dulling, replaced by a strange, suffocating weight.
"No."
I try to fight it, but it's no use. The shift is too fast, too strong. I feel the fog descend on my thoughts, the coldness receding like it never existed.
And then I hear Miras' voice again, softer this time. "Cherish…"
But it doesn't matter.
I feel it. I feel the real me slipping back into place. The one who's always felt broken, the one who doesn't know how to hold onto the pieces that have been shattered.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the disorienting haze from my mind, and when my vision clears, I'm back.
The me who's afraid of her own power. The one who feels more lost than ever.
Imani takes a step back, his eyes searching mine, though I can't bear to meet his gaze. I'm not sure what he sees there, but I know it's not the girl he wanted. Not the version of me he's been trying to restore.
I look around the room, at everyone—at Miras, whose concern is evident but mixed with a trace of something else, something I can't place. At Aunt Nayley, Dewey, my father. They all look at me differently now, like I've been pulled back from some kind of abyss they didn't understand.
The weight of everything crashes into me at once—the memories flooding back, the confusion, the disorientation. I feel everything. Every emotion, every fleeting thought, every painful memory—all of it slams into me like a tidal wave, and I can't breathe.
I can't think.
And then, I can't stop crying.
It starts slow, just a trickle, but then it spills out of me, uncontrollable, like I've been holding it all in for too long. The tears come in torrents, burning my skin, hot and relentless. My chest tightens with every sob, the emotion raw and painful. I feel myself crumbling under the weight of it all, like I can't hold myself together anymore.
Miras steps toward me, his expression tight with concern, but I don't want him near me. I don't want anyone near me.
"Cherish—"
I shake my head, trying to pull away, but it doesn't help. It doesn't stop. The tears keep coming.
I want to scream. I want to punch something—anything—to make this stop. But I can't. I can't control anything anymore.
And then, somewhere between the sobs, something shifts again.
It's like a flicker—a spark in the darkness.
I'm crying, but then... the laughter comes. It's not a soft, relieved chuckle. It's sharp. It's wild.
And I can't stop it.
I laugh—loudly, recklessly, like there's no sense left in me. The sound is strange, dissonant against the tears, but it doesn't matter.
"I'm losing my mind," I gasp between fits of laughter, my voice cracking. The absurdity of it all hits me—hard—and I can't help myself.
I'm laughing through the tears, my body shaking with the force of it, even though nothing feels funny. Nothing about this situation feels like it should be anything but terrifying.
But the laughter comes, bitter and uncontrolled, like I'm a puppet with no strings left to pull.
Miras takes a step back, eyes wide, hands raised as if to stop me or reach out to me—I can't tell—and it only makes it worse.
"I'm crazy, Miras," I say through a broken laugh, almost gasping for breath. "I'm losing it… completely."
I clutch at my chest, my heart pounding erratically, and for a moment, I think I might actually break—break into pieces that can't be put back together.
The room is thick with the aftermath of everything that's just unfolded. My body still shakes, my tears have slowed to an almost exhausted trickle, but I can't seem to stop myself from feeling... everything.
Imani watches me closely, his gaze sharp but not unkind. He's been standing there, watching the chaos unravel, but he finally speaks. His voice, as steady as always, cuts through the thick air.
"This is going to take time," Imani says, his eyes not leaving me. "The transitions will be violent at first—there's no way around it."
I'm barely able to process his words through the fog in my mind, but something in me understands what he's saying. I won't stay like this. Not in this state of confusion, not in this constant ebb and flow of emotions I can't control.
I want to lash out, but it's too hard to focus. Too hard to even think straight.
I'm still staring at the floor when I feel Miras' hand on my shoulder, warm and grounding. He leans in close, and his voice is softer than I expect, despite the tension in the room.
"Cherish," he says, and there's something raw in his tone that makes my chest tighten. "I can't leave you like this."
I look up at him, my vision blurred, and my mind a mess of fragmented thoughts. He's watching me like I'm about to break completely, and I don't know how to make it stop. His eyes are filled with a kind of helplessness that I don't want to see, not from him.
"I can't let you stay in this state," he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly. "You don't deserve this... none of this is your fault."
But it feels like it is. Every tear, every burst of laughter, every shift in my personality—it all feels like it's my fault, like I'm the one who broke, not just myself but everything around me.
"Please," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I don't want to be like this."
Miras presses his forehead against mine for a brief moment, the contact gentle but filled with an emotion I can't quite name. I don't know if it's love, guilt, fear, or something else entirely, but it's enough to make my heart ache.
Imani steps forward, his expression hardening. "We don't have a choice right now. She needs time to adjust. This isn't something that can be fixed immediately. The personalities will clash for a while."
He turns to Miras then, his tone more direct. "And you can't protect her from this, Miras. You need to let her go through it. She's not the same person, and you need to stop trying to fix what's already been broken."
But Miras doesn't back down. His hand still rests on my shoulder, his thumb brushing softly against my skin as if he's trying to ground me in something that feels stable.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says quietly, his eyes never leaving me. "I'm not leaving her like this."
Imani sighs, frustrated but resigned. "You can't help her if you're not prepared for what comes next. She'll change. She'll fight it. And you can't hold her together every second. It'll break you both."
I feel the weight of his words, but Miras doesn't flinch. His jaw clenches, and there's a hardness in his gaze that tells me he's not listening. His focus is entirely on me, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a terrible one.
"I'll stay," Miras repeats, his voice unwavering. "I'm not leaving her to face this alone."
My chest tightens as I look at him, torn between needing him and knowing that this fight... it's not his to fight. This is me. It has always been me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice breaking again.
I don't last an hour before I start slipping again.
One second, I'm curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, my head resting against the armrest, my body wrung out from exhaustion. Miras is sitting in the chair across from me, quiet, watching, his fingers drumming against the side of his mug.
Then—
I blink, and the world tilts.
A sharp inhale rattles through my chest. My skin prickles. The blanket feels suffocating, the walls too close, the air too heavy. I sit up fast, my breath coming in shallow bursts.
Miras notices immediately. "Cherish?"
I ignore him, shoving the blanket away like it's a restraint. My pulse hammers against my skull. My fingers twitch against my knee, an old nervous habit I don't remember picking up.
"Cherish."
His voice is firm this time, but it does nothing to stop the whirlwind inside my head.
Something is wrong. I can feel it.
I push off the couch and start pacing. My body is thrumming, electric, like I'm on the verge of something catastrophic. I rub at my arms, my nails scraping against my skin, trying to ground myself, but it's like trying to hold onto mist.
"I can't—I can't do this," I mutter, running my hands through my hair.
Miras doesn't move, doesn't speak right away. He's learned to wait. To watch.
But Imani, standing near the doorway, isn't so patient.
"Cherish," he says, stepping closer. "You need to take the medication."
I stop pacing long enough to glare at him. "No."
His expression doesn't shift. "You're deteriorating."
A bitter laugh rips from my throat. "Oh, am I?" I throw my arms out. "I hadn't noticed."
Miras exhales sharply. "Cherish—"
I whip toward him. "Which one?"
Miras freezes.
I take a step back, my breath coming too fast, my thoughts a tangled mess of static. "Which one, Miras? Which Cherish are you talking to? The one who's terrified? The one who's numb? The one who doesn't give a damn about any of this?" I dig my fingers into my scalp, nails biting against my skin. "Because I don't know anymore."
Silence.
Then—
"I do."
Miras' voice is quiet, steady, but it slices through the noise in my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The ground beneath me feels unsteady, like I might tip over and shatter if I move wrong.
"I'm losing it," I whisper, my voice splintering at the edges.
Miras moves then, crossing the space between us. He reaches for me, hesitant, like he's afraid I'll bolt. His fingers brush against my wrist, grounding, real.
"You're here." His voice is firm, unwavering. "You're real, Cherish."
I shake my head. My throat burns. "Not for long."
And I'm right.
Because the second I exhale, the world tilts again.
I blink—
And the fear is gone.
Just like that.
My hands drop to my sides. My heartbeat slows. The tension bleeds out of my shoulders like it was never there.
I exhale, long and slow, and roll my neck. A smirk curls at the edges of my lips.
Miras sees it immediately. His whole body goes stiff.
"Oh," I murmur, tilting my head, studying his face. "You again."
His brows pull together, a flicker of something sharp crossing his features.
"Cherish—"
"Wrong one," I cut in, voice smooth, effortless. I take a step back, eyes flicking over the room with fresh detachment. Everything feels distant now, like a game I'm watching from the outside. The storm of emotions I had minutes ago? Gone. Replaced by something colder. Sharper.
Miras clenches his jaw. "This isn't you."
I laugh, light and careless. "Isn't it?"
He takes a step forward. "You were just—"
"Oh, spare me," I say, waving a hand. "I know exactly what you're going to say. I was 'just' falling apart in front of you. I was 'just' begging for help." I smile, sweet and venomous. "But this Cherish? She doesn't beg."
Miras exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He's frustrated. Worried. Tired.
Good.
I turn to Imani, arms crossed. "Well? You gonna sedate me again?"
Imani doesn't react, his expression unreadable. "The medication helps."
I scoff. "The medication does nothing. You keep stuffing pills down my throat, hoping I'll smooth out, but it never lasts, does it?" I take a step closer, lowering my voice. "You're losing control of me, Imani. And you hate that, don't you?"
Something flickers in his gaze—just for a second—but it's enough.
I grin.
Miras steps between us before I can say anything else. His presence is solid, unwavering, but there's something behind his eyes that wasn't there before.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something close to desperation.
"Cherish," he says, voice low, steady. "I know you think you have control right now. But this?" He gestures to me, his gaze searching mine. "This isn't you either."
I raise a brow. "And you'd know, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
There's no hesitation.
Just certainty.
Something tightens in my chest, an old, unwelcome ache.
I shove it down. "Well, lucky for you," I say breezily, "it won't matter in a few minutes. The other one will be back soon enough." I tap my temple. "Tick, tock."
Miras swears under his breath.
The shift happens again—so sudden it feels like whiplash.
My head spins. My chest burns. The smirk vanishes, and a choked breath slips out before I can stop it.
Miras barely has time to react before my legs give out.
He lunges forward, catching me before I hit the ground.
I'm shaking. My body is wracked with exhaustion, my mind barely holding together at the seams. My fingers clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something solid, something real.
I let out a shuddering breath, my voice barely a whisper.
"I don't want to be like this."
Miras tightens his grip. "I know."
But the worst part?
He can't stop it.
None of us can.
---
The storm inside me is getting worse.
The longer this goes on, the less control I have over when I shift. The personalities are multiplying, overlapping, bleeding into each other in ways I can't stop. Every time I blink, I feel like a different version of myself is waiting just beneath my skin, ready to surface.
And the others can tell.
The atmosphere in the apartment is thick—too many people, too much tension.
I'm sitting at the dining table, or maybe I'm slouched in the chair—I can't tell anymore. Across from me, Dewey stirs his cereal with the kind of nervous energy he usually reserves for bomb threats and final exams. Aunt Nayley is by the sink, arms crossed, her lips pressed so tight they're almost white. My father sits beside me, rigid, controlled, unreadable as always.
Miras and Imani are still here, watching from a distance. They've learned by now not to get too close when I start slipping.
I rub my temples, trying to press back the pounding in my skull. "I feel like my brain is eating itself," I mutter.
Dewey snorts. "Well, that's not horrifying at all."
I glance up at him, and for a second, something in me wants to laugh. But then a sharp, electric snap runs through my mind, and suddenly, I'm not amused. I'm furious.
I slam my hands against the table, and Dewey jolts so hard his spoon flies out of his bowl, landing with a wet plop on the floor.
"Do you think this is funny?" I snarl.
His eyes widen. "Uh—no?"
I shove my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. My heart is racing, my skin too tight, my breath too shallow.
"I don't need your jokes, Dewey," I snap. "I don't need any of you acting like this is just some—some quirk I'll grow out of. You think I like this? You think I want to be a goddamn shattered mirror?"
Dewey's hands shoot up in surrender. "Whoa, okay, let's just—"
"Cherish."
The voice is steady. Unwavering.
Not Miras.
Not Imani.
My father.
I freeze.
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't move. He just looks at me, and something about that quiet, assessing stare makes my insides twist.
"You're losing control," he says.
Something cold runs down my spine. "I never had control."
Aunt Nayley steps forward before my father can respond. "Sweetheart, you're exhausted," she says gently, like she's trying not to spook a wild animal. "You need to rest."
I shake my head, pacing now, running my hands through my hair. "Rest? What's that gonna do? I'll wake up as someone else. I'll wake up and not know who I am again—" My voice cracks, and I hate it.
Aunt Nayley reaches for me. "Cherish—"
I flinch away before she can touch me.
And then—
Everything shifts.
The anger is gone. The panic is gone.
I blink.
And when I open my eyes again, my body feels light. Relaxed. A grin spreads across my face before I even realize it's happening.
Aunt Nayley looks at me warily.
"Oh," I hum, stretching my arms above my head. "That was dramatic."
Dewey blinks. "Uh. What?"
I flop back into the chair, resting my chin in my palm. "You guys always take things so seriously," I say, my tone breezy, effortless. "I mean, sure, my mind is in complete and utter chaos, but isn't that a little fun?"
Miras stiffens. "Cherish."
I roll my eyes. "Ugh, you're still here? I was hoping I'd wake up to someone more interesting."
Dewey lets out a low whistle. "Well, this is new."
Aunt Nayley frowns. "Cherish, how do you feel?"
I stretch my legs out under the table, my body language easy, confident. "Honestly?" I smile, bright and amused. "I feel great."
My father narrows his eyes. "Who are you?"
I tilt my head. The question should make me nervous. But it doesn't.
Because, for once, I feel like I do know.
I lean forward, folding my arms on the table, smirking at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Silence.
Imani is watching me closely now, calculating, as if he's already trying to figure out what to do with me.
Miras, though—he just looks tired.
"You're not okay," he mutters.
I wave a hand. "Oh, relax, Miras. You worry too much."
His jaw clenches. "You were falling apart two minutes ago."
"Yeah, and now I'm not. Isn't that a good thing?" I flash a smile. "Maybe this version of me is just better."
Miras shakes his head. "You don't even realize it's happening, do you?"
I open my mouth to argue—but then it hits me.
Like a wave crashing over me, like the bottom dropping out beneath my feet.
I grip the edges of the table as the shift slams into me again, as my entire body feels like it's being ripped apart at the seams.
My breath stutters. My vision blurs.
I feel cold.
Empty.
I exhale, my chest tight, my limbs heavy. The smirk disappears. The confidence vanishes.
I look down at my hands, watching as my fingers tremble slightly.
"…How many are there?" I whisper.
No one answers.
The weight of it presses down on me, suffocating, crushing.
Dewey shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. "So, uh. Just putting this out there, but—" He gestures vaguely at me. "We sure she's not possessed?"
Aunt Nayley smacks him lightly on the back of the head. "Dewey."
"What? It was a valid question!"
I let out a shaky breath, pressing my palms against my temples.
"There's too many," I murmur. My voice is thin. Hollow. "I can't—I can't keep track—"
My father, who has been quiet this entire time, finally speaks. "Then we need to find a way to stabilize you."
Imani nods. "We keep running trials. Adjust the medication. Monitor the shifts—"
"Monitor?" I bark out a bitter laugh, lifting my head to glare at him. "Like I'm some kind of experiment?"
Imani doesn't flinch. "You're unraveling, Cherish. This is the only way to slow it down."
Slow it down.
Not stop it.
I laugh again, and it's wild, sharp, bordering on hysterical. "So what? I'm just supposed to accept that I'm never going to be me again?"
Miras steps closer. "Cherish, we're trying to—"
I slam my hands against the table, cutting him off. "No. Don't say it. Don't tell me you're 'trying to help.'" My voice wavers, cracks. "Because you can't help me. None of you can."
The weight in the room is unbearable.
I press a hand to my chest, my pulse erratic.
It's too much.
Too many emotions.
Too many people.
Too many versions of myself, all fighting to take control.
I choke on a breath. "I don't know how to stop this."
Aunt Nayley kneels in front of me, resting a hand on my knee. "We'll figure it out," she says, soft but steady. "I promise."
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I don't believe her.
I don't think anyone does.
The pill is small.
Insignificant.
And completely useless.
Imani drops it into my palm, his expression unreadable. "It won't fix the problem," he says, "but it'll give you a few hours of sleep."
I hesitate, rolling it between my fingers. "And what happens if I wake up as someone else?"
Imani exhales through his nose. "Then we deal with it."
Great. That's what we've been doing this whole time—just dealing with it.
I glance toward Miras, who's leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He hasn't said a word since Imani handed me the pill. He doesn't trust it. He doesn't trust any of this.
Neither do I.
But I don't have a choice.
So I toss the pill into my mouth, chase it with a sip of water, and settle back against the pillows.
Aunt Nayley squeezes my hand before standing. "Get some rest, sweetheart."
Dewey salutes me lazily. "Try not to wake up possessed."
Aunt Nayley smacks him lightly on the back of the head.
Imani lingers for a moment longer, watching me like a scientist observing an experiment. Then he turns to Miras. "Stay with her."
Miras straightens slightly. "You sure that's a good idea?"
Imani doesn't waver. "You're the only one she listens to."
That's not true, I want to say. But I don't.
Because a part of me knows that, right now, it is.
The others leave, the door clicking softly shut behind them.
Miras stays.
I don't know why, but I feel myself relax slightly, just knowing he's still in the room.
"Lie down," he says, quieter now. "Get some sleep."
I nod, shifting onto my side. I expect him to leave, to settle in the chair across the room and put as much distance between us as possible.
But instead, he hesitates.
And then—
"Do you want me to stay?"
The question is quiet. Careful.
I don't answer right away.
I should tell him no. I should push him away, just like I have a hundred times before. But my body is heavy with exhaustion, my mind a mess of tangled wires, and right now, I just… I just don't want to be alone.
I press my face into the pillow, my voice muffled when I finally whisper, "Yeah."
Miras doesn't move for a second, like he wasn't expecting that answer.
Then the mattress shifts slightly under his weight as he sits beside me.
Not touching. Not crowding.
Just there.
The room is quiet, save for the sound of our breathing.
I close my eyes. My mind drifts, slipping between wakefulness and sleep, the medication dragging me under.
And then—
His fingers brush against mine.
It's nothing. Barely a touch. But it feels like everything.
I turn my hand slightly, just enough to let my fingers hook loosely around his.
Miras tenses for a second. Then he squeezes.
It's the smallest thing. But it's the first moment of peace I've had in days.
I sigh softly. "This is nice."
Miras lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "You're drugged."
I smile sleepily. "Still counts."
He doesn't argue.
The warmth of his hand, the steady weight of him beside me—it's enough to lull me further into unconsciousness.
I bolt upright with a gasp, my whole body seizing up like I've been plunged into ice water.
Miras jerks beside me, already reaching for me. "Cherish?"
I can't breathe. My vision is flickering. I'm flickering.
"Not—not again—" My fingers claw at the blanket, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. "I was—I was fine—"
But I wasn't. I never was.
Miras grabs my shoulders, steadying me. "You're okay. You're safe."
I shake my head violently. "No, no, I was safe. But she—she's not—"
The fear drains out of me so fast it makes me dizzy. The panic disappears, the tremors still, and a slow, easy smile spreads across my lips.
Miras' grip tightens. He sees the shift. He knows.
"Oh, honey," I purr, tilting my head, my voice suddenly syrupy sweet. "You really thought that would last?"
Miras swears.
He shoves himself back just as I lean forward, grinning. "You knew it wouldn't," I continue, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "She's too soft. Too fragile." I stretch my arms above my head, letting out a contented sigh. "I, on the other hand, know how to have fun."
Miras is already on his feet, hands clenched at his sides. "You need to fight this."
"Fight what?" I spread my arms. "I am Cherish. Just a better one."
His jaw clenches. "No, you're not."
I smirk. "You sound so sure."
Then the flicker happens again.
Another lurch. Another split.
I feel it before I even know who's coming next.
The warmth vanishes. The confidence vanishes.
And suddenly, I can't breathe again.
Miras' hands are on me before I even hit the floor. "Hey—hey, I got you—"
I clutch at his shirt, my body trembling. "He's coming."
Miras stiffens. "Who?"
My breath is ragged, sharp and panicked. "He's coming. He's—he's here—"
And for the first time since this all started—
I don't know if I mean him.
Or if I mean me.
Miras is holding me.
I don't know when it happened. I don't know how it happened. But his arms are around me, solid and steady, his grip firm like he's afraid I'll slip through his fingers if he lets go.
And maybe I will.
I can feel the ground beneath me, but it doesn't feel real. The world tilts—flickers, warps at the edges like a corrupted file. My head is pounding. The personalities inside me aren't just shifting anymore.
They're fighting.
"Cherish." Miras' voice is rough, urgent. "Look at me."
I squeeze my eyes shut instead. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to see the way his face twists with worry, the way his hands shake just slightly as they hold onto me.
Because if I do—if I let myself process that he's here, that he's trying so desperately to keep me from slipping—
I'll break.
And I don't know if I'll be able to put myself back together.
I gasp, my breath stuttering. "It's too much," I choke out. "I—I can't—I can't—"
"Breathe," Miras urges, his hands gripping my arms. "Just breathe, Cherish."
I can't.
Because someone else is pushing through.
The fear drains from my body like a switch being flipped.
The panic melts away.
And then—
I feel nothing.
The tremors in my limbs stop. My pulse slows. The tightness in my chest fades.
When I open my eyes, I feel light. Weightless. Like I've just stepped into a dream.
Miras notices instantly. His whole body tenses.
"Cherish?" he says carefully.
I blink at him. My lips curve into a soft, dreamy smile.
"Oh," I hum, my voice light, almost airy. "It's you."
Miras' grip tightens. "Who am I talking to right now?"
I tilt my head. "That's a silly question." I reach up, tracing my fingers over the fabric of his shirt. "You're Miras. And I—" I pause, as if trying to remember something just out of reach. "I think I'm happy."
Miras' eyes darken. "No, you're not."
I giggle. Actually giggle. It sounds foreign even to my own ears, like something pulled from someone else's throat. "Of course I am! Don't you feel it?" I stretch my arms above my head, breathing in deeply. "Everything's so light now. So easy. No pain. No fear. Just…" I let out a contented sigh. "Peace."
Miras swears under his breath.
"Cherish, listen to me," he says, his voice sharp, insistent. "You need to snap out of this."
I pout at him. "You always ruin the fun."
"This isn't fun," he growls.
I just smile at him, bright and unbothered. "Maybe not for you."
Miras releases me abruptly, stepping back as if he can't stand being this close anymore. He drags a hand through his hair, pacing like he's trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do. "Don't be so grumpy," I say, resting my chin in my hands. "You should try being happy too, Miras. It's so much easier."
Miras doesn't respond. He just stares at me, like he's trying to see me beneath whatever mask I'm wearing now.
I hum to myself, swinging my legs lazily over the edge of the bed. "You know, I like this version of me." I grin at him. "She's much less of a mess."
Miras scoffs. "She's not you."
I lift a shoulder. "Maybe you're not you either."
He glares at me, and something about that reaction makes laughter bubble up in my chest again.
But before I can let it spill out—
The world snaps.
I lurch forward with a gasp, my fingers clawing at the sheets as the weight of reality slams back into me like a freight train.
My chest is tight. My throat burns. My mind screams.
The happiness—the peace—it's gone.
And in its place is something darker.
I let out a ragged breath, pressing a shaking hand against my forehead.
Miras is in front of me in an instant, kneeling at my level, his voice urgent. "Cherish? Cherish?"
I don't answer.
I can't.
Because something in me is breaking apart in a way that feels final.
I clench my jaw. My entire body hurts. The ache isn't physical—it's deep, carved into my very existence.
I inhale slowly.
And then I laugh.
Miras stiffens instantly. "No," he mutters. "Not this one. Not again."
But I'm already grinning.
Not lighthearted. Not playful.
Something wrong.
Something cruel.
I reach forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pulling him close enough that our noses nearly brush.
"You're obsessed with me," I whisper, tilting my head, my smirk widening. "It's kinda cute."
Miras doesn't move.
Doesn't even blink.
But I feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
"You think you can fix me," I continue, my voice dripping with amusement. "You think if you hold on tight enough, if you stay, I'll magically become the girl you remember."
Miras' jaw ticks.
I tighten my grip on his shirt. "But I have bad news for you, darling." I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear as I whisper, "She's dead."
Miras shoves me back.
Not hard. Not enough to hurt.
But enough to break the spell.
His breathing is sharp, his hands clenched into fists. His entire body is taut, like he's barely restraining himself from throwing something across the room.
I grin up at him.
"Did I hurt your feelings?"
Miras swears violently, stepping away, running a hand down his face. "I hate this."
I stretch lazily, smirking. "Duly noted."
He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "God, you're exhausting."
"Oh, sweetheart." I rest my chin in my palm. "You have no idea."
Miras shakes his head, backing away. "I'm done with this. I can't—"
Then—
Another shift.
Another fracture.
The cruel amusement drains from my face so fast I nearly choke on my own breath.
I barely have time to process it before the sob tears out of my throat.
My whole body shakes. My hands tremble. My chest heaves.
Miras turns sharply, his expression shifting from frustration to alarm.
"Cherish—?"
"I don't know who I am anymore." My voice is small. Weak. My fingers dig into the sheets like I'm trying to hold myself together. "Miras, I don't—I don't know how to stop this—"
He's back in front of me in an instant, his hands gripping mine, firm and grounding. "I won't let you go," he swears. "I promise."
Imani doesn't flinch. He barely even looks up from his tablet, his expression unreadable as he types something into the screen, completely unaffected by the storm brewing in front of him.
Miras isn't having it.
"What the hell did you do to her?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the tense silence of the apartment.
Imani sighs, finally setting the tablet down. "Good evening to you too, Miras."
Miras stalks forward, stopping just inches from him, fists clenched at his sides. "Don't," he growls. "Don't act like this is normal. Nothing about this is normal."
Imani folds his arms, unimpressed. "I never said it was."
Miras lets out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing like he needs to burn off the rage simmering under his skin. "She's worse," he says finally, voice tight. "Way worse. She's not just switching anymore—she's breaking apart. She barely lasts a minute before something else takes over, and I don't even know who the hell I'm talking to half the time." He turns to Imani, eyes blazing. "You did this."
Imani exhales through his nose, his gaze steady. "I told you this was a risk."
"That's not an excuse," Miras snaps. "You're supposed to be fixing her, not—this." He waves a hand toward the bedroom door, where I'm still inside, barely holding myself together. "You said the medication would help. That the treatment would stabilize her. But you didn't stabilize anything, Imani—you shattered her."
For a moment, Imani just stares at him, impassive. Then, slowly, he leans back against the counter, arms still crossed over his chest. "She was already fractured, Miras," he says evenly. "I just exposed what was already there."
Miras lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Oh, is that what you think? That you just helped her see how broken she already was?" His voice drips with venom. "Well, congratulations. She definitely sees it now."
Imani tilts his head slightly. "You're angry."
Miras glares. "No shit."
Imani doesn't react. "You think I don't care," he continues, voice calm, clinical. "That I did this on purpose."
Miras clenches his jaw. "If you didn't do it on purpose, that's almost worse."
"The alternative," Imani says slowly, "was letting her stay fragmented. Letting her mind decay into something completely unrecognizable." He shakes his head. "You don't understand what's happening to her, Miras. None of you do."
"She asked me to stay with her," Miras says after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost distant. "For the first time in forever, we had a moment that wasn't filled with screaming or fighting or breaking. And then—" He lets out a sharp breath. "And then she changed. Just like that. Like flipping a goddamn switch."
Imani nods. "And it'll keep happening. The more exhausted she gets, the faster the changes will come."
Miras swallows hard. His throat feels dry. "So what do we do?"
Imani hesitates.
Miras' stomach drops.
"There's no plan, is there?"
Imani doesn't answer.
Miras laughs—sharp and bitter. "Oh, that's just perfect." He shakes his head, pacing again. "You're supposed to be the genius, Imani. The one with all the answers. The one who fixes things. But all you've done is make it worse, and now you don't even know how to put her back together."
Imani's jaw tightens. "It's not that simple."
"It should be." Miras stops, staring at him. "It should be as simple as undoing whatever the hell you did to her."
Imani's eyes darken. "And risk her forgetting everything?"
"She'd still be more herself than she is now."
Imani exhales sharply, rubbing his temple again. "You don't get it. If I undo what's been done, there's no guarantee we'll get back the same Cherish. She might lose everything. She might lose you."
Miras falters.
And Imani sees it.
"You don't like hearing that, do you?" Imani tilts his head. "That there's a version of this where she doesn't remember you."
Miras clenches his fists. "That's not the point."
"It's exactly the point," Imani says coolly. "You want her back, Miras. But you need to ask yourself—which version of her are you trying to save?"
Miras doesn't answer.
Because he doesn't know.