“It’s fine, it’s fine.” I’m relieved, though. I tried to be Aden for a little while. I wanted to leave all this shit in the past. And then Haley got an idea. It was Haley's plan.

I thought people might give me shit when I started going by another name, but they didn’t. They know what I went through. Honestly, they know too much.

Nathan gives me a once-over. He doesn’t look concerned, exactly, but he does look...interested. Like he cares about how I’m doing. It’s not because he knows what I’ve been doing. The plan Haley had. I have to tell myself that over and over again. People aren’t looking at me because they’re suspicious, or because they want to get me in trouble for looking back.

Or because they know I have that thing with my head. They don’t know that part. Haley said to keep it a secret.

They’re just looking.

That’s what people do when they haven’t had rule number one punched into them so many times it’ll never leave.

“Honestly, man, I’m happy for you. The name thing seems like a decent way to—” Nathan waves his hand. “You know. Dean, Dean, Dean. I got you man.”

I let out a laugh, like it doesn’t do things to me, to hear that name.

“It helps compartmentalize, you know? Keeps things separate.” He changes the subject and rattles on about being back in town and needing a job. I let it all go. I leave all the thoughts that creep up to sit there and wait. Wait for Haley. She’ll fix this feeling inside of me.

She always does. I’m glad she found me. I didn’t know how to find her, but she was able to find me.

HALEY

The door creaks, and all my attention focuses on the sound. My body goes so still I can feel my heart beating and hear my pulse. It’s after hours at my office, so there are only a few people who could be walking in.

“Who’s there?” I call, my voice steady.

“It’s me.”

The sound of his voice comforts me. I like knowing that the footsteps approaching belong to him. I like knowing that he came here for me, and nobody stopped him. Nobody can.

I unfold myself from my chair and get to my feet as he comes into view, the lamplight soft on his features. He knows he’s not supposed to be here. We’re not supposed to be seen together really, but I guess since the cops came and saw us it doesn’t matter. We couldn’t stay hidden forever.

“Aden?” I question. Unsure of which personality I’m talking to. Aden or Dean. His dissociative identity disorder was far too easy to diagnose when I found him. It’s fucking shocking the state didn’t diagnose him.