The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2) by Bethany-Kris (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

“Are they any good?”

Karine shrugged at that question. The truth wasn’t hard to say, she just didn’t care to do it because it didn’t matter. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to recreate those sketches herself. They were made by a different person. And yeah, they were good.

What difference did it make?

“Do you hear voices that you don’t recognize, or that other people can’t hear—ones you can’t explain, that say things you’re frightened of, maybe? Or do you see things other people can’t or don’t see?”

“No.”

Silence filled the room. The only sound was the scratching of the pen while Michelle made more notes in her book. Maybe she was waiting for Karine to continue, but she didn’t know what to say. Eventually, she found her way to the tall windows where she could enjoy the view of the lake and towering trees with sprinkling leaves.

“Do you want me to explain Dissociative Identity Disorder to you? Perhaps you don’t fully understand it—the mechanics of it, we’ll say. Although, I’m not fond of that word. It’s very distinctive from other disorders in certain ways, but DID itself can look very different from person to person.”

Karine’s reflection showed the proof of her flinch, but no one else could see it except her. The woman had already mentioned the name of the disorder in the initial course of their conversation, but she had been quick to turn the questions around on the doctor at that point.

But there it was.

Karine looked over with her heavily hooded eyes. The woman continued.

“The most common question I’m asked from patients is what makes DID different from say, a disorder like schizophrenia, or even a state of psychosis where you’re hearing voices—and the answer is simple. Those are chemical, the voices they hear don’t exist. Yours do. Essentially.”

Still wary, Karine blinked, taking that in.

Michelle didn’t miss a beat, continuing on, “Something has happened in your past, maybe several incidents. A trauma, of sorts, a memory that you have fought very hard to suppress. Those with DID often say they’ve collected traumas, each shattering into fragments, and with it, a new identity who takes those memories and moments on as their own. There’s not always a new one with every trauma, but the bigger point there is—”

“Does it go away?”

Across the room, the woman in the perfectly pressed pencil skirt and expensive blouse took a moment to set her pen down on the notebook in her lap before she removed the black-rimmed glasses from her face. Karine was glad Michelle took her time to consider a reply before she just blurted one out, and that she regarded Karine with kindness and sympathy as she did it.

“I’m sure you remember when I said it can look different from person to person?”

“And?”

“It has disappeared in some individuals, with therapy and time.”

“What about meds, or something?” Karine asked.

“It’s not chemical, Karine. Medication doesn’t actually work for DID—you can’t medicate away identities that exist inside of you. Some people do well in therapy, and find that the fragments come back together again ... others live with their disorder and identities for the rest of their life.”

Karine picked at her nails as she tried to figure out what that could man. “Will there be ... more of them?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But maybe.”

“Not everyone is the same,” the woman reiterated.

She waited again for Karine to comment, but none was forthcoming. Karine just wanted to listen, and assimilate. Absorb it all—make it make sense. Or make it better. She wasn’t really sure which.

Or if that was possible.

She wanted it to be, though. Wasn’t that what Roman asked of her before this session? To not fight it, to approach it with an open mind, and no matter what she heard in this room—he would still want to kiss her outside of it.

So, that’s what she was doing.

Trying.

“From what I understand about your case,” the woman continued, throwing Roman another cursory glance. “From what I’ve been told, I should say, one of your identities appeared at a very young age, right?”

“Katee,” Karine spoke up, braver now than she had been. “Although I don’t think she’s been around lately. Maybe she’s gone.”

The last time Katee appeared was that night in New York when she drew a sketch of Roman when he was asleep. No one had suggested to Karine that the little girl showed up since, and she couldn’t bring forth any of those foreign memories to say different, either. She desperately wanted this woman to tell her that was a good sign, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t actually be the case.

The psychotherapist made more notes in her book, and then looked up again with a purse of her lips. “It’s possible that she’s gone, but I’d be careful to say so with confidence. There have been many instances where an identity has altogether disappeared over time. Sometimes through therapy and circumstances improving, the mind shifts back together like I said, but other people have had identities just ... leave for no apparent reason. But if—again, as I understand your situation from what’s been explained to me—you’ve only had specific identities that haven’t left, then perhaps Katee isn’t gone. She’s just ... fine where she is.”

Karine released the breath she’d been holding, but she couldn’t tell if it was from relief, or not. In some ways, it felt like it. For others, not so much.

Either way, she found Michelle was saying exactly the things Karine needed to hear. In between the things that scared her, or left her worried, there was hope. Not perfection, but it didn’t need to be. She just wanted something ...

The woman talked like Karine could have it. Whatever it was.

Her throat felt dry with nervous excitement, and she gulped it down. Michelle continued staring, her gaze turning curious in a blink, and Karine sensed another question was on the horizon.

“Maybe if Katee felt safe and secure enough to disappear ... even