Chapter Twenty-Ares
The thing is—even if I wanted to tell her the truth, I couldn’t. How do you explain to someone that you’re not just f****d up, but clinically so? That you’ve been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder? That your mind fractured so long ago it started creating its own monsters? One of them even has a name. Beast. He’s my protector. My other half. My curse. If I told her that, I’d have to admit that maybe—maybe—he was the one who broke into her penthouse. That after our fight, he surfaced. Maybe he thought she was a threat. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. Maybe. The problem is, Beast doesn’t do, maybe. He acts. Violently. Efficiently. And this time, I have no memory of what he did. There are still too many holes in the story. I drag myself out of that spiral and realiz
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