The day went on in silence so tense you could cut it with a knife. Ever since we brought in all our things, Damon had been in the spare room unpacking our art supplies. I could tell Damon was still upset with me for lying, even if it was for his own good. Being around him has turned me into a bad liar, thinking if I omitted some truth, I could protect him. I’d promised to always tell him what happened after he had a transition, but by not telling him about his last one and the changes happening thereafter, I felt like I betrayed him. I agreed to Dr. Reder’s professional help and the use of Krieger Institute’s Inpatient Home in exchange for my discretion of his studying Damon. After going behind his back to find outside help, I couldn’t face him just yet.

Following my initial meeting with Dr. Reder, I did some research on Damon’s disorder. Like Dr. Reder said, Damon’s case was unique. No one else with the mental illness had physical or chemical changes to their body. Each one had their own distinct eye color and voice to match their personality. Canaan’s eyes are deep red to match his fiery temper. And Baza, being the beast he is with his possessive grunts and growls has the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen. Damon had long red hair that reached his shoulders and eyes that shone like the sun. Mikah had orange hair, freckles, emerald green eyes, and a slight lisp. Ana’s hair was a strawberry-blonde and a feminine voice. Canaan had hair the color of blood and eyes to match; not to mention a voice like gravel. Baza showed the biggest physical changes with black hair and eyes, muscles doubled and bones and claws strengthened to compliment those muscles, and a guttural virtually unintelligible. There were no successful cases of patients with dissociative identity disorder ever leading normal lives. All the untreated patients ended up with a complete loss of self-identity, having mental breakdowns on a regular basis, and, in some cases, committed suicide. Whether or not Damon’s case was different, I had to help him to the best of my abilities. Using the trust fund my father left for me succeeding my college graduation, I paid for our room and therapy. Surely, he could recover from hating my actions taken against his will, but without any professional help, he may never be able to have a normal life.

I just finished unpacking our things in the kitchen and organizing our new entertainment system. The movies were in order by preference for myself, Damon, and the handful of movies his alters have collected over time. Next, I got to work on our bathroom toiletries. After putting up our towels on the rack, I opened the medicine cabinet to fill with the essentials- aspirin, antacids, aftershave, and my contacts case. Inside it on the top shelf was a prescription with Damon’s name already filled. It was a high dosage antipsychotic they wanted him to take three times a day along with a beta blocker like what Dr. Reder gave him the day of our graduation. He hasn’t taken medication since the start of his freshman year and didn’t want to start anytime soon. Deciding this should be Damon’s decision when he was ready, I put the pill bottles back in my toiletry bag.

It was after six o’clock and he was still in the spare room. Thinking the tension had drawn out long enough, I went to check on him. I opened the door and saw what he’d done to the room. His two favorite paintings were hung on the left wall and there was a small cot beneath them. Our wooden easel stood in the center of the room with a canvas board waiting, but it was Damon that caught my attention. He was curled up in front of some boxes in the closet, his hair, appearing somehow lighter, pulled back into a pony tail. In his hands was the velvet rabbit I snuck in Mikah’s box as a gift for the move. I could only assume Mikah was out since Damon wanted nothing to do with his alters’ things. As I got closer to him I noticed his eyes were glazed over, his long lashes hooded his bright blue pupils.

Cautiously, I kneeled beside him and laid my hand on his shoulder, “Damon?”

He inhaled sharply as if I startled him and with a jerked motion, looked up at me, his big eyes a pale green. “Garret? Did you get this for me?” he asked in a child’s voice.

I slumped my shoulders in resignation. That innocent, childish voice could only belong to Mikah. “Yes Mikey, it’s yours.” I said using his nickname, “My dad got me something just like that when we moved into a new house and I thought I’d get something for you. I hope you like our new place.”

A huge grin slowly spread over his face and he threw his arms around my neck, nearly knocking me to the floor. “Oh, thank you Garret! I love it!” he cried. I exhaled and patted his back. I probably haven’t been that excited since I found out I was having a baby sister and that wouldn’t want to share my toys. I tried not to let myself get too close to Damon’s alters, but watching after Mikah was like having a younger sibling to take care of all over again.

I removed his arms from my neck and looked down at his freckled face. “How does pizza sound for supper? With extra cheese.” I asked.

“Yeah!” he looked around the room and saw the blank whitewashed walls. I could see those gears turning in his head. Like Damon, he loved to draw or color on everything.

“Hey, why don’t you add some color to this room? Pick out a spot to start your own drawings. I’ll go order the pizza.” I tousled the top of his hair and got up to look in the drawers for his paint set and foam brushes. All our cheap, kid-friendly brushes and washable paints were on the bottom drawer so I pulled those out and a couple heavy duty plates for his palette and set them next to the cot. Mikah was right behind me the whole time, barely able to contain his excitement. 

“Make yourself at home." I told him, even though his attention was already on his wall canvas, "If you need anything, I'm here for you,” I added then left the room, closing the door behind me with a click.