I used to be such a happy-go-lucky person. I was always smiling, always laughing. Everybody liked me, and I liked everybody. It was almost obnoxious, looking back on it. But it was so blissful, so cheerful. I was living in my own perfect little world.

Now I'm the anti-social freak. I hide in the corner, the hood on my black sweatshirt covering my face. I no longer bother with talking to people. Being popular doesn't matter anymore. Not much does. Not much except keeping me on the outside, and it on the inside. I have to stay in control. That's all I care about anymore. My dad is starting to worry about me, more than usual, and I'm afraid he's going to send me back. I don't want to go back. I'm not crazy. He can't lock me up like I am. I won't let him.

But slowly, I'm being driving insane. My dad is trying to get me involved in activities. He signs me up for everything. Basketball, softball, the debate team, the chess team, National Honor Society, everything. I never show up to meetings, though. Clubs have began ignoring my name. It's better that way.

But I know that by closing myself off from everyone and everything else, I'm letting it win. How... how do I stop it? Can it be stopped? I worry almost constantly that the answer might be no. It's the worst out of all of them. I can predict the others. I can stop the others. I'm not terrified of the others.

This doesn't make any sense, does it? I'm afraid that's because I don't make sense anymore. But I'll try my best to explain. My name is Michael Matthew Marks and I have a condition. No... a curse. Indescribably awful. Worse than anything you could ever imagine. The doctors call it MPD. I hate that. It's so much worse than three stupid letters. I don't care what they stand for. This is not some disease. This is agonizing. This is a plague of the mind. There is no cure. There are five of them. Five "personalities" besides myself. They have names, but I refuse to use them. They're not people. They're demons. My mom always thought so anyway. When I was little, she had me undergo a exorcism. It worked for a little while. But they came back. And too bad for me, the church no longer performs exorcisms. They tell me my issues are mental, not spiritual. But still, I pray about them every night. I know that in time, they will go away. God will save me. I find myself in the church a lot. That's mostly because it hates the church. It prefers prison.

I wake up in prison occasionally. That's a sure-fire sign that it's been in control. That, and my dad refusing to speak to me, my friends becoming terrified of me, and, this one is the worst, people I love turning up missing, only to be found dead weeks later.

That's what happened to my mom.

I know that it killed her. And since it is part of me...I haven't been able to look anyone in the eye since. Maybe they should lock me up. I don't even know anymore. I just... I want my sanity back. I want my life back.

I set the small book down. As much as writing about my problem made me feel less alone, I knew that in the long-run it did no good. It wouldn't make them leave. I sighed, a distinct aura of hopelessness settling over me. I walked over to my dresser and took off my hoodie. Looking down at the teal t-shirt I wore underneath, I bit my lip. I'd been wearing this same shirt for nearly a week, but I didn't want to take it off. Taking off my shirt triggered the second-worst demon. This one called itself Vito. It was vain, and spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. It was rude, and after it was gone, I always found myself at the beach. I was normally talking to some scantily-clad, spray-tanned girl. They always looked shocked to see me come to. I'm a lot different than... Vito. None of those girls are very fond of me.

Luckily, that demon was easy to control. It was actually fairly harmless, because it wasn't very smart. If I locked the bedroom door and the windows, it wouldn't be able to figure out how to unlock them. Unfortunately, the lock on my door was broken... which meant I would have to get my dad to catch and put a shirt on Vito before he went out the front door.

Great.

Reluctantly, I went downstairs, a clean shirt in hand. My dad stood at the griddle, making what appeared to be pancakes. I swallowed and fixed my gaze on the ground. "Hey dad..." I muttered, loud enough so he could hear me.

He turned and flashed me what was probably a forced smile. "Hey Mike! You want a pancake?"

"No thanks..." I shook my head, not meeting his gaze. "Could you... could you do me a favor?"

My dad nodded cheerily. He always acted super happy around me, as if he wasn't scared of what was within me. "Sure, bud, what you need?"

"Dad, I have to change my shirt." That was all I needed to say.

My dad had me figured out by now. He was a expert at handling all but one of the demons. He nodded again, never losing his grin. "'Course! Go ahead, Mike."

I took a deep breath and faced away from him. With my hands shaking, I tugged off my shirt. Suddenly, I heard myself gasp and everything went dark.

Normally, it would stay that way. But every now and then, I would instead be transported into my own mind. This rarely happened, and every time it did, it was because one of them was trying to talk to me. I kept my eyes squeezed tightly shut, though I could hear them around me. I shook my head desperately. They were murmuring something. Vito's voice was noticeably not present, so he was still on the outside. I only heard, to my delight, three voices. Did that meant that... it wasn't here? I listened carefully. The distinct Russian voice of a demon called Svetlana sounded out. I didn't mind this one as much. It never caused any harm. If I had to pick one to be stuck with, it'd be this one. I also heard the voice of a crotchety old man. This one liked to be called Chester. It came out if I was frustrated. It was irritating, sure, but not really an issue. Then I heard an Australian accent. I grit my teeth. This one went by Manitoba Smith. I hated it. It was clever, wily, and tended to get it the way of everything. It came out if I wore a Fedora, which I had discovered only recently. It was brave and brash, which got me into some... undesirable situations.

"Vhy von't Mike open his eyes? Is he afraid of us?" The one called Svetlana asked.

"I tell you, all you whippersnappers are cowards! Afraid of the three of us, please! We couldn't swat a fly!" Chester complained in his raspy voice.

I heard Manitoba chuckle and loathing rose in my chest. It wasn't the worst, but it was the most like me. That's why I despised him. "No, mates. He's not afraid of us. He just hates us, that's all. Ain't that right, Mikey?" I felt it crouch next to me. My hands balled into fists.

"Get away from me." I hissed, my eyes still shut.

"I don't take orders from you, mate. Sorry to disappoint."

The others snickered. I heard them whisper something about making me open my eyes. I felt them walk towards me, but they didn't get halfway before my blood ran cold. A deep, cruel voice sounded out.

"Now, now, Manitoba. You may not take orders from Mikey, but you do take orders from me. And I say get away from him."

They all froze.

"O-Of course." Manitoba stuttered. "I was just having some fun, mate-"

"Get back. I will not tell you again." Its tone was dangerous.

They scampered back, muttering frantic apologies. "Our mistake, Mal..."

"Ve didn't mean anyfing by it, Mal..."

"Please, forgive us, Mal..."

It ignored their fearful stammers and turned back to me. "Open your eyes, Michael."

I reluctantly obeyed, knowing that there wasn't much else I could do. My dark eyes landed on the silhouette of me. There were only a few differences. Its hair was combed over one eye, instead of sticking straight up, and it had the most bone-chilling smirk I'd ever seen.

"Don't worry, Michael. The others won't be bothering you anymore. Vito should be scheduled to return soon. I won't let them 'ruin your life' anymore."

"I'm not worried about them." I spat. "They didn't kill anyone."

Mal laughed. "There's no proof that I did, either. I'm good at covering my tracks."

"You're a monster! A cold-hearted, soulless monster!"

"And you're weak! You don't deserve to be in control!" Mal appeared to be losing its composure. "It was luck of the draw, you know! You brag about being the original personality, but it doesn't mean anything! You have two choices, the way I see it. You give me my rightful place in control or," its eyes glinted, "I take it."

"You'll be in control the day I die."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "Now, now, Mikey. I can make that happen. But I'm hesitant to do so. So much less pain in a simple death. I want you to be trapped... I want you to suffer like I have been for thirteen years."

"You won't win." I asserted, as if I was confident. I wasn't.

It knew this. Smirking, it tilted its chin up arrogantly. "Oh, Mikey... I already have."

I furrowed my brow. "What?" I was thrown off by its arrogance.

"You haven't figured it out yet? When Vito comes back, you won't be the one taking over for him."

A feeling of dread filled my stomach. "How... how do you know I won't beat you to it?"

"Because we both know who has the stronger will." Mal gloated.

I knew it was right. I'd have to rely on my wits to get out of this one. Quickly, I formulated a plan. I put on my most frustrated expression. "But... No, you don't!" I exclaimed stubbornly. "You... you won't..." I let some hesitance show on my face.

Mal sneered. "You know it's true. Don't kid yourself. Just admit it. You lose."

My shoulders sagged. "But... I..." I bowed my head in a sign of shame and submission. "I can't believe it..."

Mal opened its mouth to say something else self-promoting. That was right when the one called Vito appeared. It looked irritated and began to complain about my dad. I took the cue and immediately closed my eyes. I heard Mal yell, but it was too late. I was already back. Just before I went to open my eyes to resume consciousness, I felt Mal.

"Oh no, you don't!" I heard his baritone in my head.

Suddenly, I let out a pained gasp. My eyes fluttered open. Was I awake? My head was pounding and I felt like I was floating. My vision was spotty. My dad was standing over me, looking at me nervously. It occurred to me that I was lying on the floor. I could feel the carpeting beneath by head.

"Mike?" His voice was full of concern and anxiety. "You okay? You fainted when I put your shirt on. I was worried."

I tried to force myself to smile, but found that I couldn't. My mouth wouldn't respond. I attempted sitting up, but was unable to do that either. I lay there, staring at my dad fearfully.

"Mike?" He asked again.

Suddenly, I sat up. My eyes widened. I couldn't control my own actions. "Yes?" My voice was cruel and deep, and dread settled in the pit of my stomach. No. No, that... that couldn't be.

"A-Are you okay, bud?" My dad questioned, his frown deepening.

I couldn't believe that Mal and I were... that we had... fused. We were both in control, fighting for dominance, and he was winning. I put all my effort into opening my mouth, only to have it snapped shut again. Mal's will was stronger. "I'm fine." It lied, now imitating my voice. I silently cursed it and heard it laugh inside my head. I was starting to panic.

Dad licked his lips, a nervous tic of his. "Mike," he chose his words carefully, "did you... go into your subconscious again?"

I wanted to nod. To confirm his suspicions. But I couldn't. "No. Vito must've made me faint. It must've just been the shock of having him bottled inside for so long."

Luckily, Mal didn't realize the mistake it had just made. My dad gaped at me. "Did you," he was in disbelief, "just call it 'Vito'? And 'him'? Since when do you consider them people, Mike?"

Mal just looked at him but spoke to me silently. 'We're not people to you, Michael?' He demanded.

'Not in the slightest.' I retorted.

'Then what are we, might I ask?'

'Demons.' I responded automatically.

He growled but went back to my dad. A smirk spread across my face, by no fault of my own. I felt my hair fall down over one of my eyes. "You caught me." My voice dropped back down to the level of Mal's. I couldn't control it. I struggled to regain my position in charge, but found that it was impossible. Mal was blocking me.

"Did you miss me, father?" It questioned.

My dad recoiled, his expression suddenly dark and full of hatred. "I am not your father." He spat. "I am Mike's father."

"But I am Mike. Mike and I are one and the same."

"No. You're not." My dad snarled.

Mal laughed which caused Dad to stiffen. "We are now."

My dad froze. "W-What?" He stuttered fearfully. "What are you talking about?"

"Say hello, Mikey." It spoke.

I felt a mental prompt. It was like Mal was stabbing me in my brain over and over. I cringed but managed to keep my mouth shut. Its anger rose and I suddenly felt like I was being electrocuted. I let out a slight cry of pain. "Hi dad." I greeted weakly in an attempt to pacify the beast inside of me.

"Mike? Mike!" The man rushed forward and gripped my shoulder. "Mike, what is he doing to you?"

'Go ahead, Mike. Tell him. Strike fear into his fragile heart.'

I ignored Mal's voice. Reaching out, I put my hand on my dad's cheek. "I'm going to be... gone for a while, dad." I told him, my breathing labored.

A tear ran down my father's face and he lifted his hand. He gently placed it on top of mine. "I know." He said softly. "I won't let it ruin everything this time, Mike. I promise."

"I don't blame you for anything it did." I swore. For the first time in two years, I met his gaze. He let out an inaudible gasp. I knew he could see them in my eyes. All of five of them.

"Don't stop fighting, Mike." My dad whispered.

"I won't."

"Stay strong... for your mother."

And just like that, Mal began yanking me out of the driver's seat. "Dad." I desperately scrambled to say the three words I hadn't said for the longest time. My mouth could barely remember how to form them. "I lo-", I began.

But it was too late. Mal cut in. "Sorry to interrupt this touching goodbye. I know it's a rather important one, since it's your last. You won't be seeing Mike again." I heard Mal chuckle as I was dragged back into the depths of submission.

"Let go of my son."

"It's too late for that. I'm afraid your son is gone."

"You're a liar."

"If you say so."

"I do."

Mal sighed. "You make things so hard for me, father. Do you not care for me?" It mocked shamelessly.

"You're a merciless monster. I am not your father. You are not my son." His eyes flashed. I cringed. I knew his fury wasn't directed at me, but it was still somewhat terrifying.

The demon sneered. "I am your son now, since Mikey can no longer fulfill his duties."

"You will never be my son!"

"Now, now, Matthew. We've done this before, haven't we? Two years ago? I threatened you, and I delivered on that threat. Are you going to make that mistake again?"

He let out a low hiss. "You killed Lucy."

"Of course I did. You know that. You've known that all along. You're just in denial. I killed your wife, my own mother, because you refused to admit that I was your son. Next time..." Mal grinned. "I'll kill Mike's aunt. The only sibling of mother's that's left. Her family line is almost gone, father. Do you want to be responsible for that?"

The man trembled. He stared at Mal. "I..." Suddenly, he fell to his knees. He gazed up at it, his eyes full of pain. I felt my heart constrict. "Don't do it. I beg you. Don't kill Bella."

"Then say it. Say that I'm your son." I knew that Mal didn't care about being my father's son. It just wanted the power, the control. It wanted to make my dad feel weak and helpless. It wanted it rob him of his dignity.

"You... you a-are..."

"Say it."

"You are my son." Dad glared at the ground in defeat. His scowl was sad. He knew that he had lost. "There. I said it."

A deep, cold cackle escaped my throat. I winced. "Was that so difficult, father? It's not hard to give up."

My dad stayed silent, his dark eyes on the floor in shame. I wanted to cry.

"You might as well get used to it. I'm staying here and you can't do anything about it."

That seemed to be directed at me as well. I realized with an awful jolt that Mal had gotten his way. I was suffering. This was worse torture than anything I could've imagined. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see anything else.