Thank you so much for the reviews! To be honest, I thought that this whole thing was going to be a flop, I thought it would be too confusing and no one would want to read it. I promise things will start making sense soon, be patient. :)

Notes: I forgot to mention this in the first chapter, p12 reminded me. The title of this story is from a book by the same name. Also, I decided that I'm not going to use the section me and LadyBoston (Lissa) wrote together, at least not right now. So, unless otherwise stated, from this point on, all the writing is done by me.

Disclaimer: Mark, Roger, and company, belong to the all-wonderful Jonathan Larson. Monty, however, is mine! Named after Adam and Cybele's new baby boy.

Dedication: For my lovely Lissa, for putting up with my complaining, for offering her advice, for encouraging me, for believing in me. You're my best friend, my life. Also, a big thank you to everybody at fragmentedminds. Thank you for welcoming an outsider into your community, for putting up with my stupidity and naivety, for answering me questions, for letting me into your world. An additional thank you to Sadina and Ash for taking the time to beta this for me.. It's much appreciated. :)

I stand in front of the sink in the bathroom, watching from afar a man's reflection in the mirror as his shaky hand holds a blade precariously above a muscled arm.

//I hate you. Look what you do to me!//

The mirror-man slashes the appendage, and distantly I wonder what is happening, why the man is doing this to himself.

//I'm going to hurt you like you let him hurt us.//

//Devan, no, don't do this…//

//SHUT UP!//

Pain. Searing pain, swirls of red flowing down the drain, startling crimson against porcelain white.

Suddenly I start, and my body shudders... Like a vacuum, I'm sucked through a long tunnel to the front of my mind, filling it slowly, slowly, until I become the man in the mirror.

"Fuck," I whisper to myself, dropping the bloodied razor and fingering the gashes gingerly. "...Not again."

"Who was it?" I ask inwardly, aware of how crazy I would sound to anyone listening.

//'Devan. It was Devan.' 'Again?' 'Why? Why does he hurt us?'//

Inside, I sense confusion. Confusion, anger, hurt, and sadness.

//'Clean up. Now. Before Mark gets home.' 'Don't let him find us like this! He'll think we're crazy!' 'We are crazy.' 'No we're not…Roger is.' 'Hey now, none of that.' 'Sorry.'//

I shake my head, turning the tap on the sink to clean my wounds. The wounds Devan inflicted on us. As the sink fills with soapy water, tinged pink from the tainted blood, I feel myself begin to drift again, and I focus on my reflection, struggling for control.

It wasn't always like this. There was a time, not so long ago, I remember, that things in my life were finally starting to go right, things seemed to be coming together. It was almost exactly a year after Mimi died that Mark and I got together. It was strange at first, kissing him, making love to him… He was my best friend, not to mention the fact that I wasn't even sure I was attracted to men at the time. But then, in time, after we both got used to it, used to each other, things got good. No, better than good…amazing.

Shortly after that is when things started to change. The voices I'd always had inside of me getting louder, multiplying, separating from me, forming their own separate personalities. Then the dreams started happening. The horrifying nightmares, the pain, the guilt, the terror. Memories, but not my own.

Nobody knows. I haven't told anybody… we haven't told anybody. The "bigs" are worried that Mark will think we're crazy, will leave me, the "littles" are scared that he won't believe us. Me, I don't know which scenario is worse. To be labeled as crazy, sick, fucked up, or be taken as a liar and a fool.

Mark suspects though. He knows something's up, I can tell by the way he eyes our suspiciously clean room, usually so messy, how he stares at the sleeves that adorn my arms, despite the relative warmth of the spring. He doesn't ask though.

And we don't tell.

//Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.//

Suddenly, the slamming of the front door jars me from my thoughts, and I quickly reach over to twist the lock on the door, scared that Mark will walk in and find us in this bloody state.

"Rog? You home? I got the gift for Monty's birthday."

//'Answer him.' 'Stay calm, focused.' 'Don't stutter, act natural.'//

"I'm in here, Mark! I'll be out in a second." I smile, almost bitterly, at my choice in words. Out in a second.

Tying the gauze bandaging around my arm, I turn off the running water and unplug the drain, watching the pink, soapy water swirl steadily downwards. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I smooth my hair and plaster a smile on my face before turning the knob and stepping out of the bathroom.

"Come see what I got!" Mark calls from the kitchen, hearing the door slide and approaching footsteps.

I walk in to find Mark, a huge grin on his face, holding up a bright blue teddy bear, black buttons for eyes, and a pink, heart-shaped nose.

"Isn't he adorable? Monty's going to love him!"

Monty's not the only one. I can feel a part of myself go wild at the sight of the teddy bear, and I'm filled with a wanting, a longing to hold the bear, to cuddle him, to call him mine.

'Don't even think about it,' I chastise. I can feel myself slipping away though, scolding unregistered, drifting to that back part of my mind that I so frequently visit.

Shudder, switch, and I'm gone.

"Oooh, teddy!" a childlike voice exclaims. My voice… Fred's words.

Mark quirks an eyebrow and frowns slightly as I reach for the bear, excitement written across my face.

"…Rog?"

Inside, I fight for control. I can see it all playing out, can feel the panic as voices call out, shouting suggestions, warnings, insults.

//'Someone shut him up!' 'Roger, do something!' 'I'm trying!' 'Idiot, now he's going to find out!' 'I HATE YOU!'//

"Roger!" Mark is snapping his fingers, aware that I'm not quite present.

Shudder, switch. I return to the front of my mind, regaining control.

"Oh, s-sorry," I stutter, forcing Fred to relinquish his death grip on the bear. I can feel him inside, crying silent, intangible tears. And I feel sorry that I can't give him what he wants. A stuffed animal, someone to play with, a coloring book, a pack of crayons. "I'm sure Monty will love it." I smile weakly, yearning to hide my burning face from view.

"Yeah."  Mark is looking at me strangely… Can you blame him?

"So, uh, what time are we leaving?"

"Maureen said to be there around three, Joanne will be bringing Monty home from school a half hour later."

I nod, distracted, trying to block out the commotion in my mind.

"Hey Rog?"

//'Huh? What's that?' 'Someone said something.' 'Wasn't me.' 'No, Mark! Mark's calling us!'//

Snapping my head up, I mumble, "Yeah?"

"Is there… anything you want to tell me? You've been acting strange lately, and I-"

"No, I'm fine." Smile, flash of teeth. Nothing wrong here, all quiet on the western front.

"Ok… if you're sure."

"I'm sure. So, hey, it's about 2:30 now… Why don't you go wrap that," I gesture to the bear still held in Mark's hands, "and then we can get going? It'll take about twenty minutes to get there, so we should have just enough time."

Mark gives me one last hard look, then looks away and towards our bedroom, giving a curt nod.

"You'll be ok for the party…right?"

I nod, swallowing down the sob I feel rising in my chest.

And then Mark walks away, leaving me alone. Not really though. Not alone, not truly.

The one good thing about being crazy: You're never lonely.