I love Lucy.
Placid could say that with the upmost certainty. Unlike his other personality, he loved the plucky woman he called an assistant.
She was the one for him, while even knowing he wasn't the real Alfendi, she cared about him. Maybe it was because he was the one she was more used to, the one she had met first. Sometimes, he wondered if she even returned his feelings. If she ever would, anyway.
He'd tell her if he could.
Just one problem.
I love Florence.
Potty silently wishes he could love. If he did, his affections would lie with the forensic scientist.
Maybe it was because she finally accepted him. She, at first, ran off at the sight of him, when Potty appeared, but that was when everyone thought that excuse of a personality was really him.
None of his feelings were real. Nothing about Placid was Alfendi. He'd make sure his other personality realized who was right in this situation.
He loved Florence and now she accepted him for who he really was. She could stand his threats better than anyone and made her own snarky remarks back at him, a language he preferred.
He'd tell her if he could.
Just one problem.
Maybe it was just Alfendi, true and true, mind and body, that had the real conflict. Two voices in his mind, telling his body to do this and that.
No. That. This. Do this.
He, himself, was so confused.
Alfendi was never sure if he should love Florence or Lucy, because two parts of his head told him differently.
Don't love Lucy. She's an idiot.
Don't love Florence. She hated you.
Placid and Potty could go on and on about who was better and he could never decide. There was always something negative about who the other liked.
He didn't even know if either of them loved him back.
Who should he pick?
Who loved him in return?
Should he push one aside and pick the other?
Giving in was weak.
He'd never pick her.
He loved her.
Love is not a choice.