There is no such thing as a comfortable waiting room. No matter how many scent diffusers, art, or couches are used, everyone in the waiting room will be uncomfortable. At least, that’s Melvin’s opinion. He bounced his knee up and down while he waited, trying to manage his anxiety. Years of effort had led up to him getting here. Everyone knew he needed therapy, that wasn’t hard to figure out, but convincing everyone involved to get on board was the issue. The number of times Melvin had made an appointment, only to have Chuck cancel it was beyond count.

Melvin didn’t really blame them for not wanting to come here. Therapy was about healing, but there were only certain things Melvin wanted help with, and certain things he wanted to be left alone about. At least everyone agreed on that.

A mom and daughter walked into the office and got checked in at the counter. There were plenty of places to sit in the waiting room away from Melvin but for some reason they sat in the chairs directly opposite him. The mom looked to be about Melvin’s age and she smiled weakly at him as she and her daughter sat down. Melvin nodded back and then pulled out his phone. He didn’t really do much with social media but he scrolled through a few feeds to give him something else to look at. The others weren’t too happy about the mother and daughter sitting there, looking at Melvin.

This could be a trap.

Melvin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on his phone without success.

We should get out of here.

Pieces of his mind began to shift, became slippery, and he started to lose parts of himself. It was unpleasant, to say the least, like being unmade. As pieces of himself fell away they were replaced with someone else. There were similarities, sure, but not the same.

Melvin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to remember what the pieces were that he’d lost in an effort to call them back. Slowly, the degradation of his sense of self slowed. He tapped his fingertips together, counting by twos as he did so. He wasn’t sure why that worked but it was something he’d done ever since he was a little kid.

The fracturing slowed, then stopped, and then reversed as he reasserted himself. The panic that he hadn’t realized had been building subsided. It wasn’t his panic, but he felt it any way.

An older woman stepped out into the waiting room.

“Melvin?” she said.

Stick to the plan.

Melvin waved and got up.

“This way,” the woman said and led him back passed the front desk and into an office. She let Melvin go in first and then shut the door. The office itself was set up more like a living room with a small collection of chairs and a couch all facing in towards one another, separated by a coffee table.

“Would you like something to drink?” the woman asked, gesturing towards a mini fridge with a clear front. Inside were a collection of sodas and bottled water.

“No thanks,” Melvin replied and took a seat.

The woman followed suit. She had a notepad beside her and an expectant look on her face. It was then that Melvin realized he couldn’t remember her name. He’d called and made this appointment but as he tried to recall that moment he found it missing. In his own hands was a notepad of his own. He’d forgotten he’d brought that as well but right at the top was written a name.

Dr Scala

“So what can I do for you?” Dr Scala prompted after another moment had passed.

Melvin kept his eyes on his notepad. He’d listed all the things he wanted to talk about, and the rules he’d agreed to in order to get here in the first place.

“Most of the time,” Melvin began, “I’m me, and everything’s fine. But sometimes I feel like I’m falling apart, like parts of me, parts of what makes me me, start vanishing, and they’re replaced by someone else. Eventually I am someone else, but I only sort of remember it, like a dream, until the same falling apart happens again and then I’m back. I don’t want to get stop that from happening,” Melvin hurried to add, “but I do want to make the transition less…” he tried to think of the right words to describe what it felt like. “Less like I’m being unmade. Right now it feels like I’m losing myself, like I’m going to cease to exist.”

Dr Scala was taking notes but mostly kept her eyes on Melvin.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked.

“For as long as I can remember,” Melvin lied. He knew the truth but that was one of the areas he’d agreed not to tread.

“Have you seen anyone else about this before?”

“I had a psychiatrist when I was in middle school for depression,” Melvin said, “but I never told him about this.”

“Why not?”

“We were afraid he’d try to fix us,” Melvin replied.

“It sounds pretty inconvenient,” Dr Scala said. “Do you ever miss out on things you were looking forward to because of this?”

Melvin nodded but then shrugged. “There’s no guarantee what would happen if we stopped being this way,” he said. “Would one of us go away and the other stay as they are? Would we be combined into someone else entirely? Either way, at least one of us ceases to exist. It’s worse than death. Just nothing, you know?”

Dr Scala made another note. “Have you ever looked up your symptoms before?” she asked.

“No,” Melvin lied again. He wasn’t sure why this was such an issue but but he’d agreed to it nonetheless.

“Well it sounds like a condition called dissociative identity disorder,” Dr Scala said. “Some people refer to it as having multiple personalities. It’s almost always brought about by some traumatic event or abuse.”

She let that last remark hang in the air but Melvin didn’t take the bait. None of them wanted to go there.

“So you don’t want to stop switching?” she asked.

“Right, just smooth things out.”

“How long has switching been like this?”

“It’s always been like this,” Melvin replied. “When I was younger it’d happen all the time, then as I got older it became less frequent.”

“And what about now?”

“It’s been happening more often,” Melvin didn’t elaborate on why.

“You’ve been dealing with this for so long, why get help now?”

“I’ve wanted to for decades,” Melvin said, “but not everyone agreed and if I tried to make an appointment, they’d just cancel it.”

“How many personalities, or alters as they’re called, do you have?”

“Two others, that I know of,” Melvin replied.

“Do you talk to them?”

“I can’t really do that directly, it’s more like I sometimes hear their thoughts, or I’ll feel what they’re feeling.”

“How do you know it’s from them and not your own thoughts or feelings?”

“I can just tell, like hearing someone else talking and knowing it’s not my voice.”

Dr Scala made a few more notes.

What’s she writing?

“Do your alters have names?”

Melvin hadn’t been expecting that question but didn’t feel any particular resistance to answer it.

“Chuck is the main other alter,” Melvin replied. “Samantha is the other one I know of but she’s only come out a few times, that I know of.”

Anger built up inside of Melvin as the thought of Samantha seemed to bring her near the surface. She was always angry. She hated most things and people. Samantha had never felt as complete a person as Chuck did.

“Can you tell me some things about Chuck and Samantha?”

“Chuck believes in magic,” Melvin replied before he could catch himself. That was on the list of forbidden topics and Melvin hurried to add, “Sorry, Chuck doesn’t like it when we talk about that.”

“That’s fine,” Dr Scala made another note.

What’s she writing now? She’s going to tell them about me. She already knew about me and my powers, didn’t she. She’s part of the conspiracy.

Melvin tapped his fingers together, counting again, in an effort to quiet his mind.

“What about Samantha?”

This time Melvin considered his response. “She doesn’t like people,” he said carefully.

“Is she violent?”

“No,” Melvin hurried to state. “Neither Chuck or Samantha have ever attacked anyone. We’re all pacifists, I guess. But Samantha just doesn’t like most people.”

“Who does she like?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, she’s only come out a couple times that I know of.”

“Is there anything in particular that brings Chuck or Samantha out?”

“Chuck comes out when we’re stressed, though sometimes he just shows up. I don’t know what triggers Samantha.”

“Okay, well I want you to try something for me.”

“Okay,” Melvin said.

“Smell can be very powerful when it comes to controlling your switching. Try to find a smell that you associate yourself with, it can be a soap or a cologne or even a food. When you feel yourself switching, use that smell and see if it helps.”

Our time was up and we said our goodbyes. It didn’t feel like Melvin had been in there for an hour but he assumed he’d switched and didn’t notice. That happened often enough as well and it was that kind of switching that he was more interested in encouraging. He made a followup appointment and Chuck didn’t stop him. He’d been worried about Chuck there for a moment when he’d started getting paranoid but it seemed to have subsided.

Considering how briefly he’d spoken with Dr Scala, Melvin wondered what Chuck had said during their time in there. It was surprising to him that Chuck would want to talk to her, especially for that long, though maybe he didn’t want Melvin talking too much. Chuck could pass himself off for Melvin if he wanted to so perhaps that’s what he did. Thinking back on it, Melvin could get glimpses of the meeting, discussing their depression, their struggles with thoughts of suicide. That was the real reason Chuck had agreed to this in the end. None of them wanted to die and both Melvin and Chuck were struggling with their depression. He checked his notebook and noticed the little check marks next to all of the areas they were supposed to discuss with Dr Scala.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Melvin said aloud as he got into his car. “We’ll try this smell thing for a week and then see her again.”

Melvin didn’t know if Chuck or Samantha could hear him. He never heard them if they ever talked like this while they were in control, but it made him feel better. Before he forgot, he updated the calendar on his phone which was the one area both he and Chuck kept up to date and sometimes left messages for one another. He added the appointment with Dr Scala along with a note about the scents.

“I dibs soap,” Melvin said. He’d always liked the smell of bar soap and figured that would be an easy enough scent to have around. On his way home he bought himself an ice cream cone as a treat for finally taking this step.