She's an idiot.

I spoke to her about the issue of my missing hours and she bombarded me with questions about the drugs that I obviously must be taking to cause memory loss. That's the last time I speak to a school-related authority on the issue of my memory,

Kevin says I should try to forget about it. But as far as I can tell, that's what started this problem in the first place.

I came home to a younger brother who smells like cigarettes and whiskey. He's not even seventeen yet. "Don't tell our folks." I don't talk to them anyway. I'd like to get him to stop. He doesn't listen to me.

I'm missing another hour and when I told Kevin, he seemed to know something. He wouldn't tell me. I might be getting paranoid. Or maybe I'm just waking up. I'm going to stop telling him when I lose bits. I need to find out why he's been so suspicious about it. Something tells me he's not the only one who knows...

Allison's starting to get suspicious. Like I'm so scared.

When I first got here, we lived together. Headmates, soulbonds, whatever you call it. Then I started doing some stuff she didn't like when I fronted and she cut me out all together. Fortunately, the dumb bitch forgot to integrate before she forgot about me. So instead of me dissapearing, she just wasn't around when I did what I wanted. It was like a house party. And I was the guest of honor. 'Till that fool Stella showed up, but who wants to talk about her?

By now, you're wondering who I am. And I'm wondering if you give enough of a shit for me to actually bother to introduce myself. Whatever. My name is Amy Vaughn. I'm two years younger than Allison, which makes me 16.  When I'm not fronting, I'm 5'4" inches with wavy dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. I hate Allison's body. Truth is, I don't know where I came from and I don't care why. The way I see it, all of that doesn't matter as long as I get what I want. Some say it's selfish. I say it's life.

I'm only slightly pissed off that Allison isn't a healthy, positive multiple anymore. When we were "communal" and shit I barely ever got out.

So what's it like being an alter?
I don't think of myself as part of Allison, first off. None of us do. I'm a different person. I look different, act different, speak and write differently. I don't even listen to her soft-core emo bullshit. We're not the same. I mean Ferah freakin speaks real Hindi and Allison doesn't understand that language... And I'm tired of that whole idea that people are just acting it out, y'know? Bull.

I didn't show up during some traumatic event. Allison wasn't lonely. I just was and still am.

About last Saturday, I went to that keg party. It was crap. No drugs, barely any alcohol besides beer. I didn't even get laid. Which is a shame, cause I really liked Eric. Kinda sucks now, cause I guess she'll go running to some psych for an answer. The last thing I want is to integrate. I still have shit to do before I die.

I woke up this morning to find a cat on my head and my best friend sitting by my window. I wish he wouldn't sneak up on me sometimes. My brother is in the bathroom. I know this because the water is running and my father isn't yelling about conservation. Robert gets away with everything. On my bedside table is "The Looking Glass Wars". The book has never been opened, I don't read anything related to Lewis Carroll or Alice Liddel. It annoys me that despite my ravings, it's all I ever receive for my birthday or Christmas. Although, I did enjoy American McGee's "Alice".

My name is Allison Hargreaves. My father believes we are distantly related to Alice Pleasance Liddel Hargreaves simply because of our last name. I don't. He has developed a disturbing obsession with Lewis Carroll and his famous children's stories. He wanted me to be named Alice. Mother didn't. So my name is Allison Marie. I don't think he is satisfied. He dressed me as Alice three times in my childhood.

My best friend lives next door. I will admit, it is a bit like the movies. His house has a balcony by his room. He's climbed into my window. But Kevin's home is not like every stereotypical boy next door's. His mother is an abusive alcoholic and his father is a failed suicide victim. I didn't get the genders backwards. How sad is it when your mother beats your father? Kevin doesn't care. He spends most of his time in the skate park anyway.

The most interesting thing about me is the fact that I'm not always here. Or at least, I don't think I am. I've lost many of my memories over the past few years. There are many psychological disorders that cause memory loss, but most involve senility or brain trauma. And I have experienced neither. The only other one I can figure is dissociative identity disorder, or multiple personality disorder. But that wouldn't make any sense. My family haven't recognised any other personalities. Kevin thinks the fact that I believe I'm insane proves my sanity. So maybe I'm fine.
-0-0-
Kevin began reading my birthday present.

"Don't encourage them." I insisted as I stepped of the bed, my dark auburn hair messed and torn by my aggressive cat.

"You might not be interested, but I like reimaginings." He countered. "Besides, your father has some good choices."

"My father has a disturbing obsession that should've ended in his childhood."

"Everyone has some kind of obsession."

"I don't."

"Maybe you do, and you don't know it." His eyes say more than he might've intended. Kevin knows something.

"I don't care what you say, my father is crazy."

"We're all mad here." I hate Alice in Wonderland references...
-0-0-

I went to school with my mind on Kevin's suggestive comment. We had only just had that conversation about my possible disorder. The entire way there, he insisted that it was just I joke. It seemed too strange. I sat in the back of my sociology class like I always have. There was a substitute upfront, ignoring the confusion. This morning, Eric Hall sat next to me.

"Hey, remember me?" He asked, taking the empty seat.

"Should I?" ''The only time we ever spoke was in second grade.'

"Eric Hall" He stuck out his hand. I didn't take it. "We met at Luke's party last week? You gave me a fake number."

"You've got me mixed up with someone else. I wasn't at that party."

"No, you were there. I have pictures of you on my cell. We danced together like, twice." He pressed, not allowing me to return to my work.

"I didn't go to that party. The last thing I need in my life is to spend my time dancing and drinking when I have more serious things to focus on."

"You were there, Amy, I know it was you. Look!" He pulled out his cell phone before I could correct the name.

There I was, plain as day. My hair was let loose, something I only do when I am asleep and I was dancing in the middle of some admittedly attractive college boys. But it wasn't me. It was me, but it wasn't. I wasn't there, so that couldn't have been me.

"But I wasn't there."

"Then where were you?" He challenged.

"I was at...I was...I don't know where I was. I don't remember. Shit!"

The bathroom stall seemed so much smaller than usual when I hid there. I wasn't crying. I didn't freak out. I just sat there. Confused. I was confused and lost and I just sat. For two hours, I sat there, waiting for a reason to leave.

Kevin found me. He always finds me. He pressed his back against the closed door of the stall.

"You get your period or something?"

"No."

"Break your leg?"

"No."

"Are you masturbating?"

"When have I ever masturbated, Kev?"

"I dunno, but can I watch when you start?"

I opened the door and stepped out. I stared at myself in the marked, messed mirror. Dark hair, green eyes, pink lips, pale skin. I was still Allison. I was the same as I have always been. But I couldn't remember bits and pieces of how I got to where I was.

"Where was I last week Saturday?" In the mirror, Kevin wore a confused expression. I turned to see the same face. "Was I at home? Was I at your house? Did I go to the skate park? The movies? Where was I, Kevin? Where was I!"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Kevin always knows.

"I wasn't with you on Saturday. Mom made me clean the basement. I was in there all night."

"I don't know where I was."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that while you were cleaning the basement, I was at some college party and I don't remember being there. But in that picture, it was me. I want to know what the hell happened."

"Look, Al, just forget about it. We'll eat some lunch and then skip. We'll go to the skate park and blow off some steam. You're okay, alright?"

I agreed, but I didn't forget about it. It followed me all day, all night. I didn't like to skip school, but the last thing I needed were future frat boys hitting on me because they saw me somewhere I don't remember being. My brother insists I was at home on Saturday. I didn't ask my parents. They wouldn't know anyway.

I want to know what the hell happened.