I'll Sing You One Last Song and then I'm Gone (Tokio Hotel Fan-Fic)

Chapter 14

This story is written by @xAnDeinerSeitex She wrote this story on a website called TokioHotelFiction.com. I was able to locate her and found out she had a wattpad account. She has given me permission to post it on here. @xAnDienerSeitex aslo has a new updated version of the story, as seeing this one is a few years old. If you like to read that one click the external link on the side. And I would like to say I have no rights to this story and I am NOT the writer. I would also like to thank @xAnDeinerSeitex for writing this great story and letting me post it on my account.

Does everyone fall asleep without even realizing they were about to, or is that just a special power that I have?

I can't even measure how long I lay on that foreign bed, disembodying my mind and watching the two different sides of myself scream at each other about why they were right and the other was wrong. And honestly, I feel like I really should give them different names, but that would be another symptom of my budding Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I don't really want to give into that if I have the power to stop it, because I have enough disorders tacked to my name already.

Realistically, though, the Psychology class I took last year said that Dissociative Identity Disorder is defined in the confines of having more than one distinctive personality, and each one has its own way of seeing the world around itself and interacting with it. And with the vast array differences between the prior me and the newer me, I was beginning to scare myself. We were nothing like each other. Now all I needed was the memory loss from when I switched personalities and I would be good as gold with my split personality. If you could call having split personalities good, that is.

And so there I lay, staring up at the ceiling and pondering my proposed psychosis, when out of nowhere, a familiar, confused face appeared only about a foot from mine. One moment, I was looking at the ceiling, and after I blinked once, Bill, up close and personal, was all that I could see.

I have never shrieked so loudly in my life.

Once I gathered myself (which is only after shooting upright, almost crashing my head into his, and flying to the other side of the bed out of the fright from the sudden, yet welcomed intrusion), I lowered my hands from my face and heaved a sigh of relief to see that it was only Bill, come for our nightly visit. If I scream like that in my dream, could the people outside my head in the real world hear me, or were my sounds confined to the walls of my psyche?

"Jesus Christ, Bill," I finally managed to say to him as he sat cross-legged only a couple inches from me, laughing at my reaction like it was hilarious that I'd never been more startled before. "You scared the shit out of me."

His facial expression crumpled, and he turned his nose up a bit. "Ew."

And it took me a second to realize why he was so disgusted by my surprise, but then I realized that it was more my choice in turn of phrase than it was the emotion behind the elicitation of it. I laughed heartily, "Oh, god, no! Not literally! That's just an expression we use here in America. It means you really scared me pretty bad. I promise, my panties are shit-free."

With a sigh of relief, he maneuvered himself so that he was lying exactly like I'd been before I fell asleep – flat on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Even if it's only an expression, it's gross. Americans are silly."

Without a second thought or hesitation, I mimicked his position, and though I wasn't allowed to actually touch him and embrace it to the fullest extent, I could feel his body heat permeating the atmosphere, sending a rush of heat through my body. And in that very moment, my personality disorder took over, and the old me took my new-found, outlandish self by surprise, shoving her into the shackles that she'd been placed in for the past twelve hours, elated to finally be free.