I wasn't even sure what to say. Victor knew about Mr. Weston's condition? For how long, and how? One question stuck out more than the others.

"Does Thomas know?" I asked.

"No," he mumbled, "and I'd like to keep it that way, if possible. Could you do me a favor and not tell him."

I thought about it. Obviously, he wasn't telling Thomas for a reason, but, as his caretaker, shouldn't Thomas know? Wouldn't that be better?

However, I was going to be his caretaker soon. I knew, so why bother Thomas with this information. It would only trouble him. Victor looked at me pleadingly.

"I suppose," I mumbled, "but in exchange I want you to answer all my questions."

He nodded. I took a deep breath to sort through my thoughts.

"First off, why don't you want Thomas to know?" I asked.

He sighed. "I don't want him to treat me differently because I have this special information. I want him to treat me differently because he sees me differently."

I guess I could understand that. Never knowing if someone really liked you or was just trying to appease you. It would be confusing and painful.

"How long have you known?"

"About five years, I guess," he said, shrugging.

"How did you find out?"

He snorted with laughter.

"Accidentally," he said, smiling. "Tommy got careless. I couldn't fall asleep one night so I wandered around the mansion. He left his little notebook out. I didn't know what it was, I just picked it up and started reading. You can imagine my shock when I realized what it was about."

Could I? To learn something that important about myself by accident. It was unthinkable.

"At first I thought it was a joke," he continued. "Tommy left it to screw with me, or maybe he was writing a book or something, but then it all started to make sense. The huge chunks of time loss, the vague memories that I never remembered experiencing, the collection of different names I had stored away in my head.

Can you even imagine that? Suddenly finding out that you aren't even real? That you're just a figment of some guys fucked up imagination?"

Honestly, I couldn't. How would I even process something like that? Finding out a huge secret like that about myself? It must have been hard on him.

"So... what did you do?" I asked finally.

"My best," he said simply. "Of course, I was gone by the next day. The next time I was 'conscious' I told Tommy to leave me alone and spent the day trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't control it, but I could try to keep track of it.

I started making a diary. Things I did, things I thought might be memories from them. I found out where Tommy hid the book and spent nights comparing these 'memories' to personalities. Like the world's most screwed up game of Clue. Arthur in the studio with the camera, you know?"

I smiled a little at this. I could understand what he meant. Who was I? Where was I? What did I do? It had to be frustrating.

"I've gotten better at it," he mumbled, mostly to himself. "The memories from 'them' are a little stronger now. I remember more of what happened, I've learned a little about who's who, how they act. I don't get why Tommy likes them so much. They seem boring as hell."

I guess to Victor the other personalities would seem boring. No women, barely drinking, throwing themselves into art and culture. Yes, Victor would be very bored. Another question came to mind though.

"Why are things so strained between you and Thomas?"

He shrugged. "I'm guessing you read the book. He thinks I'm a handful, especially compared to all the others. I don't care though. Since finding out the truth I want to be even less like them."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Because I'm not them!" He shouted suddenly. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be lumped in with 'Mr. Weston' or 'sir' like the others. I'm not them and they're not me. 'Victor' might be trouble, but at least you remember who I am. Tommy always knows when Victor's back."

I stared at him a minute. Was that what all this was about? The attitude, the inappropriate behavior, the insistence that he be "Victor?" Was he just trying to set himself apart from the others?

I didn't know what to say. I'd assumed "Victor Weston" was the crude, thoughtless playboy everyone said he was, but now? Who exactly was "Victor?" I didn't know, but I was determined to find out. If he really wanted to be different, I'd make sure I treated him like it.

"Victor," I said gently.

He turned to me suddenly, he looked shocked. I smiled. I guess this was the first time I'd ever called him so sweetly.

"Why don't we go back upstairs?" I continued. "I think I'd like to try talking again."

He still seemed skeptical but nodded to me slowly. I stood and waited for him to do the same. He looked at me cautiously.

"Could... Could I hold your hand again?" He half-mumbled.

I reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked down at it a moment as if trying to confirm it was real. I tugged his arm gently. He looked up and smiled before walking to the door.

It wasn't so bad, being around Victor. They say you never have a second chance at a first impression, and that's true. I was still upset about our first meeting, but at the same time, I felt like it mattered less now than it did this morning. First impressions don't change, but maybe they could be forgotten with enough effort from both sides. Maybe a new memory could take their place. I was hoping that would be the case here.

As we reached the room we headed for the fireplace again. It didn't seem as upsetting now. As I sat down I tried thinking of some questions. One came to mind, but I wasn't sure if I really wanted it answered.

"Victor," I said quietly, "you said you remember things from the other personalities."

"Yes, and?" He asked.

I blushed a bit. "Do you... remember anything about me?"

He stared at me a second before a smile spread across his face. This one was less menacing than before, it almost looked gentle.

"I remembered enough to try kissing you this morning," he said teasingly.

I felt my blush deepen. That was why he kissed me? So it wasn't just "playboy Victor" acting on a whim.

"What exactly gave you that idea," I muttered.

"Nothing specific if that's your worry," he said. His voice almost sounded sad. "I remembered your face, but not your name. I remembered that you'd been here for a short time. I remembered your blush and your sweet voice."

"And that made you kiss me?" I asked.

"No, what made me kiss you was my lack of memory," he said with a laugh. "I remembered that I was supposed to know what your kiss felt like, but I couldn't actually remember it. I thought doing so might jog my memory."

"Did it?" I said, crossing my arms.

"No," he sighed, "I don't ever remember you being so resistant to 'Jack.' I know he had a much more pleasant experience. I guess this is another thing 'Victor' isn't good enough for."

He sounded upset. I guess I could imagine why. Being the same person, but not the same person. Wondering why one version of yourself was good enough while the rest of you wasn't. Being despised for being 'yourself' because it wasn't what they wanted. I could certainly understand that last part.

An idea popped into my head, and it was a bad one. I knew it was bad, and I knew it would only cause trouble. So why was I still considering it? Victor wasn't speaking anymore. He was staring off into the empty fireplace as if the answers to his questions were hidden somewhere deep inside. That was why I was still considering it. The Victor I'd been talking to the last few hours was a lot different than the Victor I met this morning. How much more would he change if I gave him the chance?

I reached over and held his hand. He snapped out of his trance and turned to me. He always seemed confused when I chose to get close to him. Had he really never experienced affection? If he didn't, I wanted him to. I got out of my chair and walked over to him. The confusion didn't dissipate, if anything, my closeness seemed to increase it. I couldn't help smiling. It was nice to see him flustered for once.

I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. I wanted him to know exactly what it could feel like to have somebody really care for you. I leaned in and gently pressed my lips against his.

At first, I felt his body stiffen, but after a moment I could feel him relax. His lips started to move against mine, and I felt his hand brush against my cheek and tangle in my hair. It wasn't the same as when I kissed Jack. Something was different, but it wasn't unpleasant. Victor was still more forceful, but he was also a lot more gentle than he had been the first time.

Different but the same. His voice, his body, the feel of his lips. Even with all the differences, they still brought up those burning feelings I'd felt my first time with Jack. This wasn't Jack though, and that was the thing I had to remind myself of the most. Victor wasn't Jack.

I pulled away slowly. Victor looked up at me, he almost seemed stunned. I smiled.

"Is that closer to what you remember?" I asked quietly.

He smiled and leaned forward to give me another soft kiss. He kissed my cheek, my neck, my collar bone.

"No," he muttered. "It's even better."

I felt his hand on my waist, warm and gentle. He started to slide it down my back. The burning feeling grew stronger.

The clock in the hall suddenly chimed for four. The sound seemed to snap me out of whatever trance I was in. I gasped and pulled away quickly.

"What's wrong?" He asked, turning to see if someone had entered the room.

"Nothing," I said, quickly returning to my seat. "I hope I was able to help with your memory. Please, let me know if I can assist you with anything else."

"Anna-"

"Ms. Walton."

"Again?" He asked incredulously. He gave a frustrated sigh. "I don't get you, Ms. Walton. You're kind and familiar with me one second, then cold and formal the next. You kiss me then immediately ask me not to use your name. Are we still keeping things professional? If so, I think I need the run-down on what exactly 'professional' means."

I looked down at my hands in my lap. He was right. I was the one who kissed him. I was also the one who kept waffling about being professional. Not just with Victor, with all of them. Where was the line exactly? How much would I keep dancing around it? Eventually, I would have to make the choice of whether I wanted our relationship to be personal or professional. It couldn't be both.

"What's the big deal?" He asked, annoyed. "I remember enough to know you've done things like this before. What's the problem?"

"The problem is that you're sick," I said quietly.

I barely spoke, but he heard me clearly enough. He stiffened a bit but stayed completely silent. The silence was deafening, my quiet confession seemed to echo and grow louder with every second. It was the truth, and it would be better if I told him everything now.

"I shouldn't be doing any of this," I mumbled, keeping my eyes in my lap. "I keep getting swept away by romance and passion, but I can't do that. You're not well, Victor. You're not even Victor."

"Who says I'm not?" He asked angrily. "Who got to make the decision that Jack was somehow more real than the rest of us? My name's different, so what? Maybe I'm the real one. No one could ever know what we would be like if we weren't like this. Maybe I'd still be me, or maybe he'd be like Arthur or any of the others. No one can ever know, so why do they get to decide who's real and who's not?"

"I'm here to be your caretaker, you know that," I said.

"Yeah, I know that," he said, suddenly standing. "I know that better than any of them. You say you're my caretaker, then care for me."

I was surprised by the desperate tone in his voice. I looked up. His eyes met mine. The same but different. He walked over and grabbed my hands. I pulled them away.

"How can I possibly do my job like this?" I asked. "A plaything to a thousand-and-one personalities? What happens the first time I have to make the choice between doing what's right for you and doing what I want to do?"

He paused a moment. I couldn't stand looking at him anymore. It was déjà vu all over again. Would I have to have this conversation with every persona?

"Does Jack know you feel this way?" He asked suddenly.

I nodded. "A little, but I don't think I went so in-depth with him."

"What did he say?"

"To wait for him," I said, shrugging. "He said he always returns, so just wait for him. He made me promise to stay, at least until he appeared again so I could give him my answer."

Victor scoffed. "And you agreed to that?"

I nodded. We sat there in silence. I didn't want to lie to Mr. Weston. Any parts of him.

"Do you love him?" He almost whispered.

"What?"

"Do you love him?" He asked again, meeting my eyes. He looked serious.

I could feel the heat of blush rising slowly. Was this really the time for this question? And what should I say anyway? He looked at me expectantly.

"I don't know," I finally sighed. "I barely know him, any of you. How could you ever call that love? Besides, it's like I said, I'm here to care for you and-"

"What the hell do you think a relationship is?" He said, interrupting me. "Two people caring for each other, even when the decisions are hard to make. You're worried about compromising your ability to care for me and make decisions? Hell, it would make you better at it. Then you don't have to second guess yourself all the time, you'll always know what's best for someone you love."

I didn't really know what to say. He wasn't wrong, but he certainly wasn't right either.

"Am I supposed to be shared by all of you?" I said, giving a dry laugh. "Not sure if it counts as 'sleeping around' if it's with the same guy but..."

I trailed off. I guess it was the first time I really admitted it to myself. Loving Mr. Weston meant loving all parts of him. Was I really okay spending every night with a different man?

"Is that what this is about?" He asked.

"It's definitely a big part of it," I said sadly.

Victor squeezed my hands softly. He was being surprisingly understanding. I'd been slowly learning there was more to Victor than what was in Thomas' notes, but it still surprised me every time he treated me so gently. Suddenly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. I pulled back quickly.

"Victor!"

"I don't mind being second," he said desperately. "Jack... I already know I can't compete with him. None of us can, so I won't even try. I know I'll never be first in your heart, but is it okay if I'm at least second? If I'm at least good enough for you to turn to when he's gone? It's the same body, the same face. Is it enough for you to belong to only me when I'm here?"

I was shocked. Is this what he felt? That Jack was number one and everyone else was just occupying my time until then? Was he wrong? True, Jack was the first I met, but was he the only one I could have feelings for? After all, they were all Jack, and who could say one personality was more real than the others?

"Ms. Walton?" A voice crackled.

The chef? Was it already dinner?

"Ms. Walton, are you okay?"

No, not the chef. Thomas. I rushed over and hit the button.

"I'm fine, Thomas. Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, no. I just had someone come from town. Apparently, there's a situation with my-" he paused. "With my good friend. I can ask the chef to stay overnight with you to make sure you're not alone tonight, but-"

"Thomas, there's no need," I said, glancing at Victor. He was staring off into the fireplace again. "Victor has been behaving very well, actually. If you have business to attend to then don't worry about it. I told you before. This is my job now."

The line was silent. Had he left already? The intercom crackled.

"I promise I will repay your kindness someday, Ms. Walton. Thank you."

This time the intercom stayed silent. I glanced over at Victor again. I wasn't sure if he'd really been listening or not.

The hall clock struck six. Already? I couldn't help smiling. I guess time didn't slow down with him anymore. I stayed by the intercom. I knew the chef would page soon, and there was something I needed to do. Sure enough, the speaker crackled a short time later.

"Ms. Walton?"

I pressed the button. "Hello, chef. Please bring a cart up to Mr. Weston's room. He'll be dining there today."

"Yes, Ms. Walton."

"Here?" I heard Victor ask.

I didn't turn to him. I looked over at the door for a minute.

"Victor... I don't want you to be my second," I said gently.

"Oh."

Such a small word, but I felt so much pain behind it. I could barely stand it. I never wanted to hear Mr. Weston make that painful sound again.

"I don't want you to be my second, because I want you to be my first. All of you," I said, turning to him. "You're right, I don't know who's 'real' and who's not, but I want to give all of you the chance to be real. At least with me."

Victor opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock at the door. I opened it and the chef rolled in a cart of food.

"Is there anything else before I leave Ms. Walton?"

"No, chef. Thank you."

He nodded briefly to me and Victor before leaving. I shut the door behind him and turned to Victor. He was staring at me. I stayed by the door.

"What are you doing, An-" he stopped and corrected himself, "Ms. Walton?"

"You said you wanted me to belong to you," I said, smiling. "So how will you do it, Victor? How will you make me yours?"

He stared at me blankly but after a moment his eyes went wide with understanding. He stood and walked towards me. Was I doing the right thing? Who knew? All I knew was one thing. I wanted to belong to Mr. Weston, and that meant belonging to all of him.

Victor reached out his hand and put it on my cheek. I smiled at him. He leaned forward and cautiously pressed his lips to mine. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him close. That was all the invitation he needed.

I could hear his breathing quicken. He placed his hand on my leg and slid it up my skirt. He stopped when he reached the edge of my panties. I felt his fingers trace around the edges teasingly. A soft sigh escaped from my lips.

He pulled back and looked at me. His eyes were wild, filled with lust. He grabbed my dress and started lifting it over my head. I blushed a bit having myself suddenly exposed, but he didn't seem to care. He pressed his lips to my neck, kissing a trail down to my breasts. I felt his hand fumbling with the clasps of my bra. I finally felt it fall loose in the back.

I covered myself shyly, but he grabbed my wrists. My bra slid down my arms before falling to the floor. I tried tugging my hands away but he held them tight. My wrists were so small he could hold both of them with one hand. He pinned my hands against the wall above my head. His other began to explore my newly exposed breasts.

I let out a soft gasp. He pressed his body into mine. I could feel his hardness pressing into the front of my panties. The burning, the aches, everything I felt that first night seemed to reappear all at once, only stronger this time.

He pressed his lips to mine again, his tongue slid into my mouth. My body was on fire, I wanted more. He pulled back and grazed his teeth against my neck.

"You want me that bad?" he asked huskily.

It was at that moment I realized I had unconsciously been grinding my hips against him. I looked away, my blush deepening. He let go of my wrists and rested his hands on my panties. He began sliding them down my legs. I was completely exposed now. His hands continued to slide down the back of my legs before suddenly lifting me and putting me over his shoulder.

I let out a small yelp of surprise. He laughed. He walked over to the bed and threw me onto it. He pressed his body against mine, pinning me down. His tongue traced down my neck.

"I thought this might be more comfortable," he said teasingly.

I felt his hand move between my legs and press against me. I moaned. A minute ago I was afraid of how far he might go, now I couldn't wait for him to go further. Anticipation was heightening my every nerve. I could feel every bit of him as he began to move down my body.

I felt his fingers press against my lower lips. I heard the soft wet sound as he spread them. Embarrassment and pleasure filled me and made me shiver. Suddenly, I felt his tongue.

Hot, wet. It trailed slowly along the outer edges. It took all my strength not to cry out just from that. However, as his tongue moved to my clit I couldn't stop the gasp of pleasure that escaped from me. This only seemed to encourage him.

A shiver ran through my body as I felt his fingers slide inside me. They pulsed in and out, following the rhythm of his tongue. I began to move my hips to match them.

My head was a muddy mess. I couldn't think about right or wrong anymore. All I could think about was the ecstasy rushing through my body, wondering when it would finally burst.

That moment came shortly. The fire inside me was getting hotter and hotter. I could feel it building into an explosion of passion. I could no longer stop the moans that came from my mouth and echoed loudly in the room. His fingers thrust into me faster and his tongue lapped at my clit greedily, begging me to release my pent up lust.

It happened all at once, like a balloon bursting. Before I knew what was happening my body was in a frenzy, trembling as if I'd been electrocuted. The passion filled every part of me and left my mouth in a wild scream.

As the trembling subsided and my screams dulled to heavy breathing he pulled away from me. My chest was heaving with the heavy breaths I was taking. All he did was smile at me as he started to undress. Despite what we'd just done, I was nervous. I'd never actually 'performed' for Mr. Weston before. Would I even be able to?

As he slid off his underwear my heart started racing again. I'd only caught a glimpse of his member that time in the bath. I felt a little intimidated by the size but was sure it was something I could handle. How to handle it was the question.

He laid next to me on the bed. He didn't say anything, only smiled in my direction. My heart was still racing, but I tried not to show it too much. I leaned in and kissed him. I could still faintly taste myself on his lips. Dirty and exciting, it made me feel bolder.

I slid down until my face was level with his waist. His member stood, waiting for me. The wet traces of his earlier excitement still glistened at the tip. I slid my hand across his hip until my fingertips just barely touched the shaft. I licked my lips as it stiffened with excitement.

I took it in my hand. Hot and hard, but at the same time soft. I heard a muted sigh from him. His member pulsed, releasing more of his juices. It dripped down like honey onto his body.

I leaned forward and licked the sticky drops from his skin. The musky scent overtook me. I wanted more. I turned my head and began to lick the rest from his tip. I heard his gasp as he felt my tongue on him. His member pulsed again, I wanted to feel it.

I licked at it a few more times before surrendering and taking it in my mouth. I loved the feeling of his heat against my lips, the way his hardness felt against my tongue. I began to suck slowly. As I did my hand started to rub what remained of his shaft. A lust-filled grunt came from him. It made me want more.

I started to suck faster, to take him in deeper. Though he barely made a sound his member pulsed and stiffened inside my mouth. I could feel more of his juices spilling onto my tongue.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed at my hair, holding my head in place before releasing a stream of hot lust inside my mouth. I heard his moans as his hips thrust up, desperate to get deeper. His taste filled me, musky and salty. After a moment he released my head. I could hear his heavy breathing.

I pulled away. My mouth was still full of his juices. I looked at him. His eyes locked with mine. Passion, guilt, relief, and so many others were mixed together on his face. I didn't break eye contact as I swallowed what he'd released into me. He didn't say anything but I could see the slight blush in his cheeks.

I smiled, it was nice to see him on that side of things for once. I turned back to his member. The last bits of his passion were still oozing out. I leaned down and licked him clean.

"Anna," he called breathlessly.

I moved back up and laid next to him. He put his hand on my cheek and stroked it gently with his thumb. A sudden sleepiness seemed to replace the passion that had been present in both of us moments ago. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to him.

"Promise you'll wait for me too, Anna. Not just him, wait for me too," he begged quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here for you. All of you," I said sleepily, kissing his neck.

He gave me a gentle squeeze, a short while later I heard his soft snores. Who would he be tomorrow? I didn't know, but it didn't matter anymore. Now I was absolutely sure, I wasn't going anywhere.