#split movie

The full trilogy consists of 3 movies- Unbreakable(2000), Split (2016), and Glass (2019) but the DID system only appears in the later two- their collective name is The Horde, so I’ll be referring to them as that here :) basically this trilogy is about twisted superheroes/villians, where in Glass The Horde is manipulated into being the villain, and David Dunn (the main character in Unbreakable) is the hero and the first two movies are their respective origin stories. Now that the scene is set, I’ll tell you about Split!

Split is about, of course, The Horde, a DID system of 26 (i believe,) 27 by the end of the movie- the system as a good mix of representation, including mixed genders, and the five most prominent alters in the movie are 3 boys, 1 woman, a little, and the only nonhuman alter- the nonhuman, called The Beast, and Dennis, Patricia, the Hedwig (the little!) all work together as the antagonists. The system is traumagenic as seen from the abuse the (now dormant) ‘core alter’ Kevin endured. “Wait, Monacho, I thought you said this was The Horde’s origin story- why are they the antagonists?” The movie is inherently a thriller, and the main plot around the Beast manipulating (mainly Dennis) to kidnap 3 underage girls that The Beast deemed ‘impure’ (not traumatized, The Beast thought the abuse the body endured was good) and the only reason the protagonist DID survive (I forgot her name) was because The Beast found out she was raped by her uncle and forced to live with him after her parents death.

in all, the movie does a really good job of showing a lot of different sides of DID- different gendered alters, littles, alters with accents, force-fronting, amnesia barriers, front triggers, rapid switching, different alters journaling,alters masking as eachother, etc- of course some cinematic liberties were taken to lean more into the ‘thriller’ side of things- such as The Beast being able to climb walls- but James Mcavoy (the actor who played The Horde) was FANTASTIC genuinely, and if you’re not squeamish I highly recommend

“Maybe just some water?” Iris requested instead, reaching to relieve her soulmate of their breakfast sides in exchange for the mug.

Taking up her seat with her back to the wall, Iris pulled her feet up to cross her legs and attempt to warm her chilled feet—even with socks on. She was already depositing a few of the berries into her oatmeal when Patricia joined her.

In short order, both were polishing off the last of their breakfast while maintaining slow, easy conversation. Patricia asked her how Hedwig had been the evening before, understanding how unruly he could be. Iris asked for the cooking instructions for a new pasta dish that she’s been wanting to try her hand at making. They discussed the book Iris was reading and Patricia’s favourite pastime.

Neither spoke of the upcoming session with Fletcher.

Iris finished the last few blueberries before the dishes were collected and deposited into the sink to soak for a few minutes. In the meantime, Patricia motioned for Iris to take her now unused seat while she picked up the brush and comb she used on her hair. “Would you like me to braid it back today?”

“Please,” she responded quietly, pulling the towel from her head gently and draping the damp material over the back of her vacated chair. “It’s nice to have it out of the way and I heard it’s supposed to be a windy one today.”

Patricia hummed in approval and pulled her hair back over the chair, so it wasn’t pinned when Iris leaned back, and began carefully brushing the ends. They had already begun to dry while wrapped in the towel. “Is there anything else you needed to do while you have the day off?” she asked softly, focusing on not snagging any knots after Iris’s shower. She smelled like the fruit they had been eating during breakfast, with a hint of something deeper. Likely an oil of some kind, considering how soft her hair currently felt. Felicia’s doing.

“Not that I can think of,” Iris breathed out in response, already enjoying the feeling of her hair being brushed. She was nowhere near her scalp, yet somehow it still made her skin tickle pleasantly. She had to fight to keep her head up. “I’m set for groceries, no appointments or such to worry about…guess it’s more of a free day.”

The brush moved a bit higher up her head, keeping the same slow, gentle pace.

“What about you? Anything you need to finish today? I’d be happy to help.”

“It seems with both have a quiet day on our hands.”

“How rare,” Iris teased with a smile, fighting the urge to lean her head back into her hands. “Anything you want to do while we have the free time?” The question came out timid, unsure. Iris wasn’t accustomed to being the one inviting someone to spend time. It felt like she was putting a limb out with the chance of it getting hurt. However, this was her soulmate. A soulmate who had raced over to her in the dead of night because she felt the panic from a consuming nightmare.

Patricia was silent for a moment, not helping with Iris’s minor anxiety. “Let’s see how the session goes first, hm? It can be more draining that one may think.”

Iris was momentarily surprised that Patricia was the one to first bring up their meeting with Fletcher. “I’ve never really met with a therapist before, aside from the time I first went to meet Dr. Fletcher. It definitely left me feeling…exposed.”

The rhythmic swipe of the brush stalled for a moment as a strong, though gentle, hand stroked slowly down her head. It was one of soothing comfort, and of unspoken understanding. “Some find relief in exposing such parts of themselves to another, to someone outside of our intimate circle, I have always found sessions with Dr. Fletcher exhausting.”

Reaching back, Iris caught Patricia’s wrist of the hand holding the brushed strands of her hair and held on loosely.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t feel comfortable with it, Patricia. No one’s research should ever come before your comfort.”

Patricia gazed down at Iris’s small hand, slim fingers contrasting sharply with the deep blue sweater she had selected to wear that morning. So very pale and delicate, like the petals of her namesake. It warmed her heart to hear the care and consideration, especially since she knew that Iris had thrown her own comfort to the wind for them already. She had raced through the cold night to get to Barry when she’d heard that he had been suffering.

Leaning down over her, Patricia placed a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of Iris’s soft, freshly brushed hair. Chilled and damp, smelling of fresh fruit. She wanted to bury herself in those strands. Seek comfort in them.

“Your heart is far too pure for this world, little one,” she whispered into the strands. “Thank you for your words. Let us try and see how we feel together.”

Iris’s answer came as a gentle squeeze of her wrist before she pulled her hand back.

Patricia placed the brush aside and took up the come, beginning the quick process of sectioning for the braid. She decided to go with a Dutch today, beginning at the top of Iris’s head to keep her face clear as well. Gently grasping Iris’s skull, she pulled her head back to the angle she needed.

“Have I told you the story of Hedwig stealing some of Barry’s markers and drawing on his face, knowing that Jelin had work the next day?”

Iris gasped in response, a lighter sound that had amusement laced within, and fought not to tip her head back to meet her eyes. “What? Please tell me it washed off?”

“Hmm,” Patricia hummed in taunt, only causing her smaller soulmate to smother a giggle.

Iris clocked the new name—Jelin—but kept it to the back of her mind. She knew what Patricia was doing, bringing levity back to their morning, and allowed herself to fall into the attempt happily. “Oh, no.” She smothered the laugh in her hand was she fought not to picture what her mate’s face must have looked like, drawn on with markers in a comical display. “Is that why he has locks on some of his drawers now?”

“Indeed. You’ll likely find similar locked drawers or cabinets in other rooms, our attempt at keeping his pranks at bay. Not always successfully.” She worked quickly and meticulously down along the braid, making sure the sections were even, and the braid went in a straight line down the back of her head. It needed to be perfect.

The attempt to smother her laugh made Iris snort, then blush brightly from the sound. “A troublemaking little brother.”

“That’s a much kinder description that Jelin provided when he saw his face in the mirror. Thankfully, before he left for work.”

A second snort escaped and Patricia smiled at the sound, typing off the end of the long, caramel braid. She loved the intertwining of chocolate and gold that wound through Iris’s hair; not brunette but not blonde; a beautiful mixture of the two. It looked brighter in sunlight, catching the golden strands and making them pop, but here in the kitchen it took on a much richer tone.

“You have such lovely hair,” she finally commented, stroking her thumb over the free strands at the end so as not to disrupt her work.

“Felicia did tell me it was soft, she kept wanting to pet me like a cat,” Iris laughed softly, remembering how she had basically done exactly that. Not that she was complaining.

“Indeed, it is,” Patricia confirmed. “But I meant the colour. Such a beautiful combination.”

Iris spoke without thinking, the words falling unbidden from her tongue. “My mother used to say it was the colour of dirty dishwater. She used to keep it so short, like a home-cut bob. Then one of my marks showed up at the back of my neck, so she let it grow out, to have a way of hiding it.”

The memory of the abrasive scrubbing on the back of her neck rose to the forefront of her mind. The burn of the water in her nose and throat.

The hitch of Patricia’s breath behind her caused an abrupt sinking feeling to swoop Iris’s stomach. Why had she said that? How had she let something like that slip free? Patricia had some uncanny way of getting her to reveal things her parents had done to her. It had started from the first night they had met—telling her about the scars, showing her the evidence. Perhaps she associated Patricia with a safe place in which to speak those truths.

She was waiting for the obligatory ‘no, that’s wrong. You’re beautiful’ that she imagined people would utter after hearing something like that. It never came.

“Your hair is a mixture of gold, like wheat in the sun in the peak of summer, and the softness of rich, melted chocolate. It makes me think of a dark caramel sauce, smooth and sweet. It is a gorgeous colour, changing in tone depending on the light. You look more blonde in the sunlight, the gold pops more.” Patricia’s hand wrapped around the braid right at the base of Iris’s skull, not too tight but enough that when she tugged, Iris’s head was pulled backward with the steady pressure.

Oh.

The blue of her eyes had an edge to them. A chill. Instinctively, Iris knew it was not directed at her.

Patricia held her gaze for a moment, making sure she had her little soulmate’s full attention. “Never fear telling me these things, these lies your parents fed you. I want to be sure I can tell you how wrong they were. Let me help you clear out their venom.”

The presence of glassy tears in her whiskey eyes had nothing to do with the pressure on her scalp. The gentle pull to the roots of her hair kept her grounded to the moment, maintaining the steady hold of Patricia’s blue gaze.

“I will,” she finally forced out around the tightening of her throat.

Releasing the braid, Patricia framed Iris’s upturned face and leant down to press a soothing kiss to her forehead. Eyes closing, the two basked in the quiet moment for several long seconds. When Patricia felt the touch of warm tears on her hands, she made no comment and simply swiped them away with her thumbs.

Separating from her soulmate, she let Iris relax her head down and take a moment to compose herself.

“I have found it helpful to have something to hold onto when I meet with Dr. Fletcher, saves you from fidgeting with nerves. How about we stop at the shop you and Barry like on the way and collect a warm tea?”

Iris offered a teary smile when she turned to look at her. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Patricia didn’t put up a fight when Iris insisted on washing the dishes, since she had been the one to cook—simple of as the meal had been. So, she gave her little soulmate a moment to compose herself and went to freshen up and collect their coats.

Hands deep in the hot, soapy water gave Iris a minor distraction as she took a few shaky breaths to calm herself. She felt the disconcerting mix of being held tightly and unmoored all at once. Her hope was that Fletcher didn’t pick up on her loss of balance. Fresh and raw, rehashing the moment and it’s accompanying feelings would be entirely unwelcome.

She took deep, calming breaths while placing each cleaned dish on the drying rack to her right. The mundane task helped a bit, returning her to a basic routine without emotional complications.

Her scalp still tingled with the sensations of the brushing, braiding, and the pull.

Any calm she had obtained was nearly lost as her stomach seemed to twist with the memory of the pull on her braid. So gentle but commanding all the same. The feeling it had invoked shook her to her core. After what had been done to her with a hold on her hair as a means of control, she was shocked her body hadn’t immediately locked up in remembered fear.

Even on a base level, she seemed to know the safety of her soulmates.

How would it feel to have one of the others do the same?

Thankfully, Patricia hadn’t returned to watch as Iris’s face flushed a brilliant red and her jaw momentarily dropped open in shock at her own thoughts.

Pulling the plug on the sink and quickly rinsing everything, she forced herself to keep her focus entirely on the task and let the blood drain back out of her face. Thankfully, she was sure her face had returned to its normal colour when Patricia came back into the kitchen with both of their light spring coats draped over her arm.

The wool coat that Barry had complimented had been retired for the season, tucked safely in her closet.

“All set, dear?”

Far calmer, Iris flashed a smile and nodded. “If you are.” Polite and helpful as ever, Patricia helped her into her jacket—even pulling her braid out of the back—before she pulled on her own.