“Have you ever wanted a different life?” he asks her solemnly.
“Sometimes. Doesn’t everyone?” she says, snuggling closer to him.
“If you could have the exact life that you always wanted, what would you do to get it?” he asks her, and she looks puzzled.
“You mean like rob a bank or something?” she jokes.
“No not like that.” He laughs. “What if other people didn’t like the life you chose,” he asks.
“Since when do you care what other people think?” she asks, looking up at him curiously.
“It’s not about me. It’s about you,” he says quietly.
“It’s hard to answer that question. I like my life. I’m not rich or famous or anything, but I’m happy,” she says seriously. She stares off over the lake and his gaze follow hers.
“You make me happy,” she says quietly taking his hand. I feel a smile spread across my face.
“If things ever got hard, would just being with me make you happy?” he asks her and she frowns.
“I’m not here for the expensive restaurants and to ride in your fancy cars,” she jokes before kissing him on the cheek, and he laughs.
“If you lost your job and became a hobo that had to ask for money on the corner, I’d still love you,” she says, squeezing his hand.
He laughs. “You’d live in a cardboard box with me?”
“No, but I’m sure after I graduate I could afford a two bedroom place for us,” she jokes.
“What if I was sick? Would you take care of me?” he asks her.
“Are you sick, Cal?” She asks seriously.
“No. These are just rhetorical questions,” he tells her, and the relief washes over her.
“I’d be the best nurse you ever had,” she says.
“You wouldn’t bail on me if things got rough or hard,” he asks her, and she starts to giggle.
“Is this your way of telling me we’re going to have rough hard sex on the hood of your car?” She giggles.
“Is that all you want from me, Ms. Brooks? I’m deeply offended.” He chuckles and realizes she’s a little too drunk to have a conversation like this.
She slides off the hood of the car and stands in front of him. It’s warm out, the breeze from over the water blows her hair. She steps out of her shoes and kicks them away from her, then reaches underneath her dress an slips off her underwear. She saunters back over to the car and climbs up on top of his lap, takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and replaces it with her underwear.
“I’m going to have to find out what champagne that was,” he says as she undoes his pants…
“Christopher,” Jenna’s voice jolts me back to reality. This one at least.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her hand on my cheek.
I nod. “Was I out here long?” I ask, worried that I’d been standing here like a zombie for I don’t know how long.
“Like ten minutes,” she says. “What’s wrong?” she asks nervously.
“Do I look like something’s wrong?” I respond.
“I wouldn’t have asked if you seemed fine,” she says, taking my hand and leading me towards the car. I feel guilty about holding her hand, the same hands that were just all over Lauren, not literally, but I swear I can still feel the heat of her skin.
We get into the car. I know I’m quiet. There are so many thoughts running through my head. What Cal said to Dex about keeping secrets for him, I wish I knew what those secrets were. With Dexter, it could range from something small to something big. I try to forget the emotions that coursed through me when he was with Lauren. I felt how genuine he was when he said he needed her.
I think back to when my mom was sick and the slump I was in, how I felt dead inside, like I was in mourning. Now, I can’t help but think part of that was because he lost Lauren. We were both in mourning, lost and dying inside. I shake that thought, though, because that makes him too real. That makes me see him as a person and not a selfish asshole, something other than the villain.
I glance over at Jenna, who I see is watching me through the rearview mirror.
“You look tired,” she says quietly and I nod.
“Did she help you pick out what you wore tonight?” Her words hang awkwardly in the air.
“Yeah,” I admit, and she lets out a deep breath, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
“My mom was asleep...” I start to explain.
“It looked nice, but it’s not you,” she interrupts me. I loosen the tie and take it off.
We don’t say much else for the rest of the ride. When she pulls in front of my house, I lean over to kiss her, and she gives me a quick peck on the lips before pulling away.
“FYI, I don’t want her picking out your ties, or your shirt, what you eat or the name of our future children!” she says, her anger increasing with each syllable.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Jenna,” I say, and she looks away from me.
“God, how could you be so insensitive?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I wanted to look nice at the party for you!” My excuse sounds pathetic, even to me.
“You’re not my arm candy! I wouldn’t have cared if you showed up wearing stripes and polka dots. Nothing that you do with her is ever going to me happy unless you’re telling me she’s signing the divorce papers.” She hits the button to unlock the doors, cueing me to make my exit.
“This is the last argument I want to have about her, Chris. I am so serious,” she says as I get out of the car. I don’t say I’m sorry because that’ll make things worse, the best thing I can do is give her time.
I know I was wrong. What makes me feel worse is that I wanted Lauren’s help.
I planned on talking to Jenna about what I remember, but that’s a really bad idea now. I can’t talk to my parents, and I don’t trust any of the doctors I’ve ever seen. I want to talk to Lauren about it, but that doesn’t seem like the best idea.
I decide to text Lisa instead and ask her to meet me tomorrow. I make my way into the house. My dad’s at the table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
“How was the fundraiser?” he asks, and I let out a groan. I decide to check the fridge to see if there’s any leftovers I can take upstairs to finish off before bed.
“You want to have a seat, son?” he says in a tone that implies I’m not about to enjoy this conversation. I begrudgingly take a seat.
“I’m sure you’re aware your mother and I have disagreed on the issue of Lauren staying here,” he says quietly, and I nod. I heard them earlier; it was a lot more than just a disagreement.
“I think it’s best if you established some type of boundaries between the two of you,” he says genuinely, and I have to stop myself from laughing. Sometimes I swear he thinks I’m a kid.
“You’re not serious are you?” I am not having this conversation with him tonight.
“I’m very serious, Chris. When you first started therapy, your doctors told us about certain things that could possibly cause…” He sighs.
“Cause what?” I ask him more forcefully.
“Cal to come back,” he says bluntly. “The official word is trigger.” He sighs, and I feel my face harden.
“Certain things that, for whatever reason, cause him to resurface.” He lets out a deep sigh. I shake my head. I really need to find a doctor ASAP because there’s so much I don’t know about this. Triggers. I think of the instances where I’ve started to remember things when he was in control, and wondered what caused them. The good thing is, it didn’t trigger him to come back. Just the memory. I look at my dad and try to bury my anger and frustration with him. It’s getting harder and harder to do and I don’t know why. I’ve forgiven him for everything that has happened, but whenever he starts to speak to me I instantly feel bitter and I hate it. My dad is my best friend, or he was. Now it’s hard to tolerate him being in my presence for longer than a couple of minutes.
“Dad, if Lauren was a trigger for Cal to co
me back, he would’ve already.” I get up from the table and head towards the stairs.
“Chris, I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you need to,” he says sternly. I stop and turn around.
“I think you’re taking this serious enough for the both of us,” I say, and he’s shocked.
I’m shocked.
It’s what I wanted to say but usually there’s a filter between the things I want to say and the things I say. I walk up the stairs. I should feel bad, or guilty, but I don’t.
I feel good.
Chapter 7
Lauren
Before I came here, I thought Chris was simple, understated, and transparent, a ‘what you see is what you get,’ kind of guy. No motives or hidden agendas, and since he doesn’t have all of that, he’d be easy to read. I thought that up until yesterday. Not only is he hard to read, but his signals are all over the place. One minute, I think he wants me to stay as far away from him as possible. The next it’s like he doesn’t even want me to leave the room. The difference with Cal was, he only let me see what he wanted me to see, which was frustrating, but easier to deal with. I only had two directions to go in: his or mine. Chris isn’t good at hiding any of his emotions; they’re all over the place, sending out multiple signals in various directions all at once.
It’s so confusing. One minute when I’m ready to give up on him, on Cal, he does something that makes me want to hold on to what could be. It gives me hope. But the heavy reality is that he doesn’t know what he wants. Which is good and bad, and I’m confused enough for ten people already. His confusion is something that I really can’t deal with. It’s too easy to see, and too difficult to figure out. After the disaster of an introduction to Jenna, I was ready to give up. Not because of what she said really affected me, but that little truth in her words keeps creeping into my thoughts.
I had almost convinced myself that everyone was right, but then he let me fix his tie. It seems stilly and stupid that such a small moment could change my way of thinking but it did. It gave me a small sliver of hope. He let me in, Chris did, and that’s really all I needed. I could learn to love Chris. I already love Cal. Jenna could never love Cal. If he came back, she’d be running for the hills. That control she likes to wield, talking to Chris like he’s her six year-old would never fly with Cal. Last night I started doing more research into DID, and integration is the goal for someone with his condition. That means Cal and Chris will have to be one, and if Cal is anywhere in there I’m not giving him up, especially to someone like Jenna. What has been weighing on me is the promise I made to Chris, about giving Cal up and leaving the past behind me, but what about my promise to Cal?
Through sickness and health, til’ death do us part, and even more than that, the last night I spent with him he said ‘don’t give up on me.’ It didn’t make sense then but it does now. I wish I knew Cal was fighting for us too. That he was somewhere inside of Chris, helping me, and keeping his promise he made to me. Maybe he is. Maybe that’s why Chris is so freakin’ confusing. I wonder if it’s like a battlefield in his mind, with Cal fighting to get out. I don’t know if Chris has scheduled to see anyone. I plan on talking to him about it today, because I’m thinking of seeing someone myself. There’s so much more I want to know about this condition. I need to talk to someone impartial about what I’m feeling, that has an understanding of all this. I’ve never seen a therapist or psychiatrist before, but I can’t think of a better time than now.
I’ve been trying to think of the best way to approach Chris about this. Last night was my first night here, and I don’t want to come off as nagging him but he’s had about three weeks to come up with something. Maybe he has, but he hasn’t mentioned anything to me.
It’s 6:00 a.m., and I’ve been hearing movement in the kitchen for the past 30 minutes. Now the smell of bacon and eggs is coaxing me out of my room. Caylen’s still asleep. I grab my toothbrush and make a beeline to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and splash water on my face before going into the kitchen. Breakfast smells delicious, there’s music playing and the house seems alive for it to be so early.
Back at home I’m used to coming into a quiet kitchen and the smell of Febreeze. I walk into the Scott’s kitchen and see Chris. Oh my god, he’s shirtless!
“Morning” he says, his tone upbeat as he sets two plates on the table with bacon, eggs and potatoes next to two glasses.
“Good morning” I say covering a laugh, seeing him do a little dance to the music he’s listening to. He blushes as he pulls a container of juice out of the refrigerator. Where are his parents? He should definitely not be in the kitchen with me alone without a shirt.
“You don’t mind do you?” he asks, genuinely concerned. Is he kidding? Is he talking about not having a shirt on?
“Uh,” I say dumbly.
“The music. I don’t get to play it when my parents are here.” He takes the seat across from me. Of course he’s not talking about the shirt, he’s not bothered by it. I’m the one bothered by him not having it on, very bothered by it. Yesterday, I was able to sneak a quick peek when he changed his shirt, but I wasn’t able to get a good look then. Now I’m front row at the show. I’m not going to be able to eat, or think. God, farm work must do a body good. Cal always had a great body, chiseled and defined but I guess tossing those hay bales and teaching gym has pushed it to the max because he’s more sculpted than I’ve ever seen him. I spot a white t-shirt with a big stain thrown across one of the chairs that explains the lack of his shirt.
“I like it actually.” I take a sip of my juice, there’s no way I can swallow food right now. His plate has about three times more food on it than mine. How does he eat that much and keep his stomach looking that good? I have to stop thinking this much about his stomach.
“Where are you parents?” I ask, my brain finally coming out of its hormone- and pheromone-induced haze.
“They had to go get some supplies this morning. They’ll be back this afternoon,” he replies in between bites. I finally pick up a sausage and take a bite. It’s pretty good.
“Does Caylen usually sleep around this time?” he asks.
“We’re an hour behind in Chicago. She’ll be up in the next hour or so,” I say, diving into the eggs on my plate.
They’re over easy. Cal liked scrambled…
“Do you cook a lot?” I ask curiously, thinking back to the day Cal first made me breakfast. It was as good as this, but he just shrugged it off before getting me off. Too bad that’s not going to happen today.
“My mom cooks most of the time,” he answers with an amused grin.
It’s adorable; he’s adorable
I wonder if Jenna cooks for him. He clears his throat.
“When my mom was sick, I started cooking more since she really wasn’t able to. It kind of became therapeutic,” he says solemnly.
It’s still surreal that his mom was sick so recently and doing so much better. Even though our introduction was terrible, I’ve come to think of her as such a sweet woman. I can’t see anyone not liking her once they got to know her. I think Cal even cared for her or he wouldn’t have stepped aside for Chris to return.
I think back to the conversation that we had about Jenna. The conversation I asked for. It had been bugging me so much, wondering how she got in, how she was able to get to his heart. Now I know he was vulnerable. That’s how, and she attacked. I’m sure it didn’t happen exactly that way. After all, she’s not a wolf and Chris definitely isn’t a little sheep, but it makes me feel better to look at things that way. I can’t believe they’ve only been dating for a couple of months though. Even if they were friends before that, I couldn’t’ see myself marrying Steven that soon if I had dated him.
“Do you cook?” he asks, and I sigh with a laugh.
“Not so much,” I say embarrassed. I still haven’t learned how to cook. After Cal left, I didn’t eat much, and after I was a few months with Caylen, nothing really stayed down so cooking was the last thing I
thought about. Once Caylen was born, the last thing I cared about was learning.
“You don’t like it?” he asks genuinely. I wonder if he has ever met a woman that just didn’t know how. Well Jenna doesn’t seem like she’d be interested in anything other than interrogating and intimidating people.
“I don’t really know how,” I admit. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to see if I’m joking or not.
“I could teach you,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal and will be the easiest thing in the world. I try to read him like I have a hundred other times, and I’m stuck. Sometimes when he looks at me, I can see something there. Other times, I wonder if those deep down feelings are all in my head, and he really just wants to be my friend. How depressing is that?
“It’d be too much. You don’t have to,” I say modestly, shaking my head.
“I kind of do if I want Caylen to eat more than take out, or fast food.” His tone is jovial, and the smile he gives me awakens the band of sleeping butterflies in my stomach. I try not to be excited about having him all to myself, but I am. I imagine him in nothing but an apron and scold myself.
“I’m warning you, when I say I can’t cook, I really can’t cook. I’ve burnt water before, literally,” I tell him, and he covers his face to hide his laughter and disbelief.
“We can start with easy stuff,” he assures me.
“Okay, I’m game.” I say a little excited as I finish my eggs.
“This is really good,” I say.
“Eggs aren’t hard. Breakfast is the easiest to start with.”
“We can start tonight,” he suggests, finishing the last of the food on his plate.
“What would we start with?” I ask curiously.
“Maybe boiling water,” he jokes and I laugh.
“By the end of the three weeks, you’ll be tossing out your take out menus” he says confidently.
I don’t know about that.
I finish the rest of my food as he starts to clean up the kitchen. I can’t help watching him, as he moves around it. Every so often, the thought will creep into my mind that he’s playing me. That all of this Chris business is shit, but those thoughts don’t stay long. They do give me the courage to ask him what I intended to.
Almost Broken: If I Break #2 Page 11
