Split

by JB Salsbury

  Lying is something I’ve always been good at.

  It’s kept me out of the mental institutions, and if I pull this off, I can stay in Payson and keep my job. I just need to know she’s safe.

  A few of the guys give me a quick chin lift and Stilts crosses to meet me halfway through the site. “Hey, kiddo. Feelin’ better?”

  “Uh…” Feelin’ better? Was I sick? “Yeah…?” I search for Nash or Cody, hoping they’ll be able to tell me if Shy is okay.

  He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at someone who must be somewhere in the vicinity behind him. “Heard what happened.”

  Great, you mind filling me in?

  “Oh yeah?” I’m cautious, not sure if we’re talking about the same thing, but either way I need answers.

  He leans forward. “Must say, happy to hear you knocked that little shit Dustin down a few notches. Kid needs to get his ass beat.”

  My eyes grow wide and I nod. It’s all I can do because screaming, What in the hell are you talking about? would draw too much attention. If what he says is true, that means I was out.

  Out as in gone, and out as in out in public.

  “Anyway, too bad about the food poisoning.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “You’re still looking a little run-down. Might wanna take another day.”

  “Another day…yeah.” My voice is vacant and the room spins.

  “Whoa, easy there.” He grips my shoulders, his bushy dark brows settling over concerned eyes, and encourages me to sit. “Put your head between your knees, or…shit…Can we get Lucas some water or something?” he calls over his shoulder.

  I stare off in front of me but see nothing. This isn’t like a blackout where I go from light to dark like a flick of a switch. This is—

  “Lucas…?” A soft, feminine voice rings in my ears seconds before my field of vision is filled with liquid-blue eyes. “I got ’im, Stilts.”

  Shyann. She’s okay. Just seeing her alive and healthy clears my head a little.

  My eyes dart to Stilts’s retreating feet and then back to her. She’s wearing a baseball hat backward and there’s white paint splattered across her cheek and some on a few long pieces of black hair that escaped her hat. Maybe it’s just the relief at seeing she’s okay, but in this moment she’s never looked more beautiful.

  “Hey…” She cups my jaw and forces my gaze to hers as her eyes search mine. “Lucas…right?” She angles her face away, but only slightly, like she’s bracing for something.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She lets out a long breath and her expression relaxes. “You’re back,” she whispers, and a tiny smile tilts her lips, but I can’t return it.

  She knows.

  I survey our surroundings, and once I’m certain we’re alone, I ask what I’ve been dying to know. “What happened?”

  “Are you okay to walk?”

  I nod.

  She helps me to my feet, and I sway.

  “Lucas, are you sure you’re okay? When was the last time you ate?”

  The last time I remember was…“Tacos.”

  Her head jerks. “Tacos? With me?”

  I nod again. “Yeah.”

  She frowns and dips her shoulder under mine, wraps her arm around me, and holds me to her. “Come on.”

  We walk through the half-constructed home into the back that opens to dense forest trees. I’m grateful that she’s strong, and as we pass by a few of the guys, she makes it look like she’s holding on to me rather than holding me up. If I didn’t feel so weak, so confused, I’d absorb the feel of her soft body pressed against mine, the warmth of her at my side. After a few yards through the brush, she stops at the base of a large Douglas fir.

  “Here.” She guides me to the ground, where I drop with my back against the trunk.

  “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so messed up. Must be the food poisoning.”

  She ignores me, or it’s possible she didn’t hear me. “Be right back.” She takes off and her retreating figure blurs to mix with the evergreens.

  Sleep begs to take me. A cool breeze combines with the warm sun that filters through the boughs and settles against my skin. My eyelids grow heavy, but before they fall shut, a hand grips my chin.

  “I need you to eat.” She shoves a sandwich into my hand.

  I push it back to her. “I can’t. I—”

  Her face comes close to mine, so close I can feel her breath on my lips, see the tiny flecks of gray in her eyes, and smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “Eat it.” Her eyes are cold and hard; this isn’t a request, and I’m too tired to fight.

  I take a bite of the sandwich and groan as the flavor floods my mouth. I’m suddenly ravenous, as if all my internal organs just realized they were starving.

  She relaxes a little as I swallow bite after bite, until finally she drops next to me to lean against the tree, legs cocked, forearms resting against her jean-clad knees.

  As soon as I finish the sandwich, she hands me a bottled water. I drink it in seconds, and she hands me another.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”

  “You haven’t eaten since Friday.”

  “So?”

  Her head tilts and she pins me with a glare that has me dropping my eyes to avoid it. “It’s Monday, Lucas.”

  My head whips around. “What?”

  She shoves a bag of green grapes in front of my face. “Eat.”

  I do as I’m told. Fear of getting sick tickles the back of my mind but my hunger overtakes my unease.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get the feeling you’re just as clueless as I am.”

  I stop chewing, shocked at how well she can read me, and then shove more grapes in my mouth.

  “Thing is, a lot happened and…” She turns her eyes toward mine and hurt shines through them. “We need to have a serious talk.”

  Fifteen

  Shyann

  Thank God he’s back.

  As much as I want to tie him up and interrogate him about what all went down on Friday night, what the hell he did for two days holed up in his house, I can tell he’s scared. That lost look in his eyes I feel in my chest.

  A flicker of the terrified boy I’ve seen before is back and the confusion on his face is enough to rip open old wounds.

  I spent all weekend in the office researching what I thought was going on with Lucas, and after collecting as much information as I could, I’m afraid to be right.

  Oh, Lucas, what have you been through?

  After I feed him my entire lunch, including my midmorning and midafternoon snack, as well as my emergency chocolate stash, his color seems better. He’s more alert and has the energy to hold up his own body.

  We’re tucked back far enough into the forest that no one can see us, but saws and nail guns can be heard beyond the trees. I turn to him and catch him staring at me, his eyebrows pinched together, and he’s chewing that bottom lip that I know feels even softer than it looks. He studies the ground.

  “Who’s Gage?” Ugh…smooth approach, Shyann. Then again, finesse has never been my thing.

  “Gage is…me.” His shoulders drop and he shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”

  I knew it. He’s in there, both Gage and Lucas. “What do you know?”

  He licks his lips and pulls his knees up to rest his forearms on them. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve had these…blackouts.”

  I swallow, nervous more for him than myself.

  “They were random at first, or at least I thought. But when I got older, I noticed a pattern, like, they never happened at school or when I was home alone with my sister and brothers. They always happened when I was in trouble for something.”

  “How long do they usually last?”

  He digs the heel of his boot into the dirt, raking out a hole it seems he’d rather crawl into than keep talking.

  “It’s okay. You can trust me.”
/>   “When I was ten, I went dark for days. When I came to, I couldn’t remember anything.”

  I turn my head away, attempting to hide my shock, hoping he doesn’t see my reaction to the disturbing information. “You always lose days? Like this weekend?”

  “No, on average they last a few hours. Sometimes less. Depends on how bad things are.” He grimaces.

  “What kind of things?” I’m terrified to know the answer.

  “Back then? The punishments.” He gazes at me with troubled eyes. “Now? The threat.”

  “What did it this time?”

  He shrugs and whispers, “You were upset. I wanted to…comfort you. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  My gut churns, a sickening feeling only rivaled by my sadness. “You felt threatened…by me?”

  “Women. They trigger them.” He cringes slightly away from me as if he’s expecting me to lash out.

  I clear my throat and try to relax. If his need to comfort me triggered him before, my panic might do the same and I can’t risk losing Lucas now that he’s finally letting me in.

  “What about the punishments?” I fight a swell of nausea, fearing his answer.

  He rubs the back of his neck. “My mom.”

  I allow the silence to settle between us, not wanting to scare him from telling me more by blabbing the four thousand questions I have swirling through my head.

  What if I trigger the violent side of Lucas just for being female? A spike of adrenaline speeds my pulse, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings.

  My instinct tells me to run, but deep down inside I believe Lucas wouldn’t hurt me. He’s had me alone, had the opportunity, but the only thing he hurt was my feelings. And even his more aggressive personality protected me from Dustin. That has to mean something.

  “Sometimes I’d come to, curled up on the floor, aching all over. Others I’d wake up to her standing over me. She’d scream. I’d go from black to her face twisted in anger and the words…” He is staring at nothing but seems to be seeing everything.

  My heart lodges in my throat at how he must’ve suffered. I scoot closer, place my hand on his back, and rub up and down in long firm strokes. His muscles flex beneath my touch but after a few dozen seconds he seems to calm.

  “Did your parents ever take you to a doctor?”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate. Guess a woman who punishes her son so extremely that he would black out wouldn’t seek medical attention. Too easy to get caught.

  “My little brother Michael used to tell me about Gage. He’d say, ‘I got scared but then Gage came’ and ‘If Mom gets mad, it’ll be okay because Gage will take care of us.’ I thought he was an imaginary friend, their version of a guardian angel.”

  The broken sound of his voice makes my eyes and sinuses burn.

  “It wasn’t until later that my little sister was looking at my class picture. She kept pointing at me saying, ‘Who is that? Lucas or Gage?’ After that, when he’d show up, he’d leave me notes.”

  “Notes, like on paper?”

  “Yes, and also here.” He flips his hands over, palms up.

  I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Anything this time?”

  He opens his mouth, then quickly closes it and shakes his head. “No.”

  I fold my arms around my stomach, feeling a sudden chill in the breeze. His mother was abusive; that much is true. I can see why he’s avoided my questions about her. Did she abandon him rather than die like I originally thought?

  To think her abuse was so severe Lucas became a completely different person to protect himself is tragic beyond comprehension.

  “What happened that night, Shyann?” He sounds so broken, as if he already knows the answer and he’s apologizing for it.

  “You were at a bar.”

  His wide eyes turn to me. “I was at a bar?” He drops his head into his hands and groans.

  “Gage was. He punched a guy I grew up with.” No need to go into details; something tells me the less information for Lucas to process the better.

  His right hand flexes.

  “I didn’t know what was going on when you didn’t show up for work this morning. I told my dad you were sick to keep him from coming to check on you. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Why would you do that?” he whispers, then turns toward me. “Why would you protect me?”

  “Lucas? Have you ever heard the words dissociative identity disorder?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s an identity disorder. Some call it multiple personality disorder.”

  His ears get red. He tucks his chin and locks his hands behind his head. “If you’re telling me I’m crazy, don’t bother. I already know.”

  “You never got help—”

  “I tried. He’d never let me.” He studies the tops of the trees. “Don’t you see? I can never be trusted because he’ll always be part of me.”

  I blink, memories of Gage, his hate-filled stare, his threats, and that punch he delivered that hardly seemed to faze him.

  “Do you want to hurt people?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you have more control than you think.” I shrug, as if it’s as simple as that, hoping he feels encouraged even though I haven’t the slightest idea if it’s true. But I have to believe his goodness would win out.

  I run my sweaty palms against my thighs, embarrassed to admit that maybe he’s not all that different from me. When I lost my mom, a part of me died with her and I became someone else to avoid feeling the pain—career focused, selfish, hell-bent on leaving the memories behind no matter the cost.

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  I lean over and place my hand on his arm, begging him to look at me. He doesn’t. “Then explain it.”

  “Why did I smell like perfume?” There’s a hardness in his voice I’ve never heard before and I don’t need to ask to know he’s talking about Gage.

  “He showed up at Pistol Pete’s. I saw him kissing a girl and—”

  A sound like that of a dying animal falls from his lips and he grips the back of his head. I can’t imagine how terrifying it would be to have your body taken over and wake up having no idea what you’d done.

  By the slump of his shoulders, I’d say he’s assuming the worst. “Nothing happened, Lucas. I’m pretty sure you two never made it past second base.”

  “This is wrong…”

  “It’s a mountain town, bar hookups and fights are as common as four-wheel drive.”

  “…could’ve really hurt someone…”

  “Lucas, you’re overreacting.”

  “…so much worse.” He freezes and peers up at me, his gray eyes shining with sadness. “You were there.”

  My face flames and his eyes dart to my cheeks, then widen. “Did I…Gage, did he…”

  I open my mouth to tell him that he kissed me, that his hands roamed my body with a force that managed to terrify and excite me in equal parts. The words dance on the back of my tongue, ache to confess just how much I want him to touch me again, just how much I long for another possessive kiss that robs me of coherent thought.

  Whatever he sees in my expression causes him to recoil.

  “I gotta go.” He pushes up fast and takes a retreating step before turning back to me. He seems to struggle with whether or not to help me up, but eventually gives me his hand and pulls me to my feet. “Thanks for the food. Tell your dad I’ll have that carving to him by the end of the week. I’ll finish it at home…I mean, your mom’s home…I—”

  “Don’t worry about that. My dad cares about you. If you need help—”

  “No!” The power in his voice seems to scare him and makes my heart leap. “Please.” He gets close and the proximity makes me want to pull him into my arms. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  The dark fury that was in his eyes that night is replaced with painful innocence, a vulnerability that makes my arms desperate to soothe. He’s broken, achingly beautifu
l, and—

  “Shy.”

  His calling of my nickname rips me from my thoughts.

  Eyes, smoke-gray and pleading. “Please.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He exhales hard and his shoulders slump. “Thank you. I’ll…uh…I’ll see you around.” He jogs back to the work site, and I give myself a moment to regain my composure.

  Lucas is unstable.

  There’s no denying it.

  As much as he should terrify me, he doesn’t, and that’s what worries me most.

  Sixteen

  Shyann

  It’s Friday afternoon. I’m sitting at my desk sorting new bids and am antsy as hell. It’s been exactly one week since Lucas—more accurately Gage—kissed me outside Pistol Pete’s and four days since I’ve seen him at all. I’ve thought about going down to the river house and checking on him, use food as an excuse, bring dog food for his porch-dwelling pet, claim I have some important message from my dad, but I hold back.

  He gave me the impression he needed space, and I don’t blame him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up and realize you’ve missed entire days, and what’s worse, your body is walking and talking and kissing on your behalf. A kiss he doesn’t remember and I can’t seem to forget.

  My cell phone chimes with an incoming text from a number I don’t recognize.

  It’s Loreen. I’ve got a girl out tomorrow. You interested in picking up a shift?

  I chew my lip and contemplate her offer. I made a hundred and fifty dollars last Friday. Even after Dustin got dragged out of the bar and banned for the rest of the night for fighting—funny when he didn’t even throw a punch—I doubled what I’d made the first half of the night. Everyone wanted the play-by-play. I may have conveniently forgotten most of the details, knowing whatever blanks I left open the town gossip would fill with their own version on the truth. Good news is, I ended up pulling in some serious dough.

  Sam pouted the rest of the night and when she wasn’t pouting she was glaring at me. Guess having Lucas blow her off and drag me out of the bar was enough to dissolve whatever bridges we’d built and land me back on her shit list.