by Portia Moore
“Lauren, whatever I ask of you is only for what’s best for us. If you want things to be easier you’ll listen to me, but you get to make your own decisions. I’ll support you either way,” I tell her, and her face softens. I don’t know how much she’s drank tonight but I can tell it’s affecting her judgment. She’s second-guessing herself, which is fine as long as she doesn’t second-guess me.
“Can you trust me, Lauren?” I ask her and she’s quiet but sits on the bed and rests her head in her hands. Her long dark hair cascades down her back.
“If I’m asking you to, it means I need your help,” I tell her again, my tone softer, and she looks back toward me, searching my face for an answer, or maybe even a lie. She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath.
“I promised you I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that would hurt us, any of us.” I can tell she’s faltering. I move over to where she is and wrap my arms around her.
“When Calvin first made his presence known, when he took over from Christopher, he was a wreck, entirely reckless, making bad decision after bad decision.”
Whenever I say his name her breath catches, and I wonder if his very name has a grip on her heart. I push that thought out of my head.
“I called Dexter Jr. and I told him that Calvin was headed down a path of destruction and if the Crestfields didn’t help, I’d make things very complicated for them.” She looks back at me shock all over her face.
“You reached out to them?” I nod and move closer to her.
“I look out for the best interests of us all, Lauren. I always have and I always will, but now I need your help.” I lock my eyes on hers and they widen, and the turmoil I saw in them initially has disappeared.
“Please help me.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and hold her close.
“Okay,” she relents.
And I fight the smile that wants to spread across my face.
Chapter Seven
Chris
My head hurts; it feels like an elephant has been lying on it. It takes a few minutes for my vision to clear up. I sit up and take in my surroundings. I’m in Chicago. In Lauren’s room. The bed is empty, and it’s bright outside. My eyes find the clock, and it says 7:30. I stand up and stretch my body and twist my neck.
How long has it been? I know I’ve lost time, and it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. The question now is how long, and who took over? I let out a deep breath and head to the bathroom, and when I look in the mirror, I take a step back. I’m wearing a freakin’ ponytail at the top of my head.
“What the hell?” I snatch the hair band off. My face is shaven cleaner than I’ve ever seen it, almost no hair is on my chin, but the hair on my head is longer than I’ve ever worn it, it’s fully touching my shoulders. My heart starts to beat frantically, how long have I been out? I think back to the last thing I remember. A fight, me and Lauren… about my dad. My dad was here in Chicago… how long was my hair then? I grip the counter and force myself to think, to get my thoughts and emotions together. The last conversation I had with Lauren was bad, and I was angry—angrier than I’ve ever felt with anyone—and she was the scapegoat.
I can’t believe I talked to her the way that I did. I’m embarrassed to even see her, but Lauren’s forgiven me… us for much worse things. I fight the stinging in my throat, the burning anger and sadness wanting to burst from my chest.
I hate this! I hate that I’m still dealing with this. I hate that it’s his fault. That things are always worse when I come back. Flashes of Lisa and me arguing and me spazzing out on my mom at dinner clash against me throwing my dad out of the house. Everything is bad—my best friend betrayed me, my mom is probably alone, my dad a hypocrite, and my alter ego a psychotic attempted murderer. I’ve got to get this together. It’s obviously up to me since no one else seems to be doing anything, and why the hell am I wearing silk pajamas? I strip them off and kick them across the room. I grip my head. I want them gone, I want them out! I’m so tired of this, and now there’s another one? I turn on the sink and splash water on my face. My gaze catches the mirror again. I don’t even look like myself anymore, not like this.
I bend down and open the drawers beneath the sink searching for scissors or clippers. After a few minutes I find some electronic clippers, and they’re professional grade. I’m not surprised since whoever did this obviously shaves twice a day. I plug them in and start to shave. Each line I cut off makes me feel better, as the locks fall into the sink. I don’t know whose idea it was to get this douchebag hairstyle, but I’m back in charge now. Watching the locks of hair fall is cathartic. When I’m done, I feel better. My hair is cut low, similar to Aidan’s when he got home— a little longer than a buzz cut. I rub my chin, and thankfully my hair grows pretty fast, so in a few days my facial hair will be back to what I’m used to. I look around the room for signs, anything to tell me what I’ve woken up to. What if it’s been years? Okay, I’m overreacting because it’d never be years. Though thinking about it, what’s so ridiculous or impossible about it? It used to be just hours then it went to days and weeks. I’ve got to get a grip. I refused to go out and see Lauren all frantic, so I need to be calm. I have to make up for how I left the last time. I need to start figuring out why this keeps happening and how to stop it. I head downstairs quicker than I want to and try to slow my steps, but I’m eager to see Lauren. When I reach the bottom, it’s quiet other than the T.V. playing.
“Hi.” She’s wearing a lopsided grin, her hair is pulled to the top of her head in a topknot and she’s dressed in an oversized white sweater and black leggings. Instantly the panic that was climbing up my body starts to recede. I think back to the day when we first talked about Caylen in that little hotel room. It seems like so much time has passed since then, how much closer I’ve gotten to her, how I fell in love with a woman I already loved at first sight. But who is she seeing? Who does she think I am? I try to wrestle those thoughts from my mind.
Does it matter?
It’s always mattered.
“Hey,” my own voice is unsteady, but it’s not cold and rigid as I expected it to be. She approaches me carefully only stopping when we’re a few inches apart. She looks up at me, her lopsided grin now a warm smile as she touches my cheek.
“You cut your hair,” she lightly runs her finger across it. I swallow hard. Does she know it’s me?
“Lauren who…” I begin to ask, and her smile softens.
“Chris, I know.” Her slender arms wrap around my waist, and she rests her head on my chest. I can’t help but feel the elation course through me. She knows it’s me, and she’s glad I’m back. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
“I missed you,” her voice is quiet, but she squeezes me tighter as she says this. I loosen my grip and lean back to see her face.
“How long have I been gone?”
She swallows hard and lets out a small breath. “Let’s sit down okay.”
I take in a huge breath and follow her as we sit down at the table I don’t recall being there before, but maybe I just never noticed it. I haven’t been here a lot to know it like the back of my hand. My heart rate picks up. I sit down, and my eyes follow her as she heads into the kitchen and pulls out a water bottle and a sandwich out of the microwave. She sits it in front of me, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until she did.
“It hasn’t been years, has it?” I laugh, hoping my question comes off as a joke, but it feels as if I haven’t eaten in a millennium. I fight the urge to shove it down my throat, but I lose out as I take a huge bite. It’s roast beef and turkey with honey mustard—my favorite. I watch her as she watches me, her head resting in the palm of her hand. When I push the sandwich away, it’s halfway gone. She’s been quiet while waiting for me to finish. I scratch the back of my head, tension starting to climb.
“How long has it been? I can handle it.”
She folds her hands in front of her. “Almost two months.”
I nod, okay two months. I feel my fist
s involuntarily clench. Two months, I’ve been out of it. I think back to our last conversation, that day she told me that I had been gone a month…. so in total I’ve lost about three months of time. I grip the table and let out a long frustrated breath, then remind myself to get it together.
Three months, but the last time after everything that happened why did I leave? Cal was the one who should have left after trying to kill someone and finding out he was wrong. Why did I have to be gone so long? None of this makes sense. She’s watching me, waiting for me to respond, and she’s squeezing her wrist, a telltale sign when she’s nervous. Before I lost time I felt like I was on an emotional seesaw. Everything I felt was more heightened—anger, despair, annoyance—and I flipped between them so rapidly. I don’t feel like that today, but I still feel on edge, irritable and I have to get a grip.
At this particular moment it doesn’t exactly matter why I was gone, but that I’m back.
Right.
“So Cal’s been here this whole time?” I let out a frustrated breath and fold my hands trying to remain calm. Her eyes dart from mine to her own hands. She shifts in her chair.
“Not exactly,” she says nervously. My eyes narrow in on her.
“What do you mean?”
“Cal hasn’t been here at all actually because Collin took over.” Her face is blank, but she seems to be hiding another expression… is it worry, is it fear…?
It’s nothing. You have to remember you aren’t the only one dealing with a less than ideal situation.
“Wait a minute, Collin?” I am surprised and laugh. I almost forgot the guy’s name. She nods slightly. I throw my head back and laugh again, but I can’t help feeling slightly satisfied that it wasn’t Cal. I sort of know how he operates at least, but this Collin I don’t know anything about. The satisfaction I felt starts to sink as I realize he could be worse… or better. I steady myself for more answers.
“So, what’s his deal?” I try to keep my voice calm. “He wants to take over my life too? Does he want to kill anyone?” I ask her jokingly, but my tone is serious.
She shifts in her seat again. She’s quiet a moment, contemplative as if trying to choose her words and that’s something I really haven’t seen her do before. Lauren usually says what’s on her mind.
“Collin’s different from both you and Cal.” Her eyes are still glued to her hands, and it takes a few moments before they reach mine again. I asked her this question before, but back then she said she didn’t really know him. Almost two months gives her plenty of time, and I feel my heart flinch in my chest.
I wonder if she slept with this guy and if she likes him more than Cal and me.
That’s not important right now, Christopher.
Christopher. I don’t call myself Christopher. I try to calm my thoughts, drown them out… is this guy talking to me?
“Chris, are you okay?” Lauren looks extremely concerned.
I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah I’m okay.” I try to wipe the frown from my face. I’m okay, just maybe hearing someone else’s voice in my head! She looks at me skeptically, and I smile weakly at her.
“I’m fine, go ahead. Tell me more.” I plead with her. “How…is he different from me?” I ask again because Lauren’s opinion of this guy means a lot to me. She actually gets to know all of us firsthand. I only get to hear things secondhand, or with Cal I see some of what happened with him, when he feels like sharing I guess.
“He’s smart,” she starts quietly. Her eyes widen. “Not that you and Cal aren’t.”
I bite the inside of my jaw, trying to remain unbiased. “Go ahead, no disclaimers needed.” She looks at me trying to see if I’m telling the truth. “Seriously, talk to me like I’m not me… or them… like I’m Hillary or actually Angela.” She grins, but I can tell she feels a little more comfortable and less hesitant to talk.
“He’s very refined. You could probably see that if you checked out his closet.” She chuckles lightly. I force a smile.
“He’s very into the work he does at Crestfield Corp. He likes to read, he’s not as unpredictable as Cal is but… I never really know what he wants…”
“What do you mean?” I lean forward. She gives me a half-shrug, then sits up straighter in her chair.
“With you and Cal… I know that you both are against… integrating. I know if you could choose, ideally it would be just you.” I can’t disagree with her on that. If there was a magic potion or pill, I’d take it in a second to get rid of them and whoever else wants to be in control of my life.
“But with Collin, I’m not sure. He says that he wants you all to integrate, and he doesn’t seem scared or opposed to it at all.”
I look at her in disbelief. “You’re saying he’s neutral?”
She looks at me blankly. “I think so…”
I fight the urge to laugh. He’s neutral, yeah right. If he were neutral, he would have told me a long time ago that he exists.
“So you’re saying he has no interest in being the last one standing?” This time I can’t help but laugh.
“I don’t know. I only know what he says. As far as I can tell if he wanted to be… he’s in the best position for that to happen,” she says quietly, her eyes on the table. I feel my face scrunch up.
“What?” I ask her, not able to cover my frustration.
“He knows more about what’s going on than you and Cal. I told you what he’s told me, but after him being here I think he may have more control than you… and Cal...” she says hesitantly. I lean forward to make sure I ’m hearing her correctly.
“He told me when you were coming back,” she adds quietly, and my mouth falls open. That’s how she knew it was me, why she had my favorite sandwich ready, and didn’t look shocked. I stand from the table and pace the kitchen trying to get rid of some of the nervous energy building inside of me. I grip my head.
“But I’m not a doctor, and I don’t know if he’s telling the truth. Maybe he only guessed this time, or maybe he knows every time. You need to talk to Helen. He scheduled appointments for you every day for the next week.”
“Oh, so at least I’ll be here for a week,” I say sarcastically. I watch her head drop to her chest and realize I’m upset with the wrong person. I’m taking out my frustration on her, and I don’t want to do that. I asked her to tell me about this guy and she did, and now I’m punishing her for it.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. I don’t mean to take this out on you.” I sit back down at the table. She smiles at me, but it’s halfhearted. We’re quiet for a few moments.
“How are you doing?” I don’t think I’ve asked her that in a long time. I know what I’m going through, but I can’t even put myself in her place. She smiles, but it’s tight.
“I’m here,” she says simply.. Guilt courses through me. I’ve got to get it together for her and for Caylen.
“Where’s Caylen?” I ask, and her face brightens up.
“I asked Angie to take her today, and she’s bringing her back tomorrow morning. When Collin told me you were coming back, I thought we’d need today to get adjusted to everything.”
I’m irritated that he’s the one who gets to offer Lauren a solution, even if it is temporary.
“Did he say why I was coming?” I hate how ridiculous I sound.
“He said you needed to talk to Helen to get stable for integration.”
I fold my hands tightly together on the table. “Do they know about him. Dexter─”
“Yes.” She interrupts me. Figures…
“So he’s the smartest, knows the most. What else should I know? Two months is a long time,” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but I fail.
Over the next half hour, Lauren fills me in on his daily work schedule, how he’s met my mother and how she doesn’t hate him—which in my mind means that she likes him if Lauren’s trying to edit her words to protect my feelings. She says he gets along well with Caylen, which should make me happy but it doesn’t but I keep a straight face not
letting her know that this conversation is making me feel worse instead of better. Regardless of how it makes me feel I need to know these things. Knowledge is power and I’m at the low end of the totem pole, and that’s got to change. It turns my stomach to think of sitting with Helen—her being in charge of my treatment, knowing all of our secrets—but I’m starting to realize shutting her out, and making her my adversary wasn’t a good idea. I realize seeing her alone isn’t the smartest thing. I have to see another doctor. I need Lauren’s support, and I can’t shut her out this time. I need all the support I can get. If this guy has all of the memories, I need to have all of the people. I have my parents… my stomach drops thinking of that situation. The good thing is my mom is coming. Even if he set it up, I’m her son—I’m who she raised. I think of my dad and our last conversation.
“Has he spoken to my dad?” I can see I’ve surprised her by referencing him as my dad.
“No, he hasn’t. When we were there, he stayed away from him,” she says quietly. I fold my hands together tightly. I’ve got to talk to him, even if it makes my blood boil to think of it. I can’t believe what he did to my mom, to our family, to Lisa—well, he didn’t do anything to Lisa, if anything they did things to each other—but I know without a doubt if he’d be on anyone’s side it’s mine, and I’m going to need his help.
“There’s another thing,” she says as she clears her throat. Great.
“Go ahead,” I tell her trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’m opening a gallery.”
The fist around my heart loosens. “Really?” I am in shock.
“Yeah, we have the space. I’ve ordered the furniture and I have already set up artists to feature.” She seems happy, but her voice is on the edge of nervous, and I’m not sure why.
“Lauren, that’s great. Wow. That happened fast.”
“I-I didn’t do it alone though,” she says shakily, rubbing her arms. I feel my brow arch.
“Collin, uhm he sort of bought the property and did some of the groundwork,” she mutters.
