The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  I take my hands from hers. “What? What are you talking about?” My attention goes to her husband. “A different personality?” I look at him, waiting for some form of confirmation.

  “I know this may be hard for you to believe, but it’s the truth,” her husband says sternly.

  I shake my head and get up from my seat on the couch.

  “We’re telling you the truth…” his wife says more compassionately. “Chris has what is called dissociative identity disorder.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that Cal has… that he has multiple personalities?” I ask in disbelief. Are they kidding?

  “Chris does. Cal is the personality that Chris forged. It isn’t the other way around. Cal isn’t real,” Mr. Scott explains.

  Yeah, I’m really going to believe this. No. No fucking way.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to believe this.” I laugh angrily. I look at Mrs. Scott, whose expression scares me because it holds such a look of sincerity.

  “I know this may be hard for you to understand, unbelievable maybe,” Mrs. Scott says warily, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

  “Hard to believe? Well… I don’t believe it!” I shout angrily, throwing my arms up. “You—you’re both lying for him. You’re covering for him!” That is the only possible explanation for this insanity.

  “We’re telling you the truth. Chris doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what Cal does,” Mrs. Scott tells me with a pleading expression.

  I cover my face with my hands. They’re all crazy, or they’re all in on this elaborate joke or lie that Cal has constructed. They can’t expect me to believe this. They can’t be serious. This cannot be happening! I lower my hands and study their faces; they look absolutely serious. I feel the nervous pit in my stomach starting to grow, and I shake my head frantically.

  “You’re lying. You have to be! You’re telling me Cal has some sort of split personality. That Cal is the person I know, but your son, Chris, who I met earlier, conveniently has no idea who I am, and he’s the real person,” I say in a cynical tone. I laugh at the outrageousness. “So I married a personality, not a person—a persona.” I continue to laugh through my tear-blurred eyes.

  “Please, calm down,” Mrs. Scott pleads with me, coming close to me, but I step away from her.

  This can’t be true. No—it just—NO!

  “I want some sort of proof if he has some sort of personality disorder! Doctor’s records or statements or something!” I say, my tears replaced by anger.

  “We don’t have that right now, but we can get them for you. We’ll let you review everything we have,” Mrs. Scott says patiently.

  “No, I don’t want to see anything. Dexter could make this stuff up. I-I don’t believe you!” I snap with cruel sarcasm.

  “You don’t have a choice!” her husband tells me angrily.

  “Why should I believe what you’re saying?” I say, trying to calm myself, which isn’t an easy task right now.

  “We have no reason to lie to you! Our son is back home! Chris is back, Cal is gone, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way!” he tells me coldly.

  “William!” Mrs. Scott says, almost appalled. She looks at me nervously, and I can feel my mouth agape.

  “I told you she wouldn’t believe us,” Mr. Scott mumbles to his wife.

  “I want to talk to Cal right now,” I tell him viciously.

  “Please, just let us explain,” Mrs. Scott begs, trying to calm the high tension in the room between Mr. Scott and me. “I know this must be overwhelming for you, but if you just give me a chance to explain…”

  After a moment of staring down her husband, I take a seat. In an effort to keep my hands from shaking, I clasp them together tightly.

  “Before this started, our son was mild-mannered and polite, very hardworking and caring.” Her warm smile hardens as she continues. “But around his seventeenth birthday, he began to act differently. It started with little things; he began to act out of character. He didn’t want to do chores around the house, which was strange because Chris had always offered his help to us. He knew we didn’t have the means to run this farm alone. Then suddenly, we found ourselves having to ask him for help, even demand it. Soon after that, his teachers notified us that he was missing homework assignments and skipping classes… everything that wasn’t our son. You have to understand that this wasn’t like him at all.”

  It sounds very familiar to me: disappearing at random, never showing up when expected, having to beg him for answers…

  Mrs. Scott goes on with a sorrowful expression. “Chris is extremely bright, and school has always been very important to him. But during this change, his behavior at school became so bad and erratic that we had to have a conference with the principal to keep him from being expelled.

  “They told us that Chris’s behavior was atrocious. He had disobeyed teachers, walked out of class when he felt like it, picked fights with other students. Normally, our son didn’t even like to argue; he had taken boxing lessons when he was younger but never initiated confrontation, so we couldn’t believe what we were hearing.” She sighs, takes a cleansing breath, and continues. “They described him as being a completely different person from the boy they had taught years earlier. We knew he was acting differently at home, but we never guessed it had gone to this extent…” She drifts off and Mr. Scott comforts her.

  “We thought at first it was just a phase,” Mrs. Scott continues, “and he was being a normal, rebellious teenager. At home, his behavior wasn’t nearly as bad as what his teachers described.” A pained expression takes hold of her face. “When we confronted him about it, he broke down; he told us he didn’t know what was going on, and that something was happening to him. He told us he’d get urges to do or say things, and that he had no control over his own actions. He then admitted that he was having blackouts. That he’d wake up in the morning and, in the blink of an eye, hours would pass and he’d have no idea where he’d been or what he’d done. If you can imagine someone telling you that, it’s the scariest thing you could ever experience, especially when it’s coming from someone you love. If you could have seen the fear in his eyes when he told us about this… he was terrified, and so were we.

  “We told him we’d have him see a therapist. That we’d find out what was going on with him. That next day, he was gone. We looked everywhere for him, all around town, neighboring counties, but we couldn’t find him. Five days later, he came home. He was driving a car that cost more than our farm’s annual income, and he didn’t remember getting into it. And there was over twenty thousand dollars in the trunk,” Mrs. Scott recalls, shaking her head at the thought of it.

  “We had no idea what we were dealing with up until that point,” Mr. Scott finally joins in. “Chris had never given us any problems at all, let alone problems as serious as what we were dealing with then. Our son was so afraid of what he was doing when he suffered these losses of time, and so were we. He had us lock him in his room. We turned to the only person that we knew could help us—my stepfather, Dexter Crestfield Sr..” Mr. Scott clenches his fists at the name.

  “He provided Chris with the best psychiatric help money could buy. We hoped it would make Chris better. After three sessions, the doctor called us in to speak with her. She told us Chris was exhibiting a form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, a kind that she’d never seen before. Most cases are caused by a traumatic event that the person can’t handle, thus creating an alter who can. But in Chris’s case, there was no specific traumatic event that happened. It was as if his personality was always divided, like this alter was growing with him,” Mr. Scott says, a look of frustration on his face. “The doctor told us she’d met Chris’s alter during the first session, which was uncommon. She explained that it usually took many sessions to get the alter to come forward, but this one confronted her immediately.”

  He waits for a response from me. I sit quietly, absorbing what I’m hearing and waiting
for him to continue.

  Mrs. Scott picks up where her husband left off. “You have to understand that we’ve never faced problems like these. We had a hard time believing what we were hearing, and I know you do too. Even if she was the best in her field, we still had doubts. But seeing is believing. His doctor told us to sit in on a session with her and we’d meet him. We were skeptical the entire time, but she hypnotized Chris, or what she called bringing him to a state of unconsciousness, and she asked for his alter to come out. That was the day we met Cal.”

  “I was never a firm believer in the mental problem mumbo-jumbo until I came face to face with it,” Mr. Scott says, looking down at his hands. “This person looked like our son, sounded like our son, but he was nothing like our son. He was… mean, cocky… nothing like our son. He also had a temper, and he had no interest in the life that we had built for him as Chris, or the life that Chris had built for himself. He made it clear that he was in no way our son and that he had no intentions of having anything to do with us. He had big plans for his life, bigger plans than farm life.”

  I look into Mr. Scott’s eyes, and I can almost see hatred there. I start to feel my stomach knot. This life, these people don’t fit Cal at all. But this can’t be true. This can’t happen. Out of all of the people for this to happen to, why me? Why the person I fell in love with? I close my eyes; even as crazy as this all seems, it sort of makes sense.

  “We were afraid he would hurt someone or do something that would land Chris in jail. We couldn’t control him, so we decided to send him to live with my stepfather’s son, Dexter Jr.,” Mr. Scott says. “You’ve met the Crestfields, so you know what that meant.”

  I can’t help but clench my hands tightly at the name. The thought of how long Dexter kept me in the dark sends flames of anger through my veins.

  Mr. Scott notices my discomfort and continues, “It’s not an association I claim proudly. A name I chose not to take, even with its privileges, but it was a good fit for Cal. And we knew with them, he’d have everything he wanted and wouldn’t have to harm people or steal, endangering our son’s life. Of course, Dexter Jr. was one of the people that Cal actually liked. He didn’t care for us much. When Chris would regain control, he’d come home, and when Cal took over, he’d just leave. Two years ago, my wife received some news that was life changing for our entire family.”

  His wife takes his hand, squeezing it. “I was diagnosed with stage three cancer. We asked Dexter Jr. to tell Cal. Shortly after that, Chris regained control and came home, and he didn’t leave again.”

  I try to wrap my mind around everything I’ve just heard. I think back to two years ago, and suddenly, I see in my mind’s eye the last night I spent with Cal, when he left me after getting a phone call from Dexter. It dawns on me that it could have been at that moment. My thoughts are jumbled, but my heart still goes out Cal, knowing what he had to be going through at that moment. He hadn’t had anyone to comfort him or help him through what he was dealing with.

  “I’m really sorry that happened to you.” I try to remain sensitive, but my mind is still reeling. “This, this can’t be true.” I whimper, head in my hands as I sit, taking in all of the information I’ve just heard.

  I try to convince myself they’re lying, but what these two people are telling me coincides perfectly with everything that’s happened. I feel a hand touch my shoulder, but I pull away, willing myself not to believe what I’m hearing. I don’t want to accept this.

  “If this is true, if I happen to believe all this, why didn’t anyone tell me?” I ask out of frustration at the situation. “You had to have known about me! Dexter knew about me. I sat in his house. I ate dinner with him… he became my friend! And no one told me!” I look them both in the eye.

  “We didn’t know at first. Cal saw a lot of women,” Mr. Scott says dismissively, his words harsh. “We didn’t know Cal was serious about you…” He looks at his feet.

  His wife stands, wringing her hands together nervously, the tension still high between her husband and me. “The day Dexter called and told us he was engaged was the first time we were told about you. He said you were a good person… that you were good for Cal. He told us that when you were with Cal, he was as close to Chris as he could get. His doctor said that you could probably help him get better, bringing him in touch with a side of himself that he hadn’t recognized, with kindness, warmth, and love.”

  “What about me? You keep saying what everyone thought was best for Cal, for Chris. What about me? Did anyone stop to think what this would do to me? Did anyone for a second stop to look at me as a person and not some form of treatment!” I shout angrily.

  “Yes! That made me want to tell you more about him, the real him. I-I came to see you. You didn’t know who I was, of course. I asked for you to come down, but Cal did instead, and he stopped me. I asked him not to marry you. I said that he’d hurt you, and he became furious with me. He told me he loved you more than anything and that he’d never hurt you, and that if we told you anything, we’d never see Chris again.” She looks down guiltily.

  The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I recognize her now as the redheaded woman who came to see me the night of our engagement party. I feel as though I’m going to throw up.

  “I begged him to tell you the truth. Told him he couldn’t live a lie with you forever,” she continues, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He kept talking about something he was taking that would fix his problem, that would get rid of Chris completely.” She says the last part with a sigh. “When I heard that, I was afraid of what he was doing. I hoped he was lying, and my main concern was to make sure he wasn’t doing something to hurt himself.” She wipes away her tears. “We wanted to tell you. We knew you deserved the truth, but we couldn’t risk losing our son.”

  Tears pour from her eyes like a fountain, and I shake the compassion my heart is trying to feel. This isn’t about them right now. They honestly seem like good people. I think back to all the times Cal left, how he never told me anything about his family. I remember Dexter’s words, how he told me that if I looked for Cal, I wouldn’t find him. I touch my throbbing temples and cry. If this is all true, the person who’s my husband, who’s the father of my child, isn’t real. But no, I can’t accept that. Cal is real; at least, he is when he’s around.

  I lift my head to see Mrs. Scott looking at me with sympathy etched on her face. I don’t know what to say. What do I say to this? My mind suddenly drifts to this afternoon’s event. I take a deep breath, clearing my throat as best I can, and take the Kleenex Mrs. Scott hands to me.

  “So today, earlier, he’s… his name is Chris?” I stutter out.

  Mrs. Scott nods.

  “So I’m… nothing at all to him?” I ask, wringing the edge of my T-shirt.

  “It’s because he doesn’t know what Cal does when he takes over,” Mr. Scott says in a low, stressed tone.

  I stop to think for a second, processing his words. “Wait a minute! You never told him anything?”

  Mrs. Scott looks down in shame.

  “We thought it would be best for him not to know. He’s already carrying so much that we decided it would be for the best,” Mr. Scott explains.

  My mouth drops open. “You never…? He doesn’t know about Cal? About me? About… you let him get engaged to another woman, knowing he was married?” I say sharply, standing.

  “Technically, he’s not married to you. You’re Cal’s wife, not Chris’s,” he says coldly.

  His wife immediately whips her head around to look at him.

  “I’m Cal’s wife?” I shout. “You never bothered to tell me that Cal isn’t real, so right now, I’m married to your son!”

  “That monster you fell in love with is not my son!” he shouts back.

  “Cal is not a monster! He is not this evil person you’re making him out to be. He may not be perfect, but he’s a good person!” I tell him angrily.

  “Cal is the worst thing that ever happened to our family!�
�� he growls at me.

  “How dare you! You have no right, especially after this, to throw around ethical judgments about anyone. You don’t know anything about Cal, and if that’s how you feel, you don’t deserve to!” I say defensively.

  “You don’t know anything about him!” he shouts.

  The words sting me because I don’t know what the hell is going on, and if this is true, Cal has ripped our life apart, but I won’t let them stand here and berate Cal with such hatred. I don’t know what to believe at this point, but I won’t let anyone talk about Cal that way. He’s still my daughter’s father, and if his dad treated him like this, I know exactly why he left.

  “William, stop!” his wife orders, and he immediately acquiesces.

  “Does he even know what he has? That he has this disorder?” My voice shakes.

  “He knows he’s suffered episodes of time loss, but to this extent, no. It’s a part of his treatment to slowly tell him about Cal. If we spring it all on him, he could break down and make things worse. He doesn’t need this right now. He’s finally getting better,” Mr. Scott says, his tone calming down.

  “Better? You’re saying he’s getting better? How can he be better when he doesn’t know that he has a wife and a child? What do you want me to do? Disappear? Let him have this happy little life with you and his fiancée?” I shout.

  “A child?” Mrs. Scott mumbles. Her eyes are wide as she repeats the words.

  “You’ve had almost two years, and you haven’t told him anything. You weren’t even going to tell me anything…”

  “We’re going to tell Chris. We just need more time. We need his doctor. But you have to understand that you’re a part of Cal’s life, that Chris has his own. Cal isn’t here, and our ultimate goal is to get rid of Cal completely!” he says pointedly, and my heart skips a beat.

  “William…” Mrs. Scott grabs her husband’s arm, her eyes still wide as she tries to get her husband’s attention.