The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  “How do you feel now?” she asks, going back around her desk and sitting down. I manage a smirk.

  “I feel numb now, which is better than how I felt before I got here,” I admit.

  “How are things with the Scotts?” she asks, her tone empathetic.

  “Mr. Scott hates me,” I chuckle.

  “He hates you?”

  “Yes. He hates me. He hates Cal and he thinks I trigger Cal so he in turn hates me.”

  “He has never been fond of Cal but to project his hate on you…”

  “Is he right? Do I bring Cal out?” I ask her.

  “It’s not a bad thing Lauren.” I look at her in disbelief.

  “Have you grown to resent him, Lauren?” she asks and my mouth falls agape.

  “Of course not,” I say, feeling my defenses rise.

  “I don’t mean to insult you and I could see it being a perfectly normal reaction after everything.”

  “I don’t resent Cal. I resent some of the things that he does and how he goes about things but I could never resent him. I love him.”

  “Good,” Helen says with a warm smile.

  “You’re the only person that seems to think so,” I say, resting my head in my hands.

  “Do you feel guilty for loving Cal since you’ve met Chris?” I look up at her and my eyes drift to the wall full of certificates and degrees and it hits me that Helen is the real deal. I never knew her this way. I knew she was smart and she used to be a doctor, though I never really thought to ask her what kind, I just had her pegged as this beautiful, trophy wife.

  “I do.” I admit, and it feels good to be able to say it out loud.

  “Since I’ve met him and his parents and knowing all they’ve been through, I feel guilty for wanting Cal back. Especially knowing that when he’s back they lose their son.” She nods as if she understands and leans forward on her desk.

  “The hardest thing about treating patients with DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder, is getting them to understand that each and every ‘alter’ is a side of them. To not look at them differently or as an appendage they want severed.”

  “I-I still feel really new to this.” I let out a deep sigh. “This is just from what I was able to pull off google, but integration is the final goal?”

  “Yes. But it has to be their goal. As long as they still fight one another and can’t come to common ground, integration isn’t a possibility,” she explains sullenly. I run my hands across my face.

  “Getting those two to agree to integrate,” I chuckle dryly. “It’s not going to happen,” I say, letting out a deep sigh.

  “I will say Lauren, it’s a lot more likely since you’ve come into their life.” I shake my head.

  “Neither of them are all that thrilled with me at the moment,” I sigh. She looks at me questioningly. “It’s really complicated,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat up.

  “Complicated is my specialty,” she says with a reassuring smile.

  I explain to her all that’s happened between Chris and I and how Cal reappeared and was so angry and how Chris says he doesn’t remember us sleeping together. It feels so good getting it off my chest I end up telling her about the conversation between Lisa and I and how I don’t know what to do to fix things when I’m not sure what needs to be fixed.

  “Well that is a bit complicated,” she sighs. “First. There is nothing to feel guilty about. You are his wife. We must remember they are the same.

  However, you must understand that they think of themselves as separate entities so they are not going to be understanding of that fact. It’s completely normal for them to see being with the other as an act of infidelity.”

  “Infidelity. I’ve never cheated on Cal a day in my life. I was never unfaithful,” I say defensively.

  “I know that Lauren, but Cal won’t see it that way. In fact you being with Chris may be worse for him than if you were with another man.”

  My mouth drops open. She can’t be serious.

  “Bear with me please,” she says, being able to tell she’s losing me.

  “You have to understand that as far as Cal is concerned you’re his wife, and in addition to that, he feels as if you belong to him. You are the one thing in his life that didn’t belong to Chris. It’s one of the many reasons that he never wanted Chris to know about the condition. Why he never told you the truth,” she explains and I feel my stomach twist into knots.

  “Is this something that you’re inferring or that he told you?” I ask.

  “Patient privilege,” she says with a weak smile and I let out a sigh.

  “So what I am supposed to do? I don’t want to hurt either of them. I don’t want me to be the reason they hate each other more than they already do.”

  “Then don’t be that reason. Be the reason they come together.”

  “I don’t understand,” I ask, confused.

  “My advice is to not be romantically involved with either until they start the process of integration.”

  “Yeah, well, that will be easy when Cal isn’t here,” I mumble.

  “When he is Lauren. You can’t sleep with him,” she says, looking me directly in the eye. I push my hand through my hair.

  “That’s a lot easier said than done,” I admit. I’ve never had a good track record of turning him down.

  “Well you can sleep with both of them but it will only create division between them and make each of them unwilling to relinquish control to the other, so if you’re fine with living like that…”

  “I get it,” I sigh.

  “Now this isn’t going to be something that Cal will particularly like...”

  “You think?” He’s going to go bat shit.

  “But you have to stand your ground. Cal is stubborn and manipulative but he loves you. That’s your biggest weapon.”

  I nod.

  “And as far as whatever Lisa has to tell him. We will deal with the aftermath of that once it happens,” she says sullenly.

  “Chris's friend Aidan said that what she has to tell him could have been what caused Cal to exist.”

  I see her eyebrow rise.

  “I’m sure whatever she has to tell him isn’t the original triggering event,” she says skeptically.

  “It is possible it is though, right?” I ask her, and for the first time her eyes glance away from me.

  “Of course, anything is possible.” And it hits me.

  “Do you know what is? What caused this to happen?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you Lauren,” she says quietly.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “These things have to be handled delicately.”

  “Then what did you call me for? If you’re not going to help us?”

  “I am going to help you, there are just so many things involved with this.”

  “And why didn’t you tell Chris when I had Caylen?” I ask, my anger starting to rush to the surface.

  “Can you at least tell me that?” I say sternly. She folds her hands together and looks at them before meeting my gaze.

  “Because if we told Chris there was a very strong possibility that Cal would resurface and at that point it wasn’t best for anyone.”

  “What are you talking about? It wouldn’t have been best for me to have the father of my child with me during my pregnancy?”

  “There are things you don’t understand. You don’t know all the factors involved in our decision. Please just trust me.”

  “Trust you?” I ask indignantly. Everyone wants me to trust them while they know everything and I know nothing. Everyone wants me to trust them, but no one wants to trust me,” I say, leaving the office. I’m proud of myself that I don’t slam the door. I round the corner and swiftly head towards the stairs when I bump into someone else rounding the corner.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as a hand grips my arm. I look up and see an older man in maybe his early fifties with dark chestnut brown hair, one silver streak through it. He’s tall and his presence is fee
ls intimidating though he hasn’t said a word.

  “It is always my pleasure to bump into a beautiful woman,” he says, his voice smooth, like an expensive cognac, the kind of man that seems like he could buy your life in a moment without thinking twice. He lets go of my arm, a knowing smile spreads across his face and a cold chill makes its way down my back.

  “I was just leaving,” I tell him as I try to make my way past him.

  “Lauren Brooks…or Scott now isn’t it?” I turn back around and see him standing, or positioned is the better word, his hands crossing each other in front of him.

  “Have we met before?” I ask. I see Helen appear, walking towards us swiftly, a nervous smile on her face.

  “Mr. Crestfield, I didn’t know that you’d be in town. Dexter didn’t mention anything. Lauren was just leaving.”

  “Dexter Crestfield, Sr.,” he says, extending his hand to me without even acknowledging Helen. I glance back at Helen whose eyes are avoiding mine. I cautiously extend my hand to him.

  “Would you mind if we have a little chat?”

  “Lauren has somewhere to be, Mr. Crestfield,” Helen interrupts.

  “I’d only need a few minutes of your time. I think it’s about time I meet the granddaughter I’ve heard so much about,” he says coolly.

  Dexter Crestfield Sr.—who I remember is my in-law.

  Dexter Sr.’s office is twice the size of the one Helen was in. All dark colors and oak paneling, with little natural light coming in. It feels like the rest of the house, stoic and ridiculously expensive. One thing that seems out of character is that his desk is filled with pictures, some looking like they date back to the early 1900’s. Several are of Dexter Jr. and I notice one that looks like a young version of himself with Mr. Scott and…Chris.

  “I apologize that it’s taken us so long to meet. I have been out of town on business,” he says as he settles into his leather desk chair. He must have been out of town a lot, seeing as I have never met him the entire time Cal and I were together. I also don’t know why he’d feel the need to meet me.

  “I can understand why Cal took such an interest in you,” he says, his eyes giving me a once over and I feel more uncomfortable than I already am.

  “Christopher is my favorite of the two, I must admit. You always know what you’re going to get,” he says bluntly.

  “Tell me, what is it like to love someone who’s so torn?” he asks and I wonder why I am even sitting here with this man.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Crestfield but I’d like to know why you asked me here. I know that you are a man whose time is important and I’m sure I’m not here just for you to catch up,” I say, shifting in my seat. He smiles at me and rests his elbows on the desk.

  “Christopher is like William. He’s honest, a man that plays by the rules and who has values. I suppose you could say he’s plagued by his conscience,” he chuckles.

  “He’s not fond of me. He took after his father in that aspect as well,” he continues, as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Cal on the other hand. He’s unpredictable, stubborn, and calculating. As if he was born from my own loins. He fit right in,” he says, picking up a picture of Dexter and surveying it.

  “Family is so important. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my family and the ones I love. Even if it is from themselves.” The Crestfields are like no other people I have ever met. You never know what to think of them. You can hate and detest them but they have an air that demands respect.

  “I wanted to speak with you personally. Since we’ve never had a proper introduction,” he says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over one another.

  “Thank you, but this really wasn’t necessary,” I say, sweeping a stray hair from my face.

  “No, actually it is very necessary. Now that you are aware of our little situation,” he says, letting out a light breath. Little situation? He can’t mean Cal’s disorder, there’s nothing little about D.I.D.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think it is important that you understand the resources that you have available to you should you need them.”

  “Resources?”

  “Your husband, Cal, held a very important position with my company and aside from that he is family and I like to keep things internal, so to speak.” I feel my eyebrows rise. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Dr. Clemons,” he says simply and then it resonates—that was the woman that Chris saw in Chicago.

  “She won’t be seeing Christopher as a patient anymore. He’s only to see Helen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It is in the best interest of the family which you are now a part of. I trust you understand the sensitivity of our predicament, not everyone can know.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t be serious? Chris can see whatever doctor he chooses to. This isn’t about your company, this is his life,” I say, completely taken aback at this man’s audacity.

  “Helen is the best in her field and has a great team. He couldn’t be in better hands,” he says simply.

  “You can speak to Christopher yourself but I believe that his choice was made for the very reason you want him to see Helen.” He sighs and stands from his desk.

  “I apologize, I don’t think you understand. Let me clarify things a little further. Your penthouse on Michigan Avenue, is in one of my buildings. The Scott’s farm and house is on my property. The land your aunt Raven owns could easily be purchased. Your friend Hillary works at a company that is a subsidiary of—well I’m sure you can infer… Just so that you know, my best interest is in your best interest.”

  I feel my throat starting to constrict. A chill creeps up my spine. What the hell did Cal do for this man, why would he be blackmailing me?

  “I think we have an understanding?” he reiterates.

  “Can I go now?”

  “You don’t need my permission,” he laughs. I stand up and get to the door as fast as possible.

  “Oh, and Lauren.” I stop in my tracks but don’t bother to turn around.

  “It was pleasure meeting you.”

  Chapter 11

  Chris

  I’ve never been the type to play games. I never had the time to. When Cal started to take over I didn’t really have the luxury of enjoying life. I didn’t date, I was too busy seeing doctors and trying to figure out what was wrong with me. All the sessions and medications left no time for life. Everything was put on the back burner: going to college, my music, my dreams… The only thing I wanted was to just be normal, to stop losing time. Then, I didn’t know about Cal, that he was living life for me, doing God knows what. When I found out about Cal and met Lauren it was hard knowing that all of these things were happening to me, but it seemed important to know. I was afraid of knowing but each moment that came back to me I felt a little more connected, I understood him a little more, and I hate it, but what I saw last night didn’t make me feel connected or help me understand him, I feel disgusted.

  He had a man kidnapped. I don’t know what the hell he’s been doing or why. Why was he looking for this Clay guy? Did he find him, and what happened if he did? I’m more worried about what exactly he was involved in a lot more than how many women he screwed.

  That’s what drove me here, back to Chicago, waiting for Dex to come out of his building. I had to wait two hours but I soon see him emerge in one of his thousand dollar suits, his phone in his hand.

  “Dex! I call out as I jog to catch up with him. He glances back at me, he looks bored, like seeing me isn’t a surprise.

  “What brings you to Chicago?”

  “We need to talk,” I say adamantly.

  “I have a lot to do today Chris. I don’t have time for the soap opera that is the Scotts' lives,” he chuckles but when I grab him by the arm, this time he does look caught off guard.

  “Who is Clay Rice?”

  His eyes narrow in on me before he tries to snatch his arm away but I don’t let it go. He needs
to see that I’m serious.

  “This is a Brioni,” he says with derision before pulling away from me and smoothing out the print I left on his suit.

  “Is there a problem Mr. Crestfield?” Two large men have appeared behind me. Dexter sighs.

  “No problem gentleman. Christopher I have some time to kill before my next meeting if you’d like,” he says, gesturing towards his car. I get in behind him and once the door is shut he immediately grabs a bottle of scotch and begins to pour himself some.

  “How do you know about Mr. Rice,” he says, swishing the liquid in his glass.

  “I remembered Dex. And I want to know what the hell did you have me doing for you? Was I some type of henchman?”

  “Lower your voice,” he snaps.

  “Tell me!” I shout.

  “I had nothing to do with you and Clay Rice. That was all you, my friend,” he says.

  “Did he…did I hurt someone? Is that what you meant that day you came to my house?” I ask cautiously. Dexter takes a deep breath.

  “Don’t let your conscience eat you up yet. You have nothing to be guilty over as of now,” he says, staring at the glass in his hand.

  “What do you mean, ‘now?’ Who was that guy?” He pauses a moment before taking a deep breath.

  “Clay Rice was the man that was with your mother when she was killed.” The word sounds foreign to me. My mother, the mother I think of is Gwen Scott with long red hair and a smile that melts your problems away. The woman who took care of me for as long as I can remember, who's back home in Madison with my daughter. But after a moment the thought creeps in, one that rarely creeps in much with me. That though Gwen’s my mother, she’s not my biological parent, and the fact that my name wasn’t always Scott. It was Rice, a fact that should stick with me, but never has. I remember the day when I was ten years old that my parents sat down with me and showed me my birth certificate and asked if I had any questions, if I wanted to talk about my feelings.