by Portia Moore
“I know you had a thousand little bastards running around but see me, I’m special. You remember my mother, Isabella?” I ask him sarcastically. The expression on his face now is priceless. He looks at me more closely and I can see the horror in his face as he recognizes he’s met his undertaker.
“Yeah. I think you do,” I nod.
“I bet you never expected to see me again did you?” I ask him.
“Then I was a helpless little boy, left crying in the pool of blood after you shot his fucking mother right in front of his face,” I growl at him. He shakes his head again and I can hear him straining to talk.
“Oh, oh it didn’t happen like that? You’re not the right guy?” I ask laughing and I hit him right on the mouth with the back of my 9 mm.
“Fucking liar. I relive what happened every night. Every single night. I will never forget your face,” I growl at him, disgusted as I see him crying. I stick the gun right between his eyes.
“Don’t you fucking let one more tear drop or I will start by blowing off your fucking dick,”
“Cal!” I turn around and look back to see Lauren and fucking Will Scott coming down the stairs. Stupid Chris and Dex, I forgot he was having me followed, traitor.
I point the gun at William. Lauren gasps.
“Cal what are you doing?”
“You know, as much as I can’t stand Chris, I really do owe the guy. Maybe I should just do him a favor and kill your ass too,” I joke, but neither of them are laughing.
“Cal, put the gun down,” she pleads, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Why the hell are you crying, Lauren. This is going to fix everything!”
“He’s not going to shoot me, Lauren,” William says, way too calmly.
“Oh I won’t?” I laugh, aiming at his knee.
“No!” Lauren screams. Ugh. She’s ruining everything.
“Both of you get the fuck out!”
“You’re not going to shoot me or that guy in the chair because if you do your wife, the woman that you love, will never look at you the same.”
Oh cue the violins.
“If anyone knows that it’s me, son. Gwen will never ever look at me how she did before this happened,” he pleads. I glance over at Lauren who's crying and is looking at me like I’m the worst person in the world. I go over to Clay and smack him with the gun again.
“This is all your fault!”
“Cal! What do you remember from that night?” William yells.
“I don’t have to explain anything to you!” I shout at him.
“Don’t explain it to me. Explain it to Lauren,” he says. “Get her to understand why you have to do this.” I wonder what type of two bit reverse psychology he thinks he’s using. I really should shoot him in the fucking knee.
“Think Cal. What do you really remember,” she says, crying. I let out a groan.
“He shot my mother, Lauren. Right in front of me, he left me there until someone found me,” I tell her.
“Who found you?” she asks. I start to answer her, but I can’t. I don’t remember.
“Does it matter who found me?” I ask, frustrated with all of this.
“How clear do you remember that day? Cal, you were five,” she pleads.
“When your mother gets shot in the fucking face in front of you, that’s not something you forget!” I shout back.
“Is that really what happened?” she asks quietly. Her voice has a way of taking my anger down and I hate it.
“I talked to Helen while we were on our way here,” she says, slowly approaching me.
“Lauren, stay over there,” I tell her but she continues approaching me.
“That is not how Chris or any of the other alters remember it,” she says.
“Why don’t you like to drink?” she says.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I tell her.
“You, the one who lives on the edge, and indulges in all of life’s pleasures doesn’t like to drink?” she says, and I feel myself growing impatient.
“Your mother used to drink. A lot,” she continues.
“What are you talking about Lauren?”
I look back at the son of a bitch Clay.
“What the hell is she talking about?” I snatch the tape off of his mouth and he gasps for air.
“Talk and talk fast,” I growl at him, the gun still at his face.
“She didn’t used to drink. Before you were born your mom was a CNA. She got a job through the welfare programs at this big hospital in the city. She was the happiest I had ever seen her. Our family was actually doing okay…”
“You’re on a time clock,” I say impatiently.
“A-after a few months there she started having a lot of extra money. She started having these fancy clothes and jewelry. I’m not the smartest man in the world but I knew that wasn’t coming out of her check. I knew something was going on but I never said anything. She was happy, we were happy. Then she got pregnant. She lost her job but she kept saying everything was going to be okay. That we would be taken care of. After you were born whatever she was waiting on never came through. She got real depressed, started drinking a whole lot, she was only sober half the time,”
“You’re lying,” I growl at him, releasing the safety on the gun
“Listen to him Cal!” Lauren screams at me, and poor Clayton starts to cry.
“Do you want to know how we adopted you?” William shouts.
“We had wanted a baby for so long. Everyone knew it, even my estranged stepfather! Dexter Crestfield Sr. brought you to our door. He told us that you were his illegitimate son whose mother killed herself.”
“You’re lying!” I shout.
“I’m not. Call Gwen. She’ll confirm it,” he says, ushering out his phone. I look over at Lauren.
“That’s why Collin asked for a third of his company. He remembers what you don’t. He knows you’re Dexter’s son,” Lauren pleads.
No. No, fuck, no!
“Okay let's say you’re right. I’m Dexter Crestfield’s fucking son. This asshole found out she was sleeping with him and he shot her for it,” I yell at them.
“No. That’s not what happened,” Clayton says crying like a little girl.
“No Cal," Lauren pleads. Think. Please try to think. I feel dizzy, my thoughts crash together and my vision blurs.
Instantly I’m back at the house, this time she’s alive. She’s drunk. My mom... I’m on the floor watching television. She’s yelling at someone on the phone.
‘You lied to me. You ruined my life. You promised you’d take care of us. I see your little ugly fucking kid whenever they show you on the news. How could you not love ours…you don’t love him, if you did you’d get me out of this hell hole….I don’t give a shit about a trust fund for him, we have to live now. I won’t keep living like this!
I rub my temples, I feel my heart pounding.
She’s drinking more and more. Soon goes in her room. Me and two other kids are in front of the TV. I get up and open the door to her room. She’s sitting on the bed bawling.
I ask her what’s wrong.
“Nothing. I have a toy, you want to play with it?” she asks me. Her voice is so sweet and nice. It hardly ever is. I nod my head and she goes in a drawer and pulls out a gun. She kneels down on the floor in front of me. It’s heavy but she helps me hold it.
“Were going to play a game. When I count to three, you’re going to pull this, okay,” she says showing me the trigger. She then aims it at her chest.
“One, two…”
I drop the gun out of my hand.
“I killed her? I killed my mom,” my chest feels tight. I can’t breathe.
“Babe it’s okay,” Lauren says, running over to me and hugging me. I cry so hard I’m shaking.
“It’s okay babe. You were only a baby,” Lauren says rocking me like I’m a baby now. I killed my mother. I almost killed an innocent man because I was wrong. I killed her. I’m a murderer.
&n
bsp; “I found you, in the bedroom. She called me right before it happened and told me everything. How she had an affair with Dexter Crestfield, that he promised to marry her and take care of her the rest of her life and he didn’t and that you were his son. She said she couldn’t live in squalor anymore. That you and your brothers and sisters were better off with her dead. I tried to get home as fast as I could. When I did it was too late. I figured out what had happened.” Clayton's voice explains but it doesn’t matter.
Everything I believed, that I held on to was a lie…
Except her. She’s my truth….
Authors note! Have you ever read those choose your adventure books?
No? Okay just me, hehe.
So you can continue to the final installment of the If I Break Saga, which I know you probably really want to BUT guess what?
Want to know how Will and Gwen met, and how everything went down with Will and Lisa AND what happened after everything? I suggest reading thes below BEFORE diving in. Or come back later or not at all the choice is yours.
#1 What Happens After
Part V
if i break #4
shattered pieces
Dedication
To my readers. You changed my life.
Copyright © 2017 by Porsche Moore
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Chapter 19
Everything I believed, everything I held on to was a lie…
Except her. She’s my only truth—Cal
One Day Later…
Lauren
“Why the hell are you crying, Lauren? This is going to fix everything!” His voice feels like razors cutting through me, fury erupting from him. He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him but what scares me is how casual he’s treating this, as if holding a gun to a man’s head is normal. His hands aren’t trembling, his voice isn’t shaking, and he’s not acting scared but excited. He’s going to kill him.
When I wake, my heart is in my throat demanding to be let out. My entire body trembles, replaying what happened a few hours ago, as I lie wrapped up in Cal’s body. I’m so scared of losing him, of losing Chris and I just don’t know if they can handle what’s happening. How does anyone handle knowing that they killed their mother, holding that secret inside that has been engrained in their mind? How does anyone let go of the hatred that has been motivating them year after year? Mr. Rice has agreed not to press charges. Apparently it was in some agreement he signed with Dexter Sr. all those years ago, but the least of my worries was Cal going to jail. My worry is of him getting lost. He hasn’t said a word since we pulled him out of that house.
After Lisa dropped the bomb on us and Chris shut down, I thought that was the worst of it, because what could top that? But hearing from Mr. Scott about how they came about adopting Chris, learning that Dexter Sr. is really Cal’s biological father, and how his mother tricked her own son into killing her because of some twisted Medea complex broke me. I’m terrified of what all of this is doing to the man I love. I know the body lying next to mine well, but I don’t know who will wake up next to me. It’s not Cal, it’s not Chris, and I can’t even say it is Collin. Collin is an entirely different story, another persona that I met briefly. He seemed to come out of nowhere, but I’d even take him making an appearance right about now if only he would just wake up. At this moment, my husband’s on autopilot, I don’t know who’s in there, and I’m even more terrified that it will be someone I don’t know.
I haven’t said anything to him yet because I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how he will come back from this, and more importantly, I don’t know who to talk to for help. Now knowing the truth that Dexter Jr. is actually Cal’s brother not his uncle-in-law. Did he know this all along? Mr. Scott knew this whole time because apparently he is the master when it comes to keeping secrets. Though I can’t blame him totally since Mr. Crestfield had him sign a non-disclosure agreement, and he said not even Gwen knew the relationship between her own son and Dexter Sr. Though he claimed to be different from Dexter Sr., it seems they have a lot of the same traits.
Still, I shudder to think what my husband would have been like if his biological father had raised him. I nestle my head in the space between his head and shoulder. I bite my lip from saying anything out loud to him each time he tosses his body and instead hold him closer to me. I close my eyes and thank God for letting him be here with me and for allowing me to comfort him during his time of need.
Suddenly I feel a jolt so hard that it makes my eyes shoot open, and I have to suppress my scream. It’s so quick and forceful that I’m almost thrown from the mattress, but I don’t let a sound escape my mouth. I squint my eyes open and see him sitting up but only for a few seconds before he falls back down on the mattress, his eyes closed the entire time, as if he’s not even awake but dreaming.
I cover my mouth to stop the whimper that’s trying to escape. I move to the edge of the bed to plant my feet on the floor, and I put my head between my legs to slow down my racing heart and catch my breath.
We’re going to come back from this. We’re going to come back from this.
I keep reciting this to myself, but still can’t stop the whimpers and sobs fighting to escape. I jump quickly from the bed and run out of our room before he can hear me. He seems to be in a semiconscious sleep, and I don’t want him to see that I’m scared, that I’m terrified about this place we’re in now. I sit outside the door and lean back with my knees to my chest not willing to be too far if he calls for me. I cry hard and ugly for the first time since Cal left me those years ago.
He’s here now, he’s not gone.
“Lauren? Are you ok?” I look up after wiping the tears that are blurring my vision and see Mr. Scott. He looks awful—an emotional mess from the fallout of the bomb dropped—but I don’t say anything and try to appear to not be an emotional mess.
“I’m fine, I just…” I don’t even know what to say. The reason he’s here in this house is the same reason my husband is broken. If Cal or Chris were present, he wouldn’t have been allowed to cross the threshold. I fought with my conscious the entire time to accept his help. Knowing how much his son despises him and wouldn’t want him anywhere near him, I felt guilty but had to call for help not knowing what would have happened if I didn’t. A tiny part of myself was glad to have someone else here so that I wasn’t alone. I won’t say that I can trust him, but I know he loves my husband as much as I do.
“I can keep watch if you want to go to sleep,” his voice is calm and void of the bitterness and resentment his tone used to hold toward me.
“Keep watch for what? You don’t think he’d do anything to himself, do you?” I ask almost offended. Cal or Chris would never ever think about…
“No, but just in case he needs anything.”
“No, I want to be here if he calls me,” I tell him adamantly. He only nods before turning to go back down the stairs, but then he stops, turning his body halfway toward me.
“Thank you for calling me,” he says solemnly. I only nod, and there’s an awkward stretch of silence that lies between us. He stands there, not moving but looking blankly at the wall. I don’t know what to say to him, nothing that will make this better. I want to get up and yell, and scream, and hit him in the chest. I want to ask him if all of the secrets and lies were worth it, but I know that won’t make things better for anyone, and I know that anything I’d say to him is probably running through his mind already.
“Good night Mr.
Scott.” I make myself comfortable where I’ll be sleeping for the rest of the night. He nods slightly before mumbling the same and making his way downstairs.
When I wake I’m no longer on the floor but in my bed, and my heart leaps. How did I get in here, did he put me in here… who he is, isn’t even clear to myself. Cal, Chris, Collin, Mr. Scott, a mystery man who has yet to make an appearance? I cautiously get out of bed looking for clues to my husband's state of mind. I should have known he’d be up before me as he always has been no matter which identity he took on. I check the bathroom that is empty, and the balcony is too. My heart beats rapidly as I make my way out of the bedroom. I’m afraid to leave the sanctuary of this room. If Cal is in the house with Mr. Scott still here, I don’t know what type of scene I’m going to walk into. I take the cowardly way out and check the rooms on the second floor, which are all, empty and then gather up my courage to make my way downstairs. It’s eerily quiet, and my heart stops when I see his tall, lean body leaning up against the island in the middle of our kitchen. He’s turned the opposite way so I can’t see his face.
But if he were facing my way, would I know who it was? Could I tell them apart? My brain feels like that old commercial with the fried egg in the pan. Am I awake or is this a dream? Maybe this is a nightmare, and Mr. Scott is tied up in the closet? I wish I could say the plausibility of that happening is ridiculous but after everything that’s happened, it isn’t. I let out a small breath and swallow my nerves.
“Hey.” It’s simple and sounds pathetic to my own ears but it’s all I can muster with my heart galloping as it is. He doesn’t turn around but motions his head as if to say come beside him. Before I move, I scrutinize the man in front of me—his posture, his breathing, the way he is dressed—anything for a clue as to who he is. The fact that he’s not paralyzed to the bed is a good thing, I hope. I remind my legs that their purpose is to carry my weight because for a moment it’s as if they’ve forgotten. After what seems like a mile, I stand beside him resting my own weight on the island. For a moment I’m scared to look at him, afraid to see who is or isn’t standing next to me. Whoever it is still causes my heart to speed up, still makes me light-headed, and when he moves behind me and I feel his skin against mine, it still makes me breathless. His fingers run up my thighs and I know this is Cal. Cal is here with me. No one’s touch makes me feel like this.
