by Portia Moore
Now they don’t.
Calvin’s problem is that he never thinks strategically only emotionally. He and Christopher do have that in common, though they handle it in vastly different ways. This is the first time mine and Calvin’s motives aren’t in alignment, and now that they aren’t, he could be a problem.
He will have to be contained.
She’s in the doorway, her eyes downcast, her arms folded across her chest. “I want to talk to someone,” her voice is quiet and conciliatory.
“Haven’t you been seeing Helen?” I ask her curiously though I already know the answer. I make it a point to make sure to know how often they speak.
“Yes, but I think it’d probably be better for me to talk to someone else, someone not so connected to everything.” She walks toward me and sits on the opposite side of the bed.
“Is everything ok?” I ask her trying to hide my concern. It’s easy for Calvin and Chris to get so wrapped up in their own issues that they don’t realize how much pressure Lauren can be under. She’s only human, and the last thing I need is for her to have a psychotic breakdown. It concerns me that she wants to talk to someone else. I know she had her issues with trusting the Crestfields but I thought we had gotten over that.
“Yeah,” she nods. “Actually no,” she follows up with quickly. I turn towards her.
“I’m sorry about how I acted earlier.” Her hazel eyes are striking as the day I first saw them. When she hones them in on you, when she doesn’t try to hide how she’s feeling, they tell her whole story.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell her, and she smiles softly. “I know I’m not your father.”
“No, you were right. Partially at least,” she adds with a grin. “I’m an adult and can do what I want, but maybe I have developed certain patterns that aren’t entirely healthy. I don’t know how to handle… all of this sometimes. It can be a little overwhelming and I want to talk to someone who isn’t so involved, who doesn’t have a bias,” she says hesitantly.
“Helen, you want to talk to someone who isn’t Helen?” I know I’ve grown on Lauren. I know that she loves me, regardless of what Calvin says. Lauren loves all of us. We’re one but she can’t help being skeptical of me, and I can’t blame her for that.
“If you want to see someone else you should,” I tell her. She looks at me and her eyes light up, but then she rubs the back of her neck. I stretch across the bed and pull her toward me.
“I never told anyone. I never had a chance before everything got so hectic,” she says with a small sigh. I swallow hard and feel my heartbeat becoming erratic. I try to steady it, and take slow deep breaths that won’t alarm her.
“Dexter Sr. threatened me.” She looks me in the eyes, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears now loud and echoing.
“It wasn’t a threat to kill me or anything but when he found out Chris was trying to see another doctor, he basically said that he’d ruin us financially. Not only us but also Raven… Hillary,” she says quietly and I have to let out a laugh. This isn’t a big deal; Dexter Sr. is full of shit, and a control freak. He is not anyone to be afraid of, and I know more than my fair share of dirt so she doesn’t have to be afraid. I feel prickles of anger rising up and a thirst to lash out is coursing through me and I know it’s Cal.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him,” I turn her face so I can see her. “He’s threatened when he isn’t in control of things. Control is his drug. Don’t worry about any of the Crestfields.”
“Not even you,” she says lightly. There is a twinkle in her eye and it causes me to grin. She really does see me as one of the… “You’re a knock off Dexter.” I swallow hard when Cal’s words echo through my mind.
“I’m only kidding.” She squeezes my hand reassuringly as she must have seen my reaction to Cal’s words.
“You can see whoever you want Lauren. He won’t interfere, and I’ll make sure of that.”
She looks relieved and rests her head on my shoulder. I inhale her scent, and let out a deep breath.
“Christopher is going to come back,” I tell her quickly and her body stiffens. She looks at me her face littered with shock.
“What do you mean?” she asks nervously.
“He’s ready now, and he has to get treatment from Helen.” I try not to reveal a hint of emotion because I shouldn’t feel any. I don’t do emotions, but I can’t say that seeing her eyes light up at his name doesn’t make my stomach turn. It’s a new feeling. Being indifferent is so much easier, but what’s more important is that I have to contain Calvin and it’s easier to do with Christopher being at the forefront. She looks at me as if she’s studying me.
“You… you know when he’s coming out?” she asks, her brows knitting together.
I nod. “I know everything, Lauren.” This is what I love about her. She asks questions but never the right ones. She squints at me, and I can tell she’s having a silent battle with herself, unsure of what to say or how to feel. She lets out a deep breath and presses her hands to her cheek.
“How long is he going to stay?” Her voice is shaky and low.
“As long as it takes,” I tell her. She turns her body fully toward me, her eyes seem sad and I grip her chin.
“Don’t you miss him?” My voice is tighter than I imagined it being. Her eyes drop to her chest.
“This is so…” She says throwing her head back. Her neck is long and perfect, and I fight the urge to kiss it, to leave my mark on her.
“I’m sorry. You being honest is exactly what I’ve wanted for so long. It’s just I’m still… I’m trying to get used to it,” she whispers.
“Sometimes what you think you want the most isn’t all you dreamed it would be,” I tell her and our eyes meet. She clears her throat and her gaze lands back on her lap.
“Does Chris know that he’s coming back?”
“No.”
“And he won’t remember anything?”
“No,” I tell her again. She bites her lip and shakes her head.
“So I’ll be left to try to put him back together again.” She laughs mirthlessly.
“He won’t want to see Helen. He was so angry the last time he was here.” I take her hand and pull her toward me and lift her onto my lap. She rests her head on my shoulder.
“And he’s going to be upset about…” She trails off as my fingers run up and down her back.
“Us.” Our eyes lock on each other’s.
“You don’t have to tell him.” She leans back, so we’re eye to eye.
“You mean lie to him?” Her brows furrow together, her eyes like glass, lips stained with the red wine she drank earlier.
“It’s not lying,” I tell her as my lips find her neck.
“Omitting the truth might as well be,” she whimpers opening up her neck more to me.
“Gwen will be here in two days. Helen has an appointment set up every day this week for us. I’ve handled things at work. Christopher will be fine.” I promise her while my hands slip underneath her T-shirt.
“You talked to Gwen?” she asks surprised, and I grin at her.
“She’s my mom, isn’t she?” I tease her and a glimpse of a smile appears on her face.
“So I don’t tell him about you, about how…” She trails off again as my fingers slip inside of her bra.
“Close we are.” I tease her before taking her lips in mine. I taste the wine on her tongue; she whimpers, her body still tense, fighting what she wants so bad to give into.
“It would be better for him if I don’t say anything?” she asks as I lie her on the bed.
“Christopher doesn’t do well under pressure. Telling him what he wants to hear until he’s ready would work out better for everyone.” I wait for her to melt into me as she usually does but she’s stiff and tense. I thought she’d be happy hearing about Christopher. Relieved even. She pulls away from me and gets off the bed.
“Everyone’s lied to him. I don’t want to be added to the list.” Her voice is weak but her fac
e is like stone. Her eyes are filled with confusion, guilt, and a little fear. Her wanting to be loyal to each of us is endearing but impossible.
“You can’t be transparent with me, tell me that I can trust you and keep Chris in the dark,” she says bewildered. This is the choice she’ll have to make, one of the most important. Who she thinks she loves most or whom she wants to be more present with when we integrate isn’t important. She doesn’t have a choice in that, but who she will give her trust to, who she’ll listen to, that is where her power lies. And if she’s smart, she’ll choose me.
“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 25
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 f
eels 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 fists 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…?
