If I Break (34 page)

“You’re very beautiful,” the woman says softly in a sullen tone. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, realizing what I must look like, and beautiful is not it. I quickly adjust my blouse and comb my fingers through my hair.

“You don’t know who we are.” It comes out as a statement, more than a question.

I nod my head. She smiles slightly and looks at the man next to her; he frowns to himself. I watch both of them; they seem to feel as uncomfortable as I am. I slide my hands across my lap and sigh.

“I saw your picture in the paper with Cal,” I say softly, my eyes falling on the man from earlier.

“When you and Chris won the pie eating contest, honey,” I see her smile softly at her husband. I feel my mouth frown up.

“Why do you keep calling him Chris?” I blurt out. I want some answers, and I feel the exigency of the situation beginning to implode inside of me. When she doesn’t answer, more questions fall from my mouth.

“Who are you? What is going on?” The little calmness I have is slowly slipping away.

The couple looks at each other before responding.

“I’m Gwen Scott and this is my husband William,” the woman explains quickly. “We’re Chris’s parents.”

I stand up again. If one more person calls him Chris, I’m going to lose it.

“I want to talk to Cal. I want to talk to him right now!” My voice is rising shakily.

“That’s not possible, honey,” the woman says calmly.

I start to pace in front of the couch angrily. “Does he not want to see me? The damage has already been done! I just– He owes me an explanation!” I start towards the doorway determined to find him if I have to search every room in this house myself.

“Lauren, please calm down,” Mrs. Scott pleads with me.

I stop walking and turn to look at her standing. “You know my name?” I ask quietly. I can tell her expression is trying to hide some pain as she gives me a pitying look before looking back at her husband.

He stands up beside her. “We know who you are,” her husband says sullenly.

“You’re Cal’s wife,” he sighs, folding his arms. His wife looks at me, almost sympathetically.

“Cal,” It feels so good to have someone here say his name. I was starting to feel like I was in the twilight zone.

“So he told you about me? Then, why does he act like he doesn’t know me? Is it because of that woman out there? I’m sorry I don’t know who… He never mentioned you. He-he…” I feel myself starting to choke up. This is too much. Way too much and I barely know anything.

“He doesn’t know who you are,” the woman says, walking closer toward me.

“What?” I clutch my purse to my chest and look at her skeptically.

“The person you saw earlier wasn’t Cal,” her husband tells me.

“I don’t understand… No that was Cal, I know it, it has to be,” I say, finding myself in need of sitting down once again.

“No. It wasn’t,” she says taking a seat beside me. I search her eyes to see if she’s joking. Her expression is soft and compassionate. I don’t understand. He looked like Cal, he sounded like Cal.

“Are you telling me that… is he Cal’s brother? He’s Cal’s twin?” I ask thinking back to Angela’s idea. In fact, it would make sense. That would make sense why he didn’t know me, why he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before in his life. He had never mentioned having a twin brother, but then, he didn’t mention a lot of things.

Her husband’s eyebrows rise on his face. “Yes,” Mr. Scott answers rapidly.

Mrs. Scott frowns at him. “William, no. No more lies; she deserves to know the truth,” she scolds her husband softly, causing her husband to frown at her now.

“She’s not going to understand,” he says, walking away from us both.

“We agreed that we’d tell her,” his wife stands up, facing him.

“What won’t I understand? Is he a twin or isn’t he?” I ask sternly.

“We wish it was that simple,” Mrs. Scott says, looking pained. I glance back and forth between the two.

“Please, I-I don’t know what to think about all of this. I came here hoping for-for something different than what I found. I know what I saw but something within me is hoping it’s not what it looks like,” I laugh pathetically at myself and the hope I still have that this is just a big misunderstanding. I take a deep breath.

“I’ve always felt like Cal had been hiding something from me. I didn’t know what, or why. All I know is that almost two years ago he walked out on me. That he left me without any explanation at all, but I felt like it wasn’t something he did willingly and now…. I finally find him today, but he’s seemingly in love with this other woman, pretending that he has no idea who I am and it hurts so much. If there is something, anything that you can tell me, even if it’s just confirming what I’ve seen today as the truth. Please… please just tell me,” I feel tears starting to stream from my eyes. I wipe them away, waiting for an answer. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and look up to see Gwen with tears in her own eyes as well. “I only want the truth,” I choke out.

“Even if he doesn’t want to see me again, I just want some kind of answers, closure at least,” I beg her. Her expression still seems hesitant, and she looks at her husband for agreement. I look away from her and turn my attention to him.

He is now gazing out the window. I stand up and touch his arm. I look into this older man’s eyes and see them glimmer with what appears as a strand of vulnerability, but his wall builds up again. Now I see where Cal gets it. He crosses his arms letting out a sigh. I wait, and I will continue to wait until I get an explanation.

“Please,” I say softly, barely a whisper.

“The truth is that the person you married doesn’t exist,” he says, his eyes looking ahead of him more than at me.

I swallow the lump in my throat; I think I expected this.

“So his real name is Chris,” I say, hoping my shaky voice will steady. “He’s been lying to me all along,” I say to myself quietly, wiping away newly shed tears before I wrap my arms around myself for some sort of comfort.

“No sweetheart, you don’t understand,” Mrs. Scott says sympathetically, leading me to sit beside her on the sofa.

“Oh, I understand,” I say, nodding my head as I close my eyes to try and disallow anymore tears from falling.

“I understand he used me. … He never loved me,” my voice betrays me and gives in, releasing a sob.

“Oh, no sweetheart, you have the wrong idea,” she assures me, rubbing my back as if she were my mother. I look at her skeptically, and she takes a deep breath.

“Chris and Cal are...they’re two different people,” she says, taking both of my hands. I look at her husband, and he takes a seat in the large chair from earlier with a grunt of apprehension on the discussion of his son.

“I– I don’t understand,” I stutter, looking back and forth between them. They said he wasn’t a twin.

“Chris and Cal share the same body, but-. The person you met today is Chris, not Cal,” Mrs. Scott explains cautiously.

“That’s the reason why he reacted the way that he did. He truly doesn’t know who you are,” she explains gently, holding my hand, searching my eyes for some kind of reaction to this information.

“Cal is a separate personality from Chris,” she tells me again, slowly, as if I don’t understand. I take my hands from hers.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my attention going to her husband. “A different personality?” I ask looking 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 to 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!” I reason this 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. I shake my head frantically.

“You’re lying. You have to be!” I exclaim. “You’re telling me that Cal has some sort of split personality. That Cal is the person that 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 say as 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 being 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!” Mr. Scott yells. “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 I. “I know that this must be overwhelming for you, but if you just give me a chance to explain…,” she pleads.

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

“Before this started to happen, our son was mild mannered and polite, very hard working 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 that 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,” Mrs. Scott says with a sorrowful look on her face. It sounds very familiar to me the, disappearing at random, never showing up when expected, having to beg him for answers…

“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,” she explains.

“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, taking a cleansing breath, and continuing.

“They described him as being a completely different person to the boy they taught years earlier. We knew he was acting differently at home, but we never guessed it had gone to this extent…” she starts to drift off and Mr. Scott comforts her.

“We thought at first it was just a phase,” Mrs. Scott continues, “being a normal, rebellious teenager. At home, his behavior wasn’t nearly as bad as what his teachers described,” she pauses and 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 black outs. 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 that 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, we couldn’t find him. Five days later, he came home. He was driving a car that cost more than our farms annual income, that he didn’t remember getting into. And, there was over twenty thousand dollars in the trunk of it,” 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 Crest Field Sr.,” Mr. Scott explains, and I see him clenching his fists at the name.