If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (53 page)

“Can I get in?” I ask. The scowl she gives me answers that question. I try to think of the best way to preface the message. To explain to her that I don’t know why this voice sounds like me, and the fact that it’s talking about things I have no idea about. I really need her help in figuring this out.

“What? You’re really making me nervous!” she says, looking up at me. I know there’s no disclaimer that can prepare her for what she’s about to hear. I just hope that she’ll say it isn’t me. Maybe she’ll say we’ll figure this out together, but that’s being really optimistic. I take a deep breath, play the message, and watch her face go from angry to horrified.

“What the hell, Chris?!” she says angrily. My stomach drops. This conversation isn’t going to go how I hoped.

“Is this a fucking joke?” she yells at me.

“Jenna, that isn’t me,” I say hopelessly. It sounds like me, but it can’t be.

“Bullshit! It sure as hell sounds like you! How could … why are you doing this?” She starts to cry.

“That’s not me Jenna. I don’t know how this is possible, but it’s not me,” I plead with her. “Why would I do this, Jenna? Why?!” I tell her as she rolls her window up. I stick my arm in to prevent it from closing completely.

“What am I supposed to say to this?” she screeches

“I don’t know,” I say, exhausted. “Help me figure this out, I need you,” I plead with her.

“You’re saying this isn’t you, but it sounds a hell of a lot like you. You’re saying—you’re saying you’re fucking married in the message, right after this crazy woman shows up and says she’s your wife. I’m starting to think maybe you’re the crazy one, and she’s sane!” she says, her voice straining.

“If I were lying, why would I let you listen to this, Jenna?” I shout back at her. She’s shaking her head furiously. Jenna has always been analytical, and able to cut through bullshit. She can tell if someone is lying before they open their mouth, but now she can’t do any of it.

“Help me think, Jenna. What are the reasonable explanations for this? You’re in law school. You’re all facts, right? What are the facts here?” I grab the back of my head with one hand in frustration, keeping the other in her car window since I’m still not sure she won’t pull away if I move it. She lets out a sigh.

“Get in, Chris,” she says defeated. I do so immediately, but she won’t even look at me.

“Let me see the phone,” she says, letting out a deep breath. I hand it to her and she replays the message. Her face is now stoic. She plays it again, and again, and it makes me cringe each time.

“This is your voice, but it doesn’t really sound like you at all. The tone, inflection, phrasing are all wrong. You hardly ever swear,” she sighs again and rubs her temples.

“He says I haven’t figured it out,” I say, referring to the voice as another person because it’s not me. Not in a million years.

“About him. It has to be. He’s introducing himself at the end of the call. He’s smug and arrogant because he knows more than you do. But your lack of information has screwed him.”

“Why is he saying I’m married? Why would he even care that we’re getting married? I don’t know this guy.” I fold my hands together tightly. She rests her head on the steering wheel, and after a few seconds, her head pops up. She finally looks at me, her expression pained.

“What?” I ask, afraid to hear what she’s about to say.

“Because he is you,” she says quietly.

“Jenna, that’s not me.”

“Yes, it is. It all makes sense.” Realization is dawning on her. “This woman showing up, your mom knows her, your parents…” she sighs.

“No, that isn’t me!” I shout angrily.

“What if these blackouts aren’t just blackouts? What if it’s more than that? What if you’re conscious and doing things you don’t remember, in an alternate state of mind?”

“No. That’s impossible.” I shake my head. No way. No way could that be possible.

“It makes sense,” she says sharply.

“How?
How could I do that without anyone knowing?” I ask defensively.

“Well, obviously people do know. Dexter for one. He tells you to talk to him and…” she pauses hesitantly.

“What?” I ask.

“Your parents have to know,” she says cautiously, wiping her eyes.

“No! No way! My parents wouldn’t keep something like that from me. There’s no way. Thanks, Jenna, but no. There has to be another explanation.” I get out of her car.
No, not possible.

“Think about it, Chris! How did your mom know who that woman was?” she calls after me. She gets out of the car and follows behind me.

“Why did they tell you they would explain? If they didn’t know what was going on, how would they be able to explain anything?”

My throat is burning; I start to panic. I turn around to face her. “If this, if you’re right, do you know what this means?” I yell, to release my frustration. Helplessness; I feel sick. The only thing keeping me from vomiting is that she has to be wrong. But she’s hardly ever wrong.

“You think I’m happy about this?” she shouts back at me. “You think I want to be right? That I haven’t been willing this to be a case of mistaken identity, some outrageous misunderstanding?” her voice is breaking
.
She covers her face and turns away. “If this is true, you’re fucking married, Chris! I don’t want this to be true! I have never wanted to be more wrong in my life. But I don’t think I am…” she takes in a deep breath. “Your parents,” she moans. “If I’m right, and they know…” she shakes her head defiantly. “How could they do this? How could they not tell you?” She’s hysterical, and I grab her and hug her tightly. She looks exactly how I feel inside: angry, confused, and frantic. I can’t let her see that I’m as scared as she is, even more. Because if this is true, my life will
never
be the same.

With the state she’s in, I decide to follow Jenna to her house to make sure she makes it inside. She gets out and walks over to my car.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asks quietly. I nod my head. I really do want her to, but I don’t know what I’m about to hear, and she’s not as good at keeping her emotions in check as I am.

“I’ll call you as soon as I’m done talking to them,” I say, trying my best to smile. She leans down to kiss me, but doesn’t on my lips, just right near them. I’m not sure what to make of that. My brain is too tired to analyze it.

As soon as she closes the door behind her, I hit the gas and head to my house. There are so many things running through my head. The voice named Cal. What Dexter has to do with this? Jenna’s theory. My parents. The girl my mom called Lauren, who, if Jenna is right, is—I won’t even think about what that means.

When I pull onto our street, I see a white Audi parked across the street from our house. I didn’t notice it before, but it’s hard to miss now. That has to be the girl’s car, which means she’s still here. My stomach turns. I pull around to the back of the house. I park in my normal spot and go in through the kitchen, once I make sure the coast is clear.

“I want to talk to Cal. Right now!” I hear
her
voice yell. My stomach drops, and I move closer to the door so that I can hear.

“Does he not want to see me? The damage has already been done! I just—he owes me an explanation!” I hear footsteps approach, and I move back from the door.

“Lauren, please calm down,” I hear my mom say, and the footsteps stop.

“You know my name?” I hear the girl ask. She sounds as surprised as I am. She
doesn’t
know my parents.

“We know who you are. You’re Cal’s wife,” I hear my father say. My throat tightens.
How do they know this “Cal” guy
? My heart is beating faster and faster, but I know there is a reasonable explanation for this. There
has
to be.

“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…” her voice trails off, and I’m as close as I can be to the door without going through it.

“He doesn’t know who you are. The person you saw earlier wasn’t Cal,” my mom says, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. The knots in my stomach release. I can’t help the wide smile that spreads across my face as a sense of relief courses through my system.

“I don’t understand. No, that was Cal. I know it. It has to be,” the girl says adamantly. She sounds so sure about it, I feel sorry for her. I don’t know who this Cal guy is, or how she could feel so strongly about a guy who seems like an asshole.

“Are you telling me that he is Cal’s brother? Is he Cal’s twin?”

Why didn’t Jenna and I come up with that? It would make so much sense. Maybe I have a twin, or a brother who looks like me. I don’t know anything about my birth parents. It’s entirely possible, but the message—it doesn’t fit, unless he’s screwing with me, but why?

“Yes,” my dad answers.

“William, no. No more lies. She deserves to know the truth. We agreed that we’d tell her,” my mom says sternly, and my stomach churns. My heart is beating in my ears.

You can’t get married because you already are. Since no one gave two shits to inform you. I’m Cal.

I hear voices, but I can’t tell who’s saying what. I squeeze my temples together and make myself focus. The one thing Dr. Lyce told me to try to do to prevent blacking out. I’ve been getting better at it in the past year.

“I understand he used me…that he never loved me,” the girl states before she cries. I’ve missed something. I put my ear back to the door.

“Oh, no sweetheart, you have the wrong idea,” my mother says, and I don’t know what I missed.

“Chris and Cal share the same body, but the person you met today is Chris, not Cal. That’s the reason why he reacted the way that he did. He truly doesn’t know who you are. Cal is a separate personality from Chris.”

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to throw up right here.

“Chris has what is called Dissociative Identity Disorder,” my mom says, and I’ve heard enough. I’m dizzy. I make my way over to the kitchen table. The room feels like it’s getting smaller. My chest constricts.

“You–you’re both lying for him. You’re covering for him!” the girl shouts.

“We’re telling you the truth. Chris doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what Cal does,” I hear my mom say, and I can’t take anymore.
No. No. No!

I burst out of the kitchen, onto the back porch. I lean over the railing and all the contents of whatever I last ate pour out of me. I’m outside, but I can’t get enough air.

I’m Cal
.

I try to catch my breath and wipe away the hot tears escaping my eyes. All of this time. No clue. I thought I just had amnesia, an undiagnosed neurological disorder. It was all a lie. My life is a lie, or one of them is. How is this possible? How can something like this actually happen? Why would they lie to me? How could they do this? Two years! Two years I’ve gone without this happening. Well, aside from yesterday.

I’ve finally finished my bachelor’s degree, I’ve gotten engaged, landed a steady job, and they let me do all of it knowing that this freak is living inside of me. But really
I’m
the freak, I’m crazy. I’m the psycho!

I pull out my phone and listen to the message again, then throw my phone across the field.
Who the hell is this guy?
Why don’t I have a clue about any of this? Why does he know more than I do? I kick the dirt. I really need something to hit, or even break. I feel like I’m breaking, and now, without realizing it, I’m crying.

I haven’t cried since I found out my mom had cancer. I felt helpless then, and I feel the same way now. Everything I’ve worked for seems meaningless. I look back at the house and think of the girl inside. How could I be married to her? I don’t even know who she is. What do I say to her? To Jenna? I can’t marry her while I’m married to someone else, and if I’m not cured—is there even a cure for this? When will this Cal guy pop up next? I think back to yesterday, and shudder. It happened then. He came out, and he called me. He, who―he is
me
, right? No, that guy can’t be me. I’m nothing like that. I sit on the porch, my head between my knees.
What am I going to do? How do I explain this to people? How do I, how can I live like this?
My parents didn’t believe I could. They would have told me if they thought I could handle it.

Dissociative Identity Disorder. What the hell does that even mean? It might as well be freaking “living inside of you disease.” I take a deep breath and head back in the house. There’s still yelling coming from behind the door, but I ignore it. I head up the back stairs and into my room. I flip open my laptop, pull up the search engine, and then stare at it. I sit down and stuff my head in my hands. They’re shaking. Once I do this, there’s no going back. But really, there’s no going back now.

I type in Dissociative Identity Disorder, and hit enter. There are 1,080,000 results. Wow. I scroll down and click on what seems like the most official link.

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), previously referred to as multiple personality disorder, is a dissociative disorder involving a disturbance of identity in which two or more separate and distinct personality states (or identities) control an individual’s behavior at different times. When under the control of one identity, a person is usually unable to remember the events that occurred while other personalities were in control. The different identities, referred to as alters, may exhibit differences in speech, mannerisms, attitudes, thoughts, and gender orientation. The alters may even present physical differences, such as allergies, right- or left-handedness, or the need for eyeglass prescriptions. These differences between alters are often quite striking.