“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 face 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.