Pieces of Me, page 23
“Who’s that?” Connor asks.
“My uncle Travis,” I reply. “Dad’s brother. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Cool that he came for your birthday, then.”
It should be, right? I watch, throat clenched between two invisible hands as Travis greets Mark with a hug and a grin. They talk for a few seconds before clapping each other on the back. Then he looks at me.
I can’t move. He’s coming toward me with that charming smile of his and I can’t fucking move. My heart is going to break my ribs and I’m going to die right here. Scratch won’t have to do a damn thing.
He stops in front of me. “Dylan, happy birthday.”
I swallow, choking on the knot in my throat. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He comes closer and puts his arms around me. The motherfucker hugs me. As soon as he touches my body, I retract into my mind. I literally feel myself withdraw. He destroyed my life, and he has the balls to put his hands on me in front of all these people? I want to ask him why he did it, but my mouth won’t open.
Someone inside me starts screaming.
US
No one inside will ever disappear. We’re all real. We all matter.
—JOAN FRANCES CASEY
NINETEEN
I’m not sure what’s happened. I’m not at my party anymore. I’m somewhere else. The party has to be close, because I can hear it, like I’m in an apartment building and it’s happening the floor above me.
“Hi,” says a voice.
I whirl around. “Who the fuck are you?” I demand. The girl before me is young and tall, with long red hair and a beautiful, flawless face.
She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’m Monet. What are you doing here?”
Monet. I’m in my head. Seeing Uncle Travis must have triggered a switch and I’m in the head space. This is the first time I’ve come here that it wasn’t a dream, or maybe those other times weren’t dreams at all.
I glance around me. We’re in a small theater—six recliners in front of a large movie screen. “You tell me. What is this?”
She watches me closely. I feel like I should know the answer, but maybe it’s a trick question. “This is where we keep the memories of what he did to us. If you’re here, it means you want to see them.”
“No, I don’t.” The feelings are bad enough. I don’t want to fucking see anything.
She shrugs. “Need to see, then. You’re here, I’m here. This is what is supposed to happen.”
“We’ll be here with you,” Lannie says from behind me.
I turn. She has Kaz and Dali and Alyss and Scratch with her, though Scratch looks like she’s about to freak out.
“Who’s fronting?” I ask, panic gripping my heart. “Not one of the littles?”
Alyss looks offended that I even suggested it. “Of course not. Vincent’s got control of the body.”
“Who the hell is Vincent?” Just how many people do I have inside me?
“Vincent is who always stepped in to play sports when you were a kid, or fought with your brother,” Kaz replies. “Don’t worry about it. He’s cool.”
“He’s a protector,” Lannie adds, giving Kaz an exasperated look. “He’s not afraid of Travis. You’re safe with him up front. We’re all safe.”
I look at each of them, and they all meet my gaze, even Scratch, though Alyss has to nudge her. “Fine,” I say, and sit down in one of the recliners.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Scratch says. “I don’t like it.”
“Sit down,” Alyss hisses. “None of us like it, you old fool.”
The two of them take seats at opposite ends of the row. Dali sits next to Scratch, and Kaz and Lannie sit on either side of me. Lannie offers me her hand, and I take it gratefully. Then Kaz offers me hers. I grab on tight.
When everyone is seated, the lights dim and the screen flickers as the film begins to play.
They’re images—memories. Most of them don’t even feel like they’re mine, but I know they are. Just like I know the eyes through which I’m seeing them are technically mine, but when Lannie makes a small noise, it’s obvious who is really being held down.
Family vacations. Get-togethers. Holidays. Travis touching me when no one was looking. Coming into my room late at night. Taking me places, or going on rides with me, all the while his hands go places they had no business going.
My heart pounding in the dark, my mind splitting—becoming someone else when it goes further. Kaz, taking the shame away. Lannie, taking the pain. Alyss telling me everything is going to be all right. Dali reading me a story. Vincent reminding me it wouldn’t have happened if I was a boy, so I let him take over. Monet promising to make it all go away. And Scratch … Scratch telling me no one is coming to save me, so the best thing to do is stay quiet and hope it stops, because everyone will say it was my fault. Just stay quiet and still.
I remember. Even if it doesn’t feel entirely mine, I remember. It happened to all of us, and we sit here holding hands in the dark as our abuse looms larger than life before our eyes.
He told us he loved us. Told us we were his special girl, and then he betrayed our love and trust in the worst way. How could anyone do that to any child, let alone one they claim to love?
When the credits roll and the lights come up, we exchange glances. Tears run down our faces, except for Scratch. She’s dry-eyed, but her fury is as obvious as our tears. Our fingers are still entwined as one by one, they draw closer to me. Kaz and Lannie rest their heads against mine as Monet and Alyss crouch before them. Dali kneels at my feet while Scratch stands back, arms folded over her chest. The six of us bow together like buds of a flower waiting to bloom as Scratch bears witness. We cry. We remember.
I’m never going to forget again.
* * *
VINCENT
At least the kids are quiet. Too fucking quiet, but I can’t worry about that right now. I have to keep the body functioning like nothing’s wrong when everything is so very, very wrong.
What the fuck are we wearing? Of course it would be a costume party and we’d wear something that shows off our curves. I see how some of the guys here are looking at us. It makes me want to punch them in the nads, and go upstairs to change.
Instead, I stick close to Connor. He seems like an okay guy, and he likes Dylan. He’ll provide a buffer between me and everyone else, especially that slimy asshole who had the balls to hug us earlier.
I wish this body looked like I do. I’d kick the snot out of him for what he did. I’d fix him so he’d never hurt anyone ever again.
“Hi.”
I look up to find Connor watching me. “Hi,” I say. Shit, had he been talking to me?
“What’s your name?” he asks.
Kaz said he’s good at noticing when Dylan’s switched out. Too good, maybe. There’s no point in trying to lie to him when he obviously sees me, and I’m too stressed to be bothered. “Vincent. Vin.”
“Nice to meet you, Vin. You don’t look like you’re enjoying the party.”
“I’m not much of a party person.”
“Then why are you here?”
I shrug. “I guess Dylan needed a break or something.”
He watches me with a narrow gaze. He knows something’s up. Dylan might like this pretty boy, but he ain’t nothing to me, so he better just step the fuck down.
Suddenly, Mark appears beside us, grinning like an idiot. “Come on,” he says.
Connor and I exchange glances, but we follow him to the back door where Izzy’s waiting with a couple of heavy blankets. She smiles when she sees us. “Mark started a bonfire on the beach.” She shows us the six-pack of beer hidden under the blankets. It’s not nearly enough to get us feeling good, let alone drunk, but that’s not really the point.
I follow the three of them out the door and down the low bank to the beach. It’s cold but there’s very little wind, which is good because this outfit isn’t made for warmth.
The fire snaps and flickers in the darkness like a living thing. I feel the heat of it before we get close.
Mark and Izzy share a blanket as they huddle on one of the logs near the fire. They both take a beer and hand the others our way.
There’s only one other blanket. Connor gives me a questioning look as he opens it. There’s no way either of us can sit in this cold without an extra layer, even with the fire. Dylan wouldn’t think twice about sharing with him. She’d like it.
I sigh and sit down next to him on the log. I peel a beer out of a tab for him as he drapes the heavy blanket over my shoulders. This would have been the perfect time to out me as “not Dylan” but he doesn’t. Instead, he chooses to protect us.
“Thanks,” he says before popping the can.
I hope he doesn’t expect to get any love while I’m in control of the body. I’m not interested in him. Now, if we were sharing this blanket with Nisha, that would be a different story. Too bad that went the way it did.
To his credit, Connor doesn’t try anything. He doesn’t even touch me—not that anyone would really be able to tell beneath the blanket. He’d have to be kinda gross to paw the body with other people around anyway.
Travis would definitely take advantage of the situation, but we’re too old for him now, I bet.
“You should let Dad read some of your work,” I say, holding up my end of the charade.
Mark grins. “Yeah, you should. He’s got a lot of friends in Hollywood, man. He can help you get a foot in.”
“Unless he thinks I’m a talentless hack,” Connor replies. There’s enough sincerity in his voice that I frown. He doesn’t strike me as someone who has confidence issues.
“He’s not going to think you’re talentless, because you’re incredibly talented,” I say. I don’t know this, but that’s how Dylan feels, and she’s read his work.
“Yeah,” Izzy chimes in. “D’s told me how good you are.”
There was a time when I had the biggest crush on Izzy, but thankfully that went away, along with the resentment I used to feel every time she believed I was Dylan. I realized that it wasn’t that she didn’t notice the changes in our behavior, because she did. She just thought it was a “mood” or something else, because she saw us only as Dylan, her friend. She didn’t think we’d lie to her about who we were, and so we continued to lie. It was easier.
And she was still the first to figure out what was going on. You don’t figure out our kind of situation by not paying attention. We underestimated her.
“If he asks to see my work, I’ll show him,” Connor allows, “but I’m not going to throw myself at him. That’s just desperate and rude.”
Mark lifts his beer in acknowledgment. “Welcome to the entertainment industry.”
We all chuckle. I like Mark when he’s relaxed and happy like this. We’ve always gotten along fairly well, even when he used to pick on Dylan when they were kids. Sometimes I had to come out to give him a slap upside the head, but for the most part, we’ve always had fun when he’s not being moody. We don’t spend as much time together as we used to. I miss that.
“Hey, how awesome was it to see Uncle Trav?” Mark asks, his gaze on me.
I swallow a mouthful of beer. It’s bitter and hides the real reason for my grimace. “Yeah. Awesome.”
“Apparently he’s doing some work in New York while he’s here.”
“So he didn’t come home for our birthday.” Of course he didn’t make the trip for his “special girl.” There had to be something else to lure him back. After all, they have little girls in Europe, too. It makes my stomach roll thinking what he might have done on his travels outside of the U.S.
Mark gives a tiny smirk. “I guess this way he can write the trip off as a tax deduction. Anyway, he’ll be at dinner Wednesday night. I want to hear all about his trip to Iceland.”
I take another drink. “Mm.” I could not fucking care less. I’d be happier if the asshole stayed in Iceland. I wish he’d fallen off a fucking iceberg.
“He’s your dad’s brother?” Connor asks.
Mark nods. “Younger by a few years. He was around a lot before Mom and Dad split. He used to do a lot of stuff with me and D. The fun uncle, you know.”
Connor’s gaze is heavy as it settles on me. “Were you his favorite?”
I turn my head to look into his eyes. “No.”
Mark laughs. “Yes, you were. He called you his princess.”
Beer and birthday cake are not a good combination. If this conversation doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to be spewing both all over this blanket and stupid costume.
Connor must notice, or maybe he’s sick of talking about Travis, because he holds his beer aloft, can glinting in the firelight.
“A toast: To Dylan and Mark, happy nineteenth birthday. I hope it’s followed by many, many more.”
“Yasss,” Izzy enthuses, raising her beer. Then she turns to Mark and kisses him on the mouth. Oh, hell. I look at Connor. He looks at me and shrugs. Sighing, I give him a peck on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I say in my best Dylan-voice.
He stares at me intently. I feel bad for him. I really do. “Is she okay?” he asks.
I pat his knee. “She’s going to be fine.” I raise my beer. “Happy fucking birthday to me!” I shout.
Izzy hoots and Mark shouts it back at me. Only Connor is silent. To be honest, I’m thankful for Izzy and Mark’s noise, because all I can hear inside our head are my girls sobbing.
And it breaks my heart.
* * *
LANNIE
The next morning, I wake up in the body. Dylan apparently needs some more time to process what she learned last night. It wasn’t my idea for her to find out like that. I wanted to tell her, prepare her. But I … we couldn’t. It was against the rules. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to have to face those memories. It was bad enough for us to see him, especially the littles. Christina screamed for hours afterward. Poor thing. When he hugged us … I shudder … it was like we were back there again, under his power, being held down. Being hurt.
The shock of the memories forced Dylan to switch out and threw us into chaos. I don’t know what we would have done if Vincent hadn’t stepped up. No one else was fit to front. Who knows what Scratch might have done. There was a moment when Travis looked into Dylan’s eyes, and I swear he could see inside us. He’s the one thing we’re all afraid of.
Everyone but Vincent. But Vincent doesn’t like to front much since the body matured. It gives him dysphoria if he’s out too long. So, here I am, up front and in control.
I stretch under the blankets. I enjoy the feeling—the heaviness of the body’s limbs. However, I don’t enjoy the feeling of a full bladder, so I slip out from the warmth of the bed and hurry to the bathroom. The tiles are cool beneath our feet.
“Our.” I’m doing that more, referring to the body or parts of it as “our” instead of “mine.” We’ve become more of a unit since Dylan discovered us, since we came out of the shadows and let her know we’re here. I don’t care how angry Scratch is at me for it, I’m glad I did.
Once I’m done in the bathroom, I find a pair of fuzzy socks and pull them on our cold feet before slipping on the robe draped over the foot of the bed. Then I go downstairs, following the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Dylan’s mother is in the kitchen making pancakes.
“Smells good,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder at me and smiles. “I thought you’d sleep in a little while longer. You were up pretty late last night.”
Were we? I yawn as if on cue. “Had to pee. And I smelled coffee.”
She laughs. “I thought maybe it was the enticing aroma of these pancakes I’ve made from scratch.”
Our stomach growls and I grin. “That too. You made bacon?”
“Of course. After fifteen years of having it the morning after your birthday you shouldn’t be so surprised.”
Yeah, but this is the first time I’ve ever gotten to be the one who gets to eat it. I’m excited. Dali would run screaming—she’s a vegetarian.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Nope. Just about ready. I’ll make Mark’s when he comes down.”
Jennifer fixes both of us plates at the counter while I pour coffee. This puts her right in front of the cupboard where the sugar is kept.
“Jennifer,” I begin, “would you mind—”
“Jennifer? Since when do you call me…” Her face loses some of its color. She stares at me. I hate the realization that tightens her features. “You’re not Dylan.”
“No,” I reply with a slight smile, gripping the coffee cup in front of me like a shield. “I’m Lannie.”
“Lannie.” She slowly nods and sets the spatula on the counter. “That’s what your … Dylan’s father used to call her.”
“I know.”
She clears her throat. It’s obvious she’s thrown—bothered—but she’s trying to roll with it. “So, what’s your role within Dylan’s … system?”
“I’m a protector.”
A frown creases her forehead, deepening the lines there. I want to hug her, but I don’t think touching her is a good idea right now. “Does Dylan need protection right now?”
We haven’t agreed on what we were going to do, and I have no idea how much I’m allowed to tell. It would probably be so much easier for me to say what happened, but I refuse to be the one who tells this woman what her daughter suffered at the hands of a man she trusted. “She needs a break. The party was overwhelming.” I nod. “All those people.”
She doesn’t look like she believes me. I wouldn’t either. Plus, this isn’t like lying to a stranger, this is Dylan’s mother.
Jennifer doesn’t look at me. “You know, I used to ask her if something had happened. When she was little, there was a change in her. I can’t quite describe it, but she wasn’t as happy as she used to be. I thought maybe it was the trouble her father and I were having.” She makes a scoffing noise. “Funny how we make things about our own issues, isn’t it?”
