Breakable (32 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

There’s
a special kind of pain reserved for dancing with shattered glass. It comes in
stages:

The
initial assault is fear; you see the glass coming and you know it’s going to hurt.

Then
there’s the moment everything explodes and the glass tears at your skin,
catching, peeling, shaving you away and you think,
I might die
.

Then
the pieces fall and break into new pieces. You’re heading to the floor too, but
they beat you there and all the tattered parts of you land on all the shattered
parts of it. They are needles in open wounds. Knives on raw flesh.

And
then the fire arrives – hot, burning flames that lick the wounds. And every
time you move, the tiny pieces that stuck with you cut a little deeper and the
flames roar higher.

In
short, it sucks.

If
only it ended there.

As
my shredded body slumped to the floor, it didn’t land on the dusty linoleum of
the art room. Instead, I passed through the frame of the glass, through the
ripples and the shimmer, to bounce off a thick carpet in a small room I didn’t
recognize.

My
entire body screamed with pain. I barely registered anything until I realized
Older Me was there, her mouth wide – screaming or not, I wasn’t sure. She threw
herself toward me, but my shattered body shook me. And as I reached for her, I
blinked.

Then
she was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I
let out the breath that’s been trapped in my chest since I started remembering.

Doc
sits back in his chair. His eyes are measuring me again. “That’s a very
troubling story.”

“And
yet, you don’t seem very troubled by it.” If I don’t clench my teeth, they’ll
chatter.

One
of his eyebrows climbs. “Frankly, I don’t believe it.” I open my mouth, but his
hand comes up to stall me. “I’m sure you’re being honest – from your standpoint
– about the mirror and what you see there. But it’s time for us to challenge
this…this obsession. I refuse to believe you broke the time-space continuum
when you went through that glass. And I think deep down, you don’t really
believe that either.”

“But
I did!”

“Oh?
Then if you went into the future, how did you get back?”

“I
told you, when I closed my eyes, she was gone.”

He
sighs and holds my gaze for what seems like forever, but must only be a few
seconds. Then he shakes his head, makes a note in his little book, and returns
his eyes to me. “I won’t be signing you out today,” he says. The coldness in
his tone shakes me to the core.

“But
I’m telling the truth!”

“If
that’s true, then you need to be here anyway.”

“Doc–!”

He’s
clipping his pen and straightening the papers in his lap. “Stacy, I don’t
believe
you
think this story is true. You’ve been here three months and
in all that time, no one has observed even the slightest
hint
of
psychosis.”

“Exactly!
So let me–”

“But
there is no doubt that you are a very troubled and emotionally traumatized
young lady. It would be remiss of me to allow you to return to your life
without having helped you combat the issues you face.”

I
curse. “You can believe whatever you want. Tell yourself whatever you want to
justify keeping me here and taking my money. But I told you the truth.” And my
throat catches, betraying me.

Doc
sighs, and shakes his head. “I had high hopes you’d make a smart decision today
and come clean–”

“I
did!”

“–but
I can see that whatever is really behind your aversion to mirrors is still too
important to you to give up. I’m sorry, Stacy. I don’t believe you’re ready.
I’d like to see you in six more weeks of therapy, then we’ll talk again.” He
starts closing my file. It isn’t a ploy. He really is dismissing me.

I
glance at the clock.
It’s coming.
“Doc, you can’t–”

“I’m
reassigning your therapist –
again.
” He eyes me over the top of his
glasses. “But this time I’m not going to allow you to change. Either you work
with one doctor for the entire duration, or the six weeks starts again.”

“But–!”

“I’d
highly recommend that the next time we sit down, you are prepared to be more
open. Or we’re going to be here for a while.” He gets to his feet.

I
panic. “Wait a second, you can’t send me back in there!”

“I’m
left with no choice,” he says, walking towards his desk. “You refuse to give me
the complete truth. So you’re wasting my time.”

“Doc–”

“Go
back to your room. I’ll have someone bring your bag soon. I don’t want you
lifting that with your scars.”

No.
No, he can’t do this.
“Just
give me more time. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just…”

He
turns. Waits. “Just what, Stacy?”

“Just
a little more time. To process. Then… then I’ll look in the mirror. With you.”

His
eyes narrow. “How much time?”

I
glance at the clock, try to remember
exactly…
“Um, thirty minutes?”

He
checks his watch. “No. Sorry. I have another commitment at that time. If you
are prepared to tell me what it is in the mirror that so frightens you, you
need to do it now.”

“I
can’t do it now!” My voice is too high, quaking. I know I sound petulant, but
he can’t possibly understand. I’m here to
change history.
And I can’t
explain that to him because then he’d
definitely
make me stay. In a
strait-jacket.

“Then
I will see you in a few weeks.” He drops his notepad and pen to the desk,
settles into the chair.

“Doc,
you
can’t
–”

“I
assure you that I can, Stacy. And I promise you, there will come a day you’ll
thank me for this. When your mind is healthy and you’re–”

“There’s
nothing wrong with my mind!” I yell, stamping my foot. “I-I’m not afraid of
mirrors.” I’m just desperate because it
all
hinges on this. Today. And I
was sure if I could get the Doc to let me out I could get home in time. But…
would it work if he was there?

His
head rises slowly, the expression on his face is similar to my mother’s when
she’s decided I’m being difficult. “Goodbye, Stacy. I’m not discussing it
further for six more weeks.”

“Wait–”

“Do
I need to get security in here? Because I won’t hesitate.”

“No!
Just…just don’t make me leave yet!” I circle his desk so he can see that I’m
serious. He comes to his feet quickly, glaring a warning at me.

“Stacy–”

“Please,
you don’t understand!”

“I
understand that you’re upset. I’m willing to talk to you about it at a later
date. But right now you need to step away and return to your room–”

“I
can’t!”

“Stacy,
take your hands off me.” His voice is low and authoritative. I hadn’t even
realized I’d grabbed his shirt. But I’m not going to hurt him. He just needs to
see–

The
door – the other door, the one that leads back into the hospital – swings open suddenly
and two large orderlies charge in.

“Sir,
are you okay?” the first one calls as they round the furniture between us.

I
let go of Doc immediately, jump back, put my hands up so they’ll see I’m not
hurting him. But one of them is on my right arm, holding with both hands as
soon as I let Doc go. The other takes my left just a second later.

“I
wasn’t going to hurt him.”

“I’m
fine, gentlemen. Stacy didn’t harm me. She’s just excited.”

“Excited?”
I yell. My vision is beginning to blur. He’s really doing it. He’s really not
going to stay with me. “I’m not excited. I’m trying to make you see that this
is important!”

Doc’s
face drops into a concerned frown. “Stacy, of the two of us, I think I
understand the importance of what’s happening to you far better than you.”

“But–!”

“Sedative,
sir?” the guy on my right says quietly.

“No!!!”

But
Doc’s already shaking his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Not if
she cooperates from here. But please return her to her room.” His gaze drops to
my face then. “Stacy, I want you to stay there until dinnertime. I’ll have your
new therapist speak with you after the meal.”

Too
late. Too late!
“Doc,
please–!” But my feet almost leave the carpet as the orderlies move me. I’m
practically being carried to the door. I strain to see him over my shoulder,
wincing at the pain as the orderlies don’t allow me to turn. Every inch of my
skin protests with fire and ice when I twist, but I have to see him. Have to
convince him.

“Doc!”

Doc
frowns at me, but says nothing as the men usher me out of his office – through
the door that goes back into the hospital – and out into the hallway.

“Please!”
I scream at him.

Doc
stands in the doorway for a second. Then his head drops. He shakes it once and
closes the door.

He
has no idea what he’s done.

I
sag between the orderlies, then snap back upright as my scars protest the added
pressure.

I
try to walk, but my feet peddle half-heartedly, my hearth thumping, my head
screaming. It can’t end this way!

It’s
hard to breathe, so I focus on the easy, the mundane – the crisp, clean hallway
with grey linoleum floors and light green walls. It smells like potpourri. My
stomach roils.

“…just
have some time to yourself, think things through. You’ll be fine. Don’t cry.”

I
hadn’t realized the guy to me right was speaking to me, trying to reassure me.
I hadn’t realized I was crying.

My
room is only three halls away from Doc’s office.

They
lead me to my bed, question my stability. I tell them I’m fine. I apologize that
they had to
help
.

When
I’ve convinced them that I’ve calmed down, they walk slowly for the door,
glancing back at me and consorting in whispers. Ignoring them, I bury my face
in the pillow and wait until they leave.

It
takes minutes for the door to click. When it does, between the heavy cotton
under my face, and my hair falling to shield me from the light, I can almost
believe it’s all been a dream.

But
two minutes later, when the room has remained silent, I look up.

My
room is empty.

The
clock says 2:17pm.

Twenty-eight
minutes. I failed by twenty-eight minutes.

Then
the tears really come.

Chapter Forty

No
one understands what I’m trying to do. Not even the person who will benefit
most from it.

My
hospital room is about to become the site of my ultimate failure. The entire
cycle will begin again. My body is slack with desperation.

But
after a time, even I can’t avoid it any longer. I raise my head, feel the cold
of tears on my cheeks as the air moves. The clock says 2:39pm. My stomach
sinks. It’s happening.

I
sit up straight and wipe my face.

Enough.
Even though I’ve failed, she can’t be alone for this.

I
wipe my eyes which refuse to stop producing tears, stumble to the closet in the
wall and swing open the door.

On
the inside is the mirror the nurses installed after my second therapist decided
it wasn’t healthy for me to be avoiding mirrors completely. I’d pretended angst
about it, but was secretly relieved. No more sneaking off to the bathroom to
talk to her.

I
face the mirror and push my shoulders back. Try to straighten my ponytail. I
look terrible. But that’s the least of both our problems today.

Will
I tell her?

She’s
so angry with me right now. It could mean losing her forever.

Besides,
there probably won’t be time.

I
open my mouth to say her name, to open the portal, or whatever it is we have
that allows us to talk to each other. But my throat is closed with tears and
fear and failure. I cough to clear it.

“Sta-acy?”
It comes out like a croak.

Then
she’s there, standing in front of a bunch of easels. Easels displaying her
work.
Our
work.

It’s
been almost funny to me to examine her art when the chance presents itself.
After all, she’s me. We took the same classes, had the same influences, were
drawn to the same inspirations. And yet…

Her
faces are better than mine. Her still-lifes less stylized.

I
remember the portraits. And the self-portrait. I remember the pieces of Mark…

She’s
done better than I did. She’s given them more time. Or maybe she’s simply
better.

I
hope so.

She
hasn’t realized I’m watching, and I take advantage of that, watching her quick,
sure movements, grateful that she’s turned the easels to face the window. From
this angle, I can actually see some of what’s on them.

The
clock overhead ticks one minute closer and the nerves in my stomach tighten,
curl into a tingling mess that threatens to suck my navel into my spine.

It’s
almost ti–

The
door behind me swings open with a creak. I jump, haven’t even turned around
before his voice fills my head.

“How
could you do this, Stacy? How could you give up? Did you think the doctor
wouldn’t tell me?”

“M-Mark?!”
I whirl to find him standing in the doorway; drink in the sight of his face,
his golden hair – just beginning to lighten at the temples, his strong, broad
shoulders, heavier than they used to be, but still magnificent.

His
face is hard and it pains me. But I can’t help the twirl of hope because
he’s
here.
It’s impossible. But he’s here!

Mark
storms across the carpet to stand in front of me, grabs both my arms and gives
me a tiny shake. “Why wouldn’t you just talk to him? How will you ever get
better if you won’t let anyone in to this? I can’t make this better for you,
Stacy. I can’t make
you
better.” He drops my arms, running one hand
through his hair in a way that makes it stand up, and reminds me of when we
were teenagers.

I
know what he’s saying is serious. I know I should be scared. But all I can
think is that he’s here.

Now.

I
never imagined…“What are you doing here?” I thought I had to get out of here. I
thought I had to go to him.

He
slumps. “I was supposed to be coming to do a session with you and the doctor.
But he said you tried to lie to him. Stacy, why would you do that? What’s going
on?”

Without
thinking, I turn to see what Little Stacy’s doing. Then I wonder whether she
can see him… but as soon as I face the mirror my questions are answered.

She’s
glaring at me, her mouth half-open, still unused to seeing him. Still angry
with me for lying. But she doesn’t understand. I had to see if she could change
our life. I had to see if she could take a different path.

And
she did! She finally did!

I
lied, yes, I lied. But it moved her. And she didn’t give up. She’s there, in
the art room. And she
will
succeed. I’m sure of it. And now Mark is here
too…

It’s
too much to think I might not have failed after all.

Maybe…maybe
we
can
change history.

Mark
sighs and steps forward, reaching for my arm more gently this time. He stares
over my shoulder, into the mirror, into my eyes. For the first time in a long
time I see what he must look like to other people – so tall and proud and
sure
.
I remember how much I loved him for that. Before. Before he decided I was
stone-cold crazy.

It’s
the thing that’s always between us now. His eyes rarely warm for me anymore.
And when they do, it’s quickly followed by the moment when he
remembers
and the chill returns. Now, because he’s so
sure
I’m a mess, and because
I fight him on it, there’s only anger in his gaze. And so much hurt.

But
he’s here. And Stacy’s here too. And…and maybe this will work.

“Stay
with me.” It comes out of my mouth as a breath. “It’s almost over. Then we
can–” I want to catch the words and suck them back in when his jaw tightens.

“No,”
he says, the tension in his face underlining the word. “I’m not going to let
you do this. I’m not going to let you ruin everything for… for this!” He
gestures towards the mirror.

Everything
. Our marriage isn’t a relationship
anymore. It’s a thing. It’s his
thing
that he fears should never have
happened.

Stacy
doesn’t know that.

She’s
staring now, mouth wide as her eyes flip back and forth between Mark and me.

I
meet her gaze, but can’t hold it. I’m still afraid I’ve failed. Still deathly
afraid she’ll pay the price.

Mark’s
hand tightens on my shoulder. But I speak first.

 “Mark,
I’m not crazy,” I say, or try to. My voice is very weak.

“I
didn’t want to put you here.” Mark says and I think he didn’t hear me. “But you
didn’t leave me any choice. I just wanted to get you help.”

“I
don’t need that kind of help.”

“Stacy–”

“I
said, no.”

He
turns his face away like I slapped him.

It’s
a wonder I haven’t yelled at him yet. Must be the shock.

He
palmed me off on my mother because he didn’t have the guts to tell me he was
having me committed again. Drew up the papers behind my back, then had her
deliver me here. I only came because I assumed they’d let me out after three
days, like last time.

But
I was wrong. Doc knows which side his bread’s buttered on.

So
the plans I’d been making for years came to nothing until Doc agreed to see me
and I thought maybe, just maybe, he would be the answer to my freedom – to her
freedom. But then he saw through me. But in the wrong way. He didn’t let me go.

I
turn to Mark, plead with my eyes. He’s our last chance.

He
shakes his head. “Are you really ready to give up everything – us – for this?
Because that’s where we’re headed. You know that, right?”

I
do. But right now I can’t focus on whatever he’s about to threaten me with
because Stacy’s looking very frightened. She’s turned half-away from me. Her
face just paled.

“Stacy?”

Then
the voice I’ve been waiting for rises from deeper in her room. I can’t see him yet,
but I would know Finn’s voice anywhere. That cold, cutting tone.

He
says, “You think that’s me?” in a dark voice.

“It’s
how I feel when I look at you,” she replies.

The
paintings. They’re talking about Stacy’s portraits.

He
strides into the frame then, his finger stabbing towards her chest. If he
didn’t come so close, get up in her face, I wouldn’t have been able to hear the
cold, quiet words he spits at her. At me. At us.

“Everyone
knows about you now. They all know how pathetic and mental you are. They all
read your little love letter, your confession and they laughed…” He goes on and
on.

I
want to scream at him to stop. I want to push through the mirror and punch him
for her. But I know it has to be this way.

I’m
sick that she included me in the letter. Sick for what it will mean for her if
I can’t pull this off.

In
my version of our life, the letter was a juvenile attempt at declaring true
love. Finn still almost killed me, but I had more options after it was all
done. I never told Mark about my Older Me, or Little Stacy. Eventually, after
we were together, he just caught me talking to the mirror too many times to
ignore it.

I
realize my hands are shaking. My head is beginning to spin. I’m nauseous. Mark
is in my ear, hissing his threats to leave me. To cut us apart because he
thinks I’m psychotic. He’s serious this time.

Stacy
cowers a couple feet away from the mirror. Finn’s looming over her. The look on
her face makes me ache to hug her. Makes my stomach hurt.

I
hate this part.

“You
don’t get it, do you C?” Finn leans even closer. Stacy steps back, but trips.
Reflexively I reach to catch her, but it isn’t time. She isn’t close enough.

Mark
groans. “What do you see in there, Stacy? Why can’t you see that there’s no one
in that mirror except us?” The despair in his voice closes my eyes. But I push
them back open because I can’t miss this.

It’s
coming.

Stacy
stumbles back, comes up hard against a stack of stools that bump and rock, but
don’t fall. Finn glares down at her. She looks like she’s going to throw up .

I
know the feeling. “Stacy, it’s okay. I’m here,” I murmur.

“Would
you stop talking to yourself?!” Mark yells in my ear.

Stacy
jumps, starts to turn to look back at us, but Finn grabs her.  They
struggle and the front of her blouse gives way, buttons tapping to the floor
when they pop.

 “Never
stop trying to catch me, do you, C?” Finn grins at her boobs and I’m caught in
the weirdest sensation of being me, and being her. I feel her embarrassment,
her pain. I feel anger on her behalf. I feel that Finn is a slug I’d like to
squish under my heel.

They
struggle again, she falls and I wince when she thumps to the floor.

“Stacy,
look at me!” Mark tugs at my arm, but I can’t turn away now.

Finn
threatens to take her picture and send it out. My teeth clench.

Stacy
tries to move away and he stops her.

“What
kind of world have you made for yourself in there?” my Mark pleads. “What are
you running from? Stacy…why can’t I be enough for you?”

The
tenderness and hurt in Mark’s voice forces me to turn, just for a moment. I
touch his arm. “You’re the best part. I wish… I wish you understood that.”

He
stares at me as if I’ve spoken another language. For a second I think maybe we
still have a chance. But then his face hardens and he launches into another
tirade.

I
can’t deal with that right now.

It’s
time to let her know. To give her what I can so that if this doesn’t work,
she’ll realize. She can try. She can be the one to break the cycle.

“Stacy,
I’m here. Don’t get scared. It’s all going to be fine…” I murmur as many
reassurances as I can think of. Anything to let her know I’ve been here. That I
know what’s going on. That she isn’t alone. She’ll never be alone again. “I’ve
been through this,” I murmur, flinching at her remembered pain, “You’re going
to be okay.”

Terribly
disfigured, but alive. And her heart will heal.

I’ll
make sure of it.

Finn
is touching her now, running a finger down her chest. The light in his eyes is
frightening.

Then
he’s pulled her to her feet and whipped her around. They’re facing us and I
pray, I wish, I
ache
for him to see me. To prove her right. To scare the
bejeezus out of him.

“What
do you see?” he hisses in her ear. “How many people are there, Stacy? Are you prettier
in there? Thinner?”

“Leave
me alone.”

“You
know you’re totally insane?” When she doesn’t respond, Finn leans closer.
“What? I couldn’t understand your bark, can you repeat that?”

“I
said, leave me alone!” Then she makes me proud.