Breakable Read online

  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.

  I remember this part vividly, the realization that the only way to get him off is to hurt him. Quickly followed by the recognition of how close he pinned my hands to his own most vulnerable anatomy.

  I remember stretching to reach, finding the soft spot, hoping it’s enough.

  And even though I know it is, it’s a relief to see his eyes widen, to watch him fold in half like he’s been stabbed. I can’t help it, I clap.

  He totally deserved that.

  But then he shoves her and she tumbles out of view, into the wall the mirror is leaning against and her head takes the brunt of the impact.

  I remember that too. It hurt like hell.

  When she slides to the floor and folds forward to hold her head, I
can see her again.

  And that’s when the second voice I’ve been waiting for arrives.

  “What the–?!”

  My heart sings. She needs to look up. She needs to see this! “Look up, Stacy. It’s happening. It’s finally happening!”

  “What is going on?”

  Finn and Stacy both jump to convince Mark the other is the problem. But I can’t see him yet. I bite my lip and taste blood.

  Come in. Come closer. Take him down.

  Stacy stumbles to her feet, takes a step toward Mark. “No, he hit me…” she’s pointing at Finn.

  Nothing happens for a moment, then my heart soars. Mark flies into the frame, taking Finn out at the waist. They thunk to the floor, struggling, lashing out, punching…

  “You hit a girl?! You’re such a coward!” Mark is red in the face, his shoulders rippling as he vents on Finn. I find I’m dancing on my toes.

  “Stacy?” My Mark’s voice finally cuts through and I realize he’s standing off to my right. I look at him, pray this will work, and pull him over to stand next to me.

  “Just wait,” I say quietly, squeezing his arm when he tries to move away. “Please. Just…just do this for me and then I’ll do whatever you want.

  There’s a bang and clash from the other side of the mirror as the guys run into a stack of easels and they tumble to the floor.

  “What…?” My Mark makes a strange noise in his throat. “How…?”

  I turn.

  Mark’s staring at the mirror.

  His jaw has dropped until it almost rests on his chest. He keeps trying to close it, to speak, but he can’t. It drops open again.

  I look at the mirror, has it happened already? But no, the boys are still fighting. Stacy’s still trying to get past them, holding her head, wavering.

  “How are you doing this?” Mark’s voice is hoarse.

  I turn. Could he be seeing…? No, that’s impossible. But…

  “Stacy,” he croaks. “How did you do this?”

  “You can see that?!” I gasp.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I watch, fascinated, as my Mark – my older, wiser, skeptical Mark – gapes at the mirror, horrified.

  “Stop!” Stacy screams, pulling my attention back to her.

  Her Mark freezes, one arm cocked around Finn’s neck. His head snaps up to Stacy, but his eyes catch on us and he does a double take.

  My stomach twists into a thousand knots.

  Finn slumps to the floor as her Mark lets him go, straightens, staring at us. “How…? What…?”

  Mark grabs my hand and I gasp because he’s watching. He can see! He’s fixed on the image of his younger self, eyes so wide the white shows all the way around.

  Then his hand comes up. “That’s us… that day…”

  Yes! I can’t make my throat work, it’s closing, pinching, pushing out tears. So I nod frantically instead.

  “That’s me,” both Marks whisper at the same time.

  My Mark turns, his face a mask of terror. “How did you do this?”

  My tears turn cold. I grab his arms as he tries to step back. “No. No I didn’t… this is real, Mark. You have to be believe me–”

  “Y-you’re trying to make me think…how did you do this? Is that doctor in on it?” He’s pawing at my hands, trying to push them off.

  “No! Mark, please! You have to–”

  In my peripheral vision I see Finn rise behind the Mark in the mirror, tackle him. He’s left bleeding.

  Mine has seen it too. He’s frozen, aghast. I raise a hand to the scar at the side of his lip.

  “Remember?” I breathe, praying, pleading with God to let him see that it’s real.

  Mark’s eyes finally slip to meet mine. I can see the uncertainty. The fear. And the tiniest spark of belief.

  My tears return and I nod at the same time my younger self yells.

  I turn, releasing Mark. It’s reflex.

  It all happens too fast.

  Stacy’s holding her head, the guys tumbling around on the floor. But before I can take a step, they crash into her.

  She screams.

  “I’m here!” It slips out of my throat, shrill and desperate. But my legs won’t move fast enough.

  Her arms are out as she falls, her eyes holding mine, terrified.

  I try to catch her, wish for it, need it.

  But I’m too far away, and Mark screams, pulls at me.

  The mirror shatters, and even from four feet away I feel the tiny slices in my head. I remember the tear and burn.

  She’s coming.

  Then she’s here.

  Glass patters to the floor first. Then Stacy lands, splayed, her hands barely catching her weight before her nose reaches the carpet.

  I throw myself to the floor beside her, reach for her.

  Her head comes up. She stares at me through a mask of blood and pain.

  “Yes!” The word tears out of my throat.

  The Mark with me and one with her are both yelling – screaming our name.

  I reach for her and her horrified eyes watch my shaking hands approach.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I gasp, trying to believe it myself because there’s so much blood. “They’ve seen us now,” I say. “You’re free.” My words are barely more than breath.

  But as her body goes into shock and she begins to quiver, she looks over my shoulder and gives a jerky nod. “S-so are y-you,” she pushes from between teeth clenched in pain.

  I turn, catch sight of Mark’s stunned face staring at her and an impossible laugh erupts from the only place left in me that isn’t dying.

  But when I turn back to give her my smile and tell her she’s right, it’s too late.

  She’s gone.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Six months later, in Little Stacy’s life

  I pressed the soft bills through the little window in the cabby’s bullet-proof screen and waited for my change. Outside the car window a wide sidewalk was littered in tiny pieces of color from people’s lives. A steady stream of bodies flowed by, but none of their eyes turned towards the six shining glass doors at the top of the stairs behind them.

  The gallery.

  Posters hugged both ends of the building, proclaiming “National Young Artist of the Year!”

  Mrs. C. told me one of the half-dozen posters they printed this year featured my portrait of Finn. I hope she’s wrong. None of these were mine.

  “Hey, kid!” The cabby was turned awkwardly to thrust a few coins at me. “I gotta go. Get movin’.”

  I took the coins, opened the door and tried to pretend I was ready to do this.

  The second my feet hit the pavement, a wave of fear washed down my spine – like cold water running off my hair.

  The thick, woolen jacket I wore covered me from neck to knees, hiding my dress and my scars. I was tempted to keep it on all night. But the non-existent hairs on my legs prickled, reaching for the sky. I needed to find warmth or become yet another tragic New York headline. I took a reluctant step forward.

  Six months after the “accident” I could move a lot easier – though I still had to be careful about twisting. So it was little trouble to trot along the pavement and around the corner to the side door I’d been told to use. As an exhibitionist I had to be there early, before the doors opened to the public.

  There were fewer people on the side street – and less light, too. As the late afternoon sun dropped behind the massive face of the city, part of me wanted to walk right past the dark little door on my right and find a cute, hole-in-the-wall donut shop instead. But just as my steps faltered the door came into view. I set my teeth and grabbed the handle.

  It felt like the building swallowed me as I stepped inside the black space of the doorway, into a dark, narrow hallway lined with pipes and electrical cords. Two minutes later, a door at the end of the damp hall opened to a dark corner of the lobby. The bathroom doors were in a discreet alcove to my right. The dim space of the service desk and
cloak room to my left. Straight ahead, the lobby opened up. Natural light from those glass doors brightened the broad space. But between the red carpeting and the wood paneled walls, it kind of looked like an old-fashioned movie theatre.

  A cute guy with trying-too-hard-hair emerged from the den of cubbyholes and coats. “Do you have your ID?”

  Oh, right. I tugged the large, plastic card on a lanyard around my neck until it popped out of the neck of my jacket.

  The guy scanned it and smiled. “Can I take your coat, Stacy?”

  He couldn’t have been much older than me. I shook my head and pulled my jacket closer, like I was cold. Though, I suspected I’d be sweating before too long. The room seemed almost stifling after the chill outside.

  When the guy opened his mouth again, I turned on my heel and pushed through the nearest bathroom door. It smelled bright and clean. But the fluorescent lighting in these places was never flattering, so I didn’t stop. I was through the large, sliding door of the handicapped stall before I could think.

  Old habits die hard.

  Sure enough, the stall sported its own sink, and a small, square mirror directly above it. I had to stoop to see my face, but I figured it was good a time as any to check my make-up.

  With trembling hands, I wiped non-existent mascara smears off my cheek, and tried not to think about Older Me.

  Every time I was alone in front of a mirror, the pangs started in my chest because I knew she wouldn’t show up.

  And I also knew she was real.

  I missed her.

  That moment when I went through the glass, when she came for me… for a split second I thought we were going to be together. But then she was gone. And she’s never come back.

  I’m alone in the mirror now. After all the years sharing my reflection, it’s a strange feeling.

  I took two more deep breaths, closed my eyes and turned away from the mirror.

  It was time.

  A few seconds later I dropped my coat at the service desk. The guy who took it was the same guy who’d offered a minute earlier. I made a joke about changing my mind, then ignored the way his eyes widened when my arms were revealed.