The Shatterproof Heart

by Loretta Lost

  I take a deep breath and force myself to nod again, grabbing the handle of the car door and opening it. I step out, staring up at the steps of the mental health facility. When he exits the car and walks around to join me, I bite my lip. “What if I am never able to get better?” I ask him.

  “I will love you just as much whether you are split into two pieces, or a hundred. It would be a little complicated getting to know all of those people, and finding out what each one likes in bed, but I can manage it.”

  I try to give him a little smile. Then I grow serious, putting my hands into the oversized pockets of my pajamas. “I’m sorry I left you again.” I hesitate, wishing there was something I could say that would change his mind. “I know that I can be really difficult. I was just messed up about Joy. He really made me believe that I had abandoned our baby to die in a bathtub. I was on heroin—or something. Maybe a bunch of things.”

  “You know what? It might be true,” Cole says slowly, with a thoughtful look. “We might have a baby.” When he sees the horrified look on my face, he touches my elbow. “I will look into it and see if there’s anything I can find. I’ll ask Roddy for help. Maybe there is a little girl floating around somewhere out there, and Joy was a sort of sign that she needed you. That you should try to find her.”

  “Will you hate me if there is?”

  “No, Scar. But if there is a little girl out there, or if we’re ever going to try to make another, you need to walk through the doors of that facility. For her. Because she deserves a mother who isn’t so afraid. She deserves a mother who has a little more control.”

  It hurts me to hear him talk like this, and I take a step back. “I do have control,” I tell him angrily. Reaching into the top of my shirt, I pull out the necklace containing Benjamin’s cervical vertebrae. “I wanted Snow to take these. I wanted her to castrate him, and rip out his heart. It wasn’t all her. I was there with her, and I had some control. It was both of us. I’m stronger than I used to be.”

  “And you’ll need to find a way to live with yourself now,” he tells me, moving closer and brushing some of my destroyed hair behind my ear. “I think that all this time, when you’re running from me, you’re really running from yourself. You’re running from your true desires, and your true identity, because you’re scared that you’re something horrible. A killer. But you’re not. You’re a warrior, Scarlett. And you survived. You survived what many people couldn’t. You got through it, and you came back to me, and I’ll always be grateful to every part of you that was even remotely involved. But you need to heal, now.”

  “I took trophies,” I murmur. “It wasn’t just survival. It was revenge, and it was vicious. I guess I can understand why you want me to talk to a shrink. What sane person kills a man and takes trophies?”

  “Someone who needs reassurance that the monster who abused her for years is really dead. We both know that nothing is certain in this world. Sometimes people seem dead, but they really aren’t.” He gives me a sly smile. “But every time you feel afraid, you can just reach up and touch that necklace, and know that he is gone. That you survived. That you won. It’s a symbol of your strength. I get it.”

  I smack him in the shoulder lightly to communicate my annoyance, like we are still children. “So if you think it makes sense, then why are we here?” I demand.

  He hesitates. “Because of Joy. Because we’ve been dealing with Snow for over a decade, but we’ve never dealt with anything like this. And I can’t risk failing, and having you run away from me again. I can’t risk losing you.”

  “So you’re going to put me in a straightjacket and keep me locked up in a box,” I accuse. “Very original. It’s not like Benjamin didn’t just try that.”

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he tells me, grasping my hands. “It’s totally voluntary. I’m not forcing you. We can try to cope with this together, if you want. But Scar… I really think this is the best decision. Even Snow said…”

  This time I do pull my hand away and slap him in the face. “Don’t talk to me about Snow! I hate that you two have conversations behind my back. And apparently way more than just conversations? That’s just disgusting, Cole!”

  He chuckles a little sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sorry. That girl is just really hard to resist. I think it’s something about her incredibly hot body. Oh, and that I’m often in the middle of having sex with you when she shows up, and she pretends to be you. That makes it really difficult, yanno.”

  “Ugh,” I grumble. “That sounds like something she would do.”

  “She looks almost exactly like you,” he adds, placing his hands on my hips. “Feels a little bit like you too.”

  “This is not the time to joke around,” I tell him. “Really, Cole? We’re standing outside a prison for crazy people, and you’re trying to be flirtatious with the other girl who lives inside my brain. Are you sure you want me to get better? Because it might be less fun for you, sexually, to have less personalities to bang. Maybe you’ll even get so bored that you’ll have to cheat on me.”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think of Snow as a sickness. She’s just part of who you are.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about her?” I ask in frustration. “All this time, I’ve been so confused about the blackouts, the bruises. And you knew her. You knew me better than I knew myself.”

  “I’ve been lucky to know you,” he says, suddenly serious. “And if there’s more to know, I’ll spend my life trying to figure you out. But you have to help me a little.”

  “By going in there?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m sorry if it’s too much to ask. I know you’ve had issues with psychiatrists in the past. But I believe this will help both of us. And if there is something legitimate about Joy’s existence, and she isn’t just a part of you, don’t you think this could help us figure that out?”

  I nod. My stomach churns with anxiety. That’s reason enough.

  “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Scarlett. And I’ve loved you more with each passing year. You are the strongest woman I know, and you are beautiful. On the outside, of course, but especially all those jewel-like fragments of color on the inside. You are complex, intimidating, frustrating, and utterly worth every ounce of pain you’ve given me, because you also give me immeasurable joy. Is it any wonder the girl’s name is Joy? I was not surprised. Your inner child seems like a Joy to me, but you were forced to grow up too fast, and keep her repressed. I knew who she was the moment Zack mentioned her.”

  “I had no clue,” I tell him quietly.

  “That’s why you need to turn around and walk through those doors,” he says, gently taking my shoulders and spinning me around. “It’s a new adventure, Scar. You need to learn to love yourself, and accept yourself, the way I do.”

  Clenching my jaw nervously, I wish there was some other way. All I want to do is throw my arms around Cole, and cling to him like a child being separated from her parents on her first day of kindergarten. Instead, I straighten my posture.

  “Okay,” I tell him. Stepping forward, I begin to climb the stairs to the facility. It feels a little like climbing the stairs to get out of the basement. I don’t turn back, because I know that if I look at his face, I won’t be able to keep walking.

  Halfway to the top, I pause. I clench my fists. After being trapped in a room, raped and drugged, unsure if I’d survive or ever be free again, it’s difficult to march into another situation that resembles captivity. Will they make me take more drugs? I don’t want to lose my sense of clarity. Most of all, after being unsure of whether I’d ever see Cole again, it is difficult to turn my back on him and walk away voluntarily. I unclench my fists. Then I clench them again.

  I can feel myself being pulled back to him, from some magnetic bond between us. As I start to turn, I realize that he is waiting for me to return—expecting it. He doesn’t actually want me to go. If I just run back down these stairs and plea
d with him, he will cave. He will drive me back to his hotel and make love to me again.

  My body and heart stir with this prospect.

  But Joy wasn’t real. All along, she wasn’t real. And if you ever get pregnant—you will definitely go crazy again. You will lose your mind, even momentarily, and you will hurt him. If you don’t get it together, he will get sick of this, eventually. He will stop loving you. He will leave you. He will stop chasing after you when you leave.

  Any sane person would.

  It’s a miracle he’s still here.

  I unclench my fists.

  Cole has always shown vast patience with me—and yet, I’ve been so afraid. Maybe I need to make this sacrifice, and show him that I am willing to do whatever it takes to make a change. I’ve run away from him so many times before, and I don’t want him to stop trusting me.

  Maybe this time, physically walking away actually means getting closer to him in the long run. It would be easy to stay, and I need to do the difficult thing. The right thing.

  So, I don’t turn around. I keep on walking.

  I hope that whatever I learn in this building can help me to be a better person, and to love him better. He deserves that.

  And maybe I deserve that, too.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sophie Shields, 2016

  “Do you think you’re ready to talk to me today, Sophie?” asks the therapist.

  I hate her.

  I don’t even look up from the book I’m reading. Cole delivered a care package for me, and it contained one of my favorite books by Terry Goodkind. I can still remember the sweet way he used to read aloud to me in college. Whenever life got too hard to handle, Cole was there to build me back up.

  So where is he now? Why is he forcing me to stay in this small room, on this uncomfortable bed, in this ugly, hospital-like environment?

  Worst of all, they won’t even let me drink coffee.

  I feel like I have been plunged into some kind of hellish, post-apocalyptic, dystopian society.

  And I’m sure that even those have coffee.

  My every meal is measured, and I am being forced to take antidepressants and antipsychotics. The caffeine withdrawal headaches are killer. I have tried to be humble and gain something from this experience, but I just feel humiliated. The staff has been treating me with such suspicion and condescension. We are in Canada—I thought healthcare was supposed to be better in Canada?

  The only thing that helps me escape my awful surroundings is a burying my face in a good book. But couldn’t I just have spent some quiet time reading outside this place? Close to Cole?

  I miss the lake. I miss the stars and the moon, and sitting on the dock and staring at their reflections in the water. I miss being able to breathe fresh air, and listen to the birds. Heck, I even miss swatting the damn mosquitoes off my skin.

  I just want to be alone. I don’t want to be near people, or forced to talk to them.

  For the first time, I actually wonder if Zack knew what was best for me more than Cole did. Being near Zack was like being alone, and being half-alive. Just existing, and feeling not much of anything. But being near Cole is like walking on air. My whole body starts to hum with electricity, and I feel like things are going to be okay. Better than okay. Even good.

  Why would he give me a little piece of heaven, and then rip it away from me? Why would he send me here, to a place that makes me want to curl up and die? It’s so lonely and fake. No one actually cares. It reminds me of the group homes I used to stay in before I was adopted. The group homes that made me excited to go home with anyone, even Benjamin.

  “Do you want to tell me a little about the book you’re reading?” the therapist asks.

  I don’t respond. I focus on the pages. I just wish she’d go away.

  “I see that there’s a dragon on the cover. That looks interesting,” the woman says. “Is it like Game of Thrones?”

  Chewing on my lip, I decide to try to be civil. “Not exactly. It’s less depressing.”

  She makes a note of this. “I see. I can understand why a depressed person would find Game of Thrones depressing.”

  My eyes drift away from the book and up to the woman in annoyance. She keeps saying judgmental shit like this. How does that help her patients? We’re already suffering, and she treats us like nutcases. Game of Thrones is depressing. Your favorite characters get killed. It makes everyone miserable.

  “Do you believe dragons are real, Sophie?”

  I exhale and roll my eyes. It takes a great deal of strength not to chuck the book at her head for treating me like an imbecile. Is that kind of question warranted? What kind of crazy people are in this place?

  “You said you came in here because your boyfriend was worried about you,” she says. “Don’t you think we should try to examine some of your issues?”

  “My issues are resolved,” I tell her. “I fixed the problem.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks me.

  “Yes. I’m perfectly fine, and just trying to enjoy this book. And no, I don’t believe in dragons. Can you tell me what’s acceptable reading material for a place like this? Is there anything I can do that won’t get scrutinized or ridiculed?”

  “I apologize, Sophie. I’m just trying…”

  “Maybe you should try harder,” I suggest. “Or get a job you’re actually good at. Maybe you’d be better suited to dealing with kindergarten or preschool, where everyone has imaginary friends, believes in Santa Claus, and the tooth fairy.”

  As I say this, I realize that I do kind of have an imaginary friend in Snow. And although I don’t see mythical beasts, I did see a little girl who wasn’t real. A pang of pain slices through my chest. Maybe the question isn’t so ridiculous after all.

  “I am sorry if I offended you. Well, I’ll leave you be and come back tomorrow,” the therapist says. “Enjoy your reading, Sophie.”

  When she exits my room, I stand up and begin to pace in frustration. Tomorrow. I have to go through this pointless exercise again tomorrow. Without coffee. As I wrap my arms around my stomach, I feel the pain bubble up inside me, like heat. It feels like it is building to an explosion, and I need to do something to let it out. I feel crazy and even begin to contemplate hurting myself to make it stop.

  I wanted to do the right thing and try to be better, for Cole, but this is unbearable.

  It isn’t helping.

  I move to the window and grasp the sides, wishing that I could escape. Of course, the windows are barred up and very secure. Just like the prison where Benjamin kept me.

  I can’t help feeling a reckless kind of anger, like I don’t care whether I live or die.

  If I could pry this window open, I would love to stick my head out and feel the cool wind. I feel like I’m suffocating in here. In fact, I would love to throw myself out of this window and feel the rush of the wind around me as I fall. Before my body splatters on the concrete.

  That would make it stop hurting.

  That would be peaceful, like the lake.

  I stare down at the seductive concrete, wondering how I can make this happen. And achieve real serenity. I stare until my vision grows dizzy, and I find myself swaying on my feet. Maybe I’m just not suitable for this world anymore.

  And those kinds of thoughts are exactly why you need to be in a place like this.

  “Shut up,” I snap at the voice inside my head. “I’m here because of you. You tricked me into thinking that Joy was real, and I acted like a complete fool around Zack. He didn’t want to live with a lunatic.”

  I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know she wasn’t real.

  “Where is she?” I demand, my voice breaking. “Where is Joy? Why can’t I see her anymore?”

  Maybe because she never existed.

  “But what if she does exist?” I ask. “Do you even exist? What the hell is wrong with me?!” Coming to this place has left me with more questions than answers. I turn around and look for something to throw or kick or smash. The
truth is, I miss Joy. I miss talking to her, and hearing her laugh. Even if she wasn’t real, she meant something to me.

  She kept me strong when I was with Benjamin. She was the only good thing I had, the life raft in the middle of an ocean of shit. She saved me. She gave me something to fight for. Someone to take care of, and love.

  And now that she’s gone, I just feel empty.

  I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.

  Maybe I want to be crazy.

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I examine the room for any sort of object I could use to hurt myself. Of course, these rooms are designed to house people with exactly those intentions, so it is difficult.

  Something about that challenge makes me want to hurt myself even more.

  Moving over to the bedframe, I examine its construction. I try to find a sharp edge that could resemble a knife, but everything is smooth.

  I do, however, see a loose screw. It’s not much, but I use my fingers to begin to unscrew it and pry it away from the bed.

  But before I can do this, everything goes black.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  SNOW

  Why does she get all the therapy? I’m the one who killed Benjamin. I’m the one who does all the dirty work, all the heavy lifting around here. Doesn’t anyone think that I deserve a chance to talk about my feelings? Because I do have them. Feelings. She might have been held captive for a few weeks, but I am always stuck down in the damn basement. And it makes me fucking furious.

  I am now sitting with the best shrink in the building.

  He’s a kind looking man who reminds me a little of Mr. Bishop. I demanded that I speak to someone other than that annoying little woman who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. I demanded that I speak to someone capable. Or else what’s the point of being here?

  My anger is so strong that I really just want to beat everyone up and leave. But I can’t do that to Serena. I can’t get her into trouble. Somehow, I’ve avoided getting her locked up this far, and I’m not going to start now. Besides, there is a considerable amount of security.