by Loretta Lost
“Cole?” the old woman says, looking up.
“Yes. So, you see, my life has been just like a fairytale,” I say as the tears pour out of my eyes. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
“Really?” the old woman asks, and she is crying—but she is crying from happiness now.
“Absolutely. I’ve experienced such sublime joy like you would never imagine. I’m never had any pain. Not even a little bit. No one has ever harmed me. I’m the happiest girl who ever lived. I’m completely certain of it. I had the happiest childhood, and now that I’m grown, Cole makes me the happiest woman, every single day.”
The old woman has a new light in her eyes. “That is… the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, in a breathless whisper. She looks completely changed from the frightful, broken creature I met upon walking in the door. She looks like she has seen god.
“I just wanted to find you, my mother, and tell you all this.” I say, squeezing her hands. “Thank you for giving me everything. You gave me life, and endless happiness. You were the best mother a girl could ask for. Everything worked out exactly like it was supposed to. I forgive you, and you should forgive yourself.”
“Thank heavens,” the old woman whispers. “I’m not a monster after all.”
“You’re not,” I say softly. And digging deep inside myself for the strength, I lean forward and place a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “You are a good mother, and I love you.”
The old woman completely breaks down, putting her head in her hands and crying even harder than before. She is crying so hard that her whole body shakes, and she cannot breathe. I pull away from her then, rising to my feet and standing beside Cole.
I look down at her and I feel nothing. No resentment, no anger.
No pity.
I turn around and walk out of that foul apartment, eager for some fresh air. When I exit, I grasp the metal railing beside the stairs so tightly that I’m surprised the metal doesn’t melt in my hand. Cole walks out behind me, and circles his hand around my waist. I lean my head on his shoulder, grateful for his presence.
“God, Scar. What happened in there? I’ve never seen you like that, before.” He seems pretty damn flabbergasted. “You were an angel of mercy.”
“I didn’t lie,” I tell him weakly, as rest my cheek on his collarbone. “My life is good as long as you’re beside me. And… I do believe she loved me. I believe she did her best.”
“Do you think she deserved that much kindness?”
“She tried to save me from all this,” I say, pointing in the general direction of the world, “in the only way she could possibly manage. You saw that woman—she was weak. She wasn’t capable of doing anything more. When she tried to kill me—maybe it’s the only brave thing she ever did in her wretched, worthless existence. That’s better than a lot of mothers, you know? Better than torturing a child by subjecting it to a life…” I gesture toward the apartment behind me. “A life like that.”
“You were subjected to a life like that,” I remind her.
“No,” I tell him, grasping his hand. “I found you. That wasn’t a lie. My life has been fucking amazing.”
“Scar—”
“For god’s sake, Cole! Stop that. I’m not Scarlett. You really think that Scarlett could do what I just did?” My shoulders begin to shake with a small chuckle, that escalates until I am throwing my head back and laughing at the sky. I remove Cole’s hand’s from my body, and I laugh in his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Look at me. I can tell a really good fucking story. I can be anything they want me to be, you know. Anything they need me to be. And if you don’t know who I am by now… I wonder if you’ll ever know me.”
I march down the steps, toward the rental car. It takes a second, but Cole follows me. “Snow?” he asks hoarsely, confused and surprised.
“What do you think?” I mutter, annoyed at his dumb question.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” he says, touching my arm.
I rip my limb away from him. “I get it. I look a lot like her. It’s like you’re dating twins, and there are no defining birthmarks. But Cole, if you ever question who I am—just remember that weak, disgusting woman in there, who ruined my life—who doesn’t deserve to be alive: She’s exactly like Serena.”
“No, Sc—Snow, don’t say that.”
“Why not? Serena has lost multiple pregnancies, too. And she totally lost her mind, along with them.”
“Okay, the first time, you were twelve and locked in a room. That’s terrifying and traumatic.”
“Sure,” I say, angrily. “And I took care of that, for her. I bear the burden of that loss. It doesn’t excuse her fear when we were 23, and it was with you. She never had anything to fear with you. And now we have a CIA agent and a detective hunting down a possible child that could be out there somewhere, that I don’t even know about. That’s how fucked up she is.”
“But the trauma was already there,” Cole says. “It’s also my fault, for not being more careful, more sensitive. I wasn’t being as explicit about my feelings and intentions as I should have been. I made her afraid.”
“I don’t care. That was my baby, too—I made it with you. But Serena lost it, and I hate her for it. And it makes us exactly like that woman. I don’t want to be like that woman, Cole. I never want to be like her.”
He steps forward and wraps his arms around me, crushing me tightly against his body, but I can’t calm down, I can’t relax. My chest is heaving with rage. Guilt. Fury. Injustice. Sadness. I try to hug him back, but my body feels stiff and brittle, like my arms might break if I bend them.
“Make some phone calls while I drive,” I tell him gruffly. “Find out what kind of home I can put her in. It would be too easy to leave her there to rot and die, in that filthy place, the way she left me to die. But I refuse to be like her.”
“Okay,” he says. “I will.”
“How much time do we have before the airport?” I ask, opening the car door.
“A few hours.”
“Good. One quick stop before that.”
“Where?”
“I’m getting a fucking tattoo, okay? I think I’ve earned the right to do something to this body to make it actually feel like mine.”
Chapter Ten
I sigh happily as we lounge in some stylish, pod-like seats that can extend into beds, in the first class cabin. It is extremely comfortable and private, and I’m impressed that Helen’s dad got us such amazing seats. Swiss Air is definitely the most luxurious airline that I’ve ever flown. After Cole and I gushed about the accommodations for a few minutes, we both began surfing madly on our phones, while waiting for the plane to leave the tarmac. Occasionally, I pull up my sleeve to gaze at the new tattoos on my wrist and forearm.
Of course, even the best body art will not look so great immediately after being inked. The skin is a little red and swollen, and covered by a thin layer of petroleum jelly and a plastic bandage. But even in this dismal state, I can’t help feeling massively content at the beautiful design. I got a flurry of snowflakes, both large and small, tattooed over ancient self-harm scars, in the delicate but pigmented colors of fuchsia to dark blue, almost in a gradient. I felt that the traditional black ink was too dark for my pale skin, and this is far more subtle.
I love them so much.
We were also able to find a salon that does UV ink, so there is an outline around my snowflakes that glows in the dark. I haven’t really been able to test that yet, but I’m excited.
“You really don’t feel pain, do you?” Cole asks, glancing over at my arm.
“Nope.”
When he saw me going under the needle, he decided to get a simple tattoo as well, in a different room, so that I couldn’t see what it was. I have tried to peek, but he said that he would surprise me later.
“I hope Serena likes it,” I say as I gaze at my arm.
“It will definitely remind her that you’re there,” Cole says, gently smoothing th
e plastic bandage, so that he can see the design. “I like that you covered the scars she made. It’s almost an act of rebellion against her depression and giving up. Maybe she’ll see it and remember that you are part of her, and you are strong.”
“And we survived everything,” I add.
Cole receives a text message, and he nods with satisfaction. “Okay, Snow—your mother was just picked up by that nonprofit organization I found. They are going to have her taken to an Alzheimer’s assisted care facility, until she can see a doctor and get a proper assessment of whether her illness is physiological or psychological.”
“That’s great,” I say with relief. “Thank you, Cole.”
“You are very welcome,” he says, squeezing my knee.
When my own phone beeps, I look at it and my eyes grow wide. “Oh my god!” I exclaim with excitement, as a few text messages pop up in quick succession. “Cole, Cole! They had sex!”
I might have said this too loudly, because some of the people in the first class cabin turn to look at me, including the stewardess who is walking back and forth to check for pre-flight safety. I try again, this time, in a whisper. “Lucy and Roddy are knocking boots so much, they are asking if they can extend the room for another night, on the credit card.”
“I got a text message, too,” Cole says, and his eyes are wide. “Wow. Wow—this is way too much detail. Roddy! I do not need to know this. Wow—she did that?”
I make a similar face as I gaze down at my phone. “She let him do that?”
“No way.”
“He’s really that good?”
Cole and I look at each other with shocked expressions, and then we burst out laughing.
“They’re messing with us, aren’t they? No way they did that.” I begin texting back, asking if she’s joking.
Cole is also messaging his friend. “I don’t know about Luciana, but Rodriguez doesn’t seem like the type. Or maybe I don’t know him that well.” Cole frowns. “What the hell? He challenged me. He’s boasting that he doesn’t think we could possibly have as much fun as they’re having. He called us boring white people who are too chicken to even join the mile-high club.”
“We are not boring,” I argue. “Wow. She says she’s hiding in the bathroom, texting me all this.”
“He’s saying he needs water badly, and he’s desperate for a break, and positive he’s about to have a heart attack. I’m calling bullshit. This is a prank.”
I get another text, and my smile disappears. “Oh my god, she sent a picture.”
I immediately close my phone, feeling slightly traumatized.
“What?” Cole asks. “What was it?”
“Nope. It’s—uh. CIA business. Very classified.”
“Since when are dick pics classified?”
“What makes you think it was a dick pic?” I take a deep breath. “Let’s just say that Luciana is really impressed with his prowess.”
“Did she use that word? Prowess?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” Cole says. “Very interesting.” He clears his throat and reaches down into his briefcase for his laptop. “I’m going to try to forget about those very detailed texts, and just get some work done. Maybe I can send Levi a few emails with my ideas, and get some information from him so I can get started working on this tower while we’re in the air. I’ll also CC Miranda, and ask for her feedback.”
“You could also just sleep,” I tell him, gesturing to the ultra-comfortable seats.
“Nah, maybe later,” he says, leaning over and kissing me on the nose. “I’m too pumped about this tower.”
When my phone buzzes again, I am scared to look. But curiosity gets the better of me. “Oh, great. Luciana sent over some literature on DID for me to read.”
“You should at least glance at it,” Cole says. “But only if you’re ready.”
“I am ready. Mostly. What the fuck? She also just sent me work to do. Is she seriously emailing me this from the hotel bathroom between sessions of banging Rodriguez? Do I even still work for her? I didn’t pass that impromptu psych eval.”
“It wasn’t a ‘pass or fail’ thing, Scar. Maybe the government actually wants to know more about its employees and offer them counseling through difficult times, and all that.”
I point down at the Boeing 777 below us.
“You know you’re talking about the same USA we’re on a plane to try to escape forever?”
“Yes…”
“The same USA that treats its veterans so badly, that they end up jobless, and homeless—in addition to being limbless.”
“And in Zack’s case, girlless.”
I kick his leg in annoyance, and he grins.
“Seriously, Cole. Did you know that a huge percentage of the homeless population consists of vets? I think the last statistic I heard was 14%.”
“Your father, Jim Larson, was a vet. Do you think that made him the way he is?”
“No. His wife said he was like that before he left, and she never wanted him to come home.”
“But that was in the 80s. Maybe he served previously, when he was younger, and that’s why he was already messed up. It’s very likely that he had experienced trauma in the war—a war. Many wars? I don’t know. Vietnam? That would explain why he kept calling Liam a faggot, because in the military, they would have seriously frowned on any homosexuality as a sign of weakness. It could also explain his hatred of women, and the way he treated them overseas…”
“I don’t want to think about him anymore. None of that is an excuse. I was just saying that…” I stare off into space for several seconds, but I catch myself doing it, and stop. “I don’t see why the CIA would ever care about my mental health.”
“The CIA might not care, but Luciana does.”
“Yes. She does.”
“That’s all that really matters,” Cole says.
We both grow silent for a few seconds as we focus on our emails. I begin reading the information on DID contained in Luciana’s links and attachments before I start on the actual work. I wonder why I have never researched the mental illness on my own? I must have been too afraid of what I would discover.
But I’m not afraid anymore.
“Oh, wow,” I say as I read. “Did you know that when someone has DID, the whole collection of alters is known as a system? I’m not just a person, Cole. I’m a system of people.”
“You’re my favorite system,” he jokes, then glances at me. “You seem excited about that.”
“Of course, I am! It’s a revelation. If the mind is a system—then maybe I can hack it.”
Halfway through the flight, I wake up suddenly and realize that I fell asleep reading. I am curled up on my side in the futuristic sleeping pod, and Cole is still awake, sitting at his desk and typing away. I yawn, and listen to him for a few seconds, as he alternates between typing and sketching.
My hand moves to my arm, to assure myself that my tattoo is still here, still real. I have wanted to get something like this for so long, but I never had enough time in charge of the body. I always felt guilty about wanting to modify a body that wasn’t mine. But after meeting Serena’s mother, and feeling so angry—angry at both Janet and Serena—I knew I needed to do something just for me. To celebrate Snow.
This body wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my hard work. After reading a little more about Dissociative Identity Disorder, I feel even more validated. I am a crucial part of the system, and I deserve to be here. I deserve to be alive. Eventually, I want to get many more tattoos, to cover up other scars, like the cigarette burns on my stomach.
But we only had time for this, for now.
“Hey,” Cole says, noticing that I’m awake. He removes a hand from his laptop and places it on my shoulder. “Scarlett? Don’t freak out, but we’re on a plane heading to Geneva. If you're wondering what happened to your arm—it was Snow's idea. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much—I hope you're not mad.”
I look up at him in surprise. He th
inks I'm her again.
I can understand why he would be confused. With the way I am examining my arm, and touching it, it probably looks like I am in pain.
I don’t know why the rules have suddenly changed. Why I am able to go to sleep, and wake up, and still be Snow. I don’t have the energy to discuss it with him, and explain, especially since one day, I might not wake up and still be me.
I am just too sleepy to tell him otherwise, for the millionth time. He is seeing what he wants to see, and it isn't me. So, I'll just be what he wants me to be.
“It’s a nice tattoo,” I tell him, with a yawn. “I’m not mad. It’s better than the horrible scars that were there before. She chose well.”
“You’re not uncomfortable that she did that?” Cole asks gently. “You’re sure?”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now,” I say with a little laugh, sitting up. “I might as well learn to love it. A few magenta and cyan snowflakes are better than a constant reminder of wanting to die. Actually, these are pretty awesome.” I say, fingering the design. “She’s braver than I am. I’m glad she did this.”
“It glows in the dark, too!” Cole adds.
“Benjamin modified our body without consent all the time, and Professor Brown, and everyone. Snow actually has a right to do so.” Picking up my phone to get back to reading, I smile at Cole. “Can’t wait to see it glow in the dark!”
“Wait until you see my tattoo,” he teases. “It’s in a secret location, and I haven’t even shown it to Snow.”
I rub my eyes. “What did you get? Where is it?”
“That’s highly classified.”
“Cole! Is it somewhere weird?”
“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
“I don’t know—is it somewhere private that you can’t show me on the plane?”
“Well, I can show you anything you like on the plane,” he says softly, gesturing to the privacy wall that separates us from the other first-class passengers. “But I’m a little shy. Maybe you should search for it.”