Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (11 page)

~Dexter~

Two months later…

“
Fuck
,” I groaned, rubbing at my stiff neck. I
woke up and found myself lying across a cold, damp bench in the park –
the park I always go to escape. My head was pounding and my skin was itching
like there were a billion tiny parasites eating away at my flesh. I needed to
score. Fast.

Pulling
my cell from my pocket I texted Stevie – my new supplier. Jaxon developed
some kind of conscience weeks back and started refusing to give up the goods
but luckily for me he’s not the only jackass I know in this town who can get
their hands on decent shit. I arranged to meet Stevie down by Big Al’s Bar ‘n’
Grill in half an hour so I headed straight off on foot, knowing it was a good
twenty minute walk away.

A
wave of all-consuming nausea washed over me when I passed the house.
My
house. The house that had a new
family living in it now. I passed it daily on my way to the park and sometimes
I would just stand there gawping – watching the little girl and her
younger brother coming and going, or their parents calling them in for dinner,
or their tiny dog yapping at the window. It’s a cute little thing. Like those
ones you see rich bitches carrying around in their purses. The type that look
adorable but would snap your hand off given the chance.

Aunt
Sarah is living a few blocks away in the most decent apartment she can afford
– a miniscule, flea-infested cesspit that consists of two rooms and a
tiny bathroom. There’s one bedroom big enough for a single bed and a dressing
table, and a living room/slash kitchen with moldy cabinets and a broken cooker.
My stuff is there to, but I can’t say I’m actually living there. I spend most
nights crashing on the first flat surface I collapse onto.

I’ve
heard on the grapevine she’s got herself a job in a backstreet café wiping
tables and scrubbing toilets. It kills me that she’s had to degrade herself to
this kind of existence because of me so I try not to think about it. I try not
to think about her at all actually. I ignore the calls that come through
several times a day and on the odd occasion I’ve seen her crossing the street I
pull my hood up over my face and purposely turn to walk the other way.

Bet
you thought I couldn’t get any more selfish huh?

I also
try not to think about Emily but sometimes my mind has other ideas. My thoughts
like to taunt me – remind me what I’ve done to her. It forces me to
consider the fact that she’s probably moved on by now. It’s so fucking painful
I tend to go off and get wrecked to take my mind to a more numbing place.

Stevie
was ready and waiting for me when I approached the lot behind Big Al’s. It took
less than a minute to wrap up our exchange. We weren’t friends. We weren’t
there to catch up. I had what he wanted and he had what I
needed
. I was almost down to my last fifty-dollars and I felt so
anxious about what the fuck I was gonna do when it ran out. I’d already stopped
eating. I’d drink from the taps in public bathrooms during the day and sweet
talk chicks into buying me drinks at night.

And
no. Before you ask I haven’t screwed a single one of them.

Stevie
sped off in his top of the range Beemer and I walked straight into Big Al’s and
through to the restrooms. Shutting the stall door behind me I crouched down on
my knees in front of the toilet. Flipping the lid down I plucked what I needed
from the hidden pocket inside my jacket and laid them out on the surface.

A
tiny pang of shame bit into my insides as I sprinkled just the right amount of
gear onto the spoon in my left hand. Don’t judge me okay. Shooting it is the
fastest way – the most
intense
way.
This is the only way that makes me forget everything completely. And damn
fucking quick.

After
resealing the baggie I uncapped the small diabetic syringe and drew some water
up from the bottle I bought this morning before squirting it onto the spoon and
giving the concoction a little mix with the sharp tip. Then, laying the rig
down on a piece of toilet paper to keep it clean, I grabbed my lighter and
flipped the flint before holding it below the spoon until the liquid turned
clear and started to bubble.

My
heart was pounding in anticipation as I got myself tied up. I rolled my baggy
sleeve up to the top of my arm but I’d lost too much weight for it to be under
any kind of pressure so I had to roll it over several times to keep it in
place. I keep the tie I wore for my mom’s funeral stuffed in my pants pocket
(yeah I know what a twisted fuck that makes me) and after teasing it out I
wrapped it around my right arm, above the elbow before pulling it tighter with
my teeth and tying it in a firm knot.

Then,
sitting a tightly pressed cotton ball on top of the spoon to act as a filter, I
rigged up my needle and flicked the air bubbles away. This was it. My fingers
were twitching knowing I was so close. Clenching my right fist, the eager veins
in the crook of my arm came to life – each one begging to be hit. As
always I chose the most prominent, and within seconds the invigorating,
mind-numbing liquid was shooting up my arm, straight through my veins and into
my tortured brain…

And
it felt fucking amazing.

I
felt incredible walking out of Big Al’s. If anyone I didn’t want to think about
popped into my head it didn’t matter.
They
didn’t matter. All that mattered was the amount of sensational energy
taking over my body and I set off into a full-sprint in search of the nearest
bar, knowing the only thing that could make this experience any better was
alcohol. And lots of it.

**********

 
The high only lasted half a freakin’ hour.
It’s getting shorter. I know I need more but I just can’t damn well afford it.
I’ve pulled in all the favors I can and used up most of the cash I took from
Aunt Sarah’s stash. Maybe I could let myself into her apartment while she’s
working and pick up some of my stuff to sell. Won’t be worth much but it should
do me a couple of days while I re-evaluate my situation.

I
left the bar I’d wandered into not long after I started to come down. Usually
alcohol would keep me jacked up for a while longer but the chicks didn’t seem
to be digging the worthless fuckin’ hobo look tonight. My dithering skin broke
out into a cold sweat as I took off down the street. My racing heart started
slowing and I felt angry and irritable. That’s probably why the guy who knocked
into me on my way out of the liquor store received a throat full of my fist.

I
rammed my fist into his face until the grazes on my knuckles started to burn. I
was so far gone in every sense of the word and I honestly don’t know if I
would’ve kept going until I killed him. But I didn’t get the chance to find out
because when I ducked to dodge a swing from him, someone grabbed hold of my
shirt and pulled me off him. It took two random guys to prize me away –
that’s how fucking angry I was. There was some shouting, talk of cops being
called and I definitely heard more than one person ask me what the fuck my
problem was… but I tuned everything out and got the hell out of there.

What?
The dumbfuck should’ve been watching where he was heading.

I
hadn’t intended to go into the liquor store but nevertheless I soon found
myself leaving with the biggest bottle of Jack I could afford tucked under my
jacket. My body was aching. I was so tired… exhausted in every sense of the
word. Instincts took me back to the familiar park and I flopped myself
backwards onto the slatted wooden bench overlooking the frozen pond.

The
drizzling rain was slowly soaking through my clothes as I popped the cap of my
bottle of Jack. I brought it eagerly to my lips and took a generous swig, wincing
as the harsh liquor burned my throat. It was doing the trick though. It was
warming my veins and my dithering body, and slowly but surely anesthetizing my
mind.

Slumping
down in my seat I tilted my head back and looked up towards the dark sky. It
was a clear night – the kind of night that would freeze my balls into
prunes. Knowing this, I knocked back a few more gulps of whiskey to warm myself
up. The stars were out in force. Like the ocean, they reminded me how small and
insignificant I was. I tried and failed to find a reason for my existence. If
there really was a god, what the fuck was going through his mind when he
decided to put me on this godforsaken planet?

There
is no point to
me.
I serve no
purpose. What was I offering the world sitting there, alone and wrecked off my
eyeballs on a rotting bench in the middle of the night? I’m never going to
amount to any level of greatness. I’m never going to be able to love or bring
new life into the world. I will always just be this.

Selfish.

Broken.

Irreparable.

“Well,
well, well…” My neck snapped in the direction of the voice that’s haunted me
all my life. “I always knew you were worthless,” my father spat with a
satisfied smirk crawling across his cruel face.

“Why
do you hate me so much, Dad,” I slurred, trying to focus on his body which
appeared to be rippling in the slight breeze. He leaned down to my level so his
mouth was hovering against my ear. His warm breath sent burning shivers
slithering down my spine as I realized this was the closest we’d ever been.

“Because
she put you first,” he growled in my ear. Confused, my mouth opened and then
snapped shut just as quickly. My father straightened himself up, smoothing out
the non-existent creases in his smart, gray dress-jacket before spitting onto
the ground beside my feet. Then he turned to walk away to wherever he came
from, but after a few steps, he looked back.

“You
know, I debated whether to cut through here or take the main road. Clearly I
made the right decision. It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, son.” He said
‘son’ with such distaste – as if the word was made of acid. “Seeing you
with
nothing
… well, that makes
everything worthwhile.”

If I
hadn’t have been so intoxicated I would’ve jumped up from the bench and pounded
my fist so hard into his skull he would never be able to talk to me like that
again. In fact, if my body wasn’t so weak and my eyes so blurry, I would’ve
made sure he couldn’t talk to anyone about
anything
ever again. But instead, feeling too shaky and drained to even lift the
bottle of Jack back up to my dry lips, I just watched him walk away. I stared
after him, pure hatred poisoning my insides and making me want to retch, until
he disappeared behind a cluster of naked trees and the darkness took him away
from me.

That
man set the wheels in motion on their journey to destroy my life almost
twenty-five years ago when I was first thrust into this meaningless world. Now?
Well I guess I’m just finishing what he started.

                           
~Emily~
   

I
was still in my pink kitten pyjamas,
curled up on the sofa and chomping my way through a giant bag of Minstrels when
Chris came home from work. I’ve been spending most days like this lately. By
lately, I mean the past two months since I got back. Pathetic isn’t it?

I’ve been staying with Chris like I planned before I left Ohio. Though
admittedly, I didn’t expect to be staying this long. I truly believed me
leaving would shock Dexter into sorting himself out. How naïve am I? I can’t
face going back to London yet. I can’t even face talking to people, talking to
my
best
friends, over the phone so I
know I’m nowhere near ready to see them face to face.

Chris’ house is big enough for us both though so I don’t feel overly in
the way. It’s a small ‘two up two down’ terrace in Knutsford so I’ve got my own
room which I’m becoming a little too comfortable staying in. He rarely has
visitors and his relationship with the girl he spent Christmas with only lasted
until New Years Day so again, I don’t feel like imposing. I know this can’t go
on forever and I know I need to sort my head out. I’m just struggling a little
trying to figure out how to go about that.

“You can’t go on like this, Emmie. What the fuck did he
do
to you?” Chris asked for the
billionth time since I came to stay with him.

“He didn’t do anything. I’ve told you… he needs to stay with his aunt
and I need to stay with
my
family.”
When I first got to Chris’ house a couple of months ago I told him all about
Dexter’s parents and everything that’d happened while I was over there. When I
say ‘everything’… well I purposely omitted the part where Dexter got himself
hooked on cocaine.

“That’s bullshit,” he deadpanned. “What family, Emmie?” I glared up at
him in disbelief and he sighed sorrowfully before pushing my legs out of the
way so he could join me on the couch. “What I mean is… no one even knows you’re
here. Mum and Dad, well I don’t blame you. But Rachel… Why don’t you want to
see her? She’s your best friend. I just don’t get it.”

I simply shrugged – just like I always did when he asks me this
question. I had no reason other than I wasn’t ready to talk about Dexter and
there was no way that would be an option if I had to see Rachel.

“You need her. Hell, you need
something
.
I don’t know, maybe look for a job? You need to get out of this place before
you start rotting.”

“Oh my God. I’m sorry, Chris I just didn’t think...”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Rent. You’re right I should get a job. I didn’t even think about you
putting me up for free. How selfish-”

“Oh come on, Emmie, I don’t want your money,” he interrupted, sounding
offended. “I suggested getting a job just to give you something to focus on. Give
you a reason to get up in the morning instead of lying on that couch like a
corpse all goddamn day.” I shrugged. Again. “What about Uni? You seriously just
giving up on that?”

“We’ve talked about this,” I muttered, exasperated. I’ve not only missed
too many classes to have any hope of catching up but I also didn’t give a crap.
“It’s not
my
dream. It’s Mum’s.”

“It’s just not healthy the way you’re acting right now,” he said
compassionately, taking hold of my hand and squeezing it gently. “And I know
the nightmares are back.”

Damn.

He was right. He must have heard me screaming in the middle of the
night. Once again, just when I started to believe they might’ve left me for
good, they come back more forceful than ever. This is the first time they’ve
changed though. Now, it’s not just Livvie’s eyes that haunt my dreams –
it’s Dexter’s. When Livvie stops moving, when her eyes glass over and she
stares into nothingness as her tiny, lifeless body bobs up and down on the
surface of the murky water… Dexter sweeps me in his arms and cradles me while I
scream. He tells me he’s here and that he will never leave me and as I stare
into his denim-blue eyes, for the briefest of seconds I believe him.

Then I wake up and the pain in my chest is even more excruciating than while
I was dreaming.

“It will get better,” I murmur. It has to right? There’s no place lower
than where I am right now. “They’ll go away. They always do.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone. A GP or a nurse or something,” he
suggested. I raised an incredulous eyebrow and for the first time in what must
be months, I laughed.

“You think I’m going crazy?” I snorted.

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head of grease-stained red hair.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m just worried about you, Emmie.” My heart sank
as the familiar guilt set in. It was only then I realised how unfair I was
being. Dexter wasn’t the only important person in my life and yet he’s the only
one I’ve allowed myself to think about. Chris, Rachel, Jared… I haven’t given
them a second thought.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered sincerely.

“I don’t need your apologies. I just need you to be happy again. I miss
you, Emmie.”

“I’m here. I promise I am. You’re right I
do
need to start bucking my ideas up. Starting right now.” I
squeezed his hand before wriggling mine free and then jumped to my feet,
kissing Chris on the top of the head.

“Where you going?” he asked enthusiastically.

“To shower. Then I’m going to call Rachel.”

“I think that’s the best decision you’ve made since you got here.” He
looked at me with the proud smile only a big brother can give and for the first
time in forever I felt... positive. Sort of. Maybe. “Hey,” he called when I
turned to head for the bathroom. I looked back and nodded my head upwards (if
that makes sense. If it doesn’t, try it and you’ll see what I mean). “Hurry up
in the shower. I fuckin’ stink.”

“Who you telling?” I teased with a soft laugh. Then I practically ran up
the stairs and to the bathroom to wash away all the dirt and depression.

**********

When I got out of the shower I changed into actual clothes rather than
just another set of pyjamas. Then I scraped my damp hair back into a long plait
and sat nervously on the edge of my bed with my suddenly heavy mobile in my
hands. I hovered over Rachel’s number for several long minutes before throwing
the phone down on the bed, picking it up again and repeating the whole process.

Eventually, sucking on my tongue in an effort to summon enough saliva to
let my arid mouth form coherent words, I hit call.

“Hello?” Rachel answered just as I expected the voicemail message to
kick in. Hello… my heart plummeted into my toes. She
never
greeted me with hello. ‘Hey, slag’, ‘waddup, bitch’ or ‘yo,
ho’ were what I was used to. This could only mean one thing – she was
angry with me.

“Hey,” I mumbled nervously. “I um, just wanted to let you know I was
back. I’m staying with Chris for a while until I get my head together.”

“So how long have you been back?” she asked, completely monotone…
emotionless.

“Not long.” The second the lie passed my lips I didn’t even know why I’d
said it.

“Really?” she questioned sceptically. “Two months seems a pretty long
time to me.”

Shit.

“You knew?”

“Chris called me,” was all she said. I didn’t know when and I wasn’t brave
enough to ask.

“Oh.” My heart was hammering against my chest and I knew the second I
hung up the call I would cry. Rachel has been my best friend forever and I’d
never heard her sound so detached before this moment. I’d rather her have been
annoyed, or disappointed or even upset… anything that showed she still cared
– that I’d not ruined us. “I’m sorry.”

“So you know how long you’ll be up north? Or do I need to start looking
for a new flatmate?”

Ouch.

“Please don’t be like that. I’m sorry, Rach. I really am.”

“I’m not being like anything, Emily…” Emily? Double ouch. “I can’t
afford the rent on my own. I couldn’t even afford to go out for my birthday
last week.”

Damn Damn Damn Damn Damn.

“Crap, Rach I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” Yep that sounded just as
pathetic and selfish out loud as it did in my head.

“I’m over it,” she said blankly.

“Please Rachel. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch but I can’t bear
the thought of you hating me for it. You’re my best friend. I love you and I
need you right now.”

“Yeah? Well I needed
you
too.
You’re not the only one with shit going on you know.” I opened my mouth to
reply and then closed it again when I realised she was right. The worst part
is, I
knew
something was bothering
her. She’d mentioned a few times in the dwindling number of texts I’d received
over the last couple of months that she needed to talk. But surprise surprise,
I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to care. I guess I just felt like
my
problems were worse. I assumed while
I was dealing with the consequences of addiction, dying mothers and twisted
fathers, she would just be pining over a boy. Dear God, I’ve been so selfish.

“I’m sorry,” I said truthfully. “I suppose I thought you were doing okay
because you had Jared now.”

“Yeah well, that’s going nowhere. I’m pretty sure he’s screwing around
on me and hey, who can blame him?”

“No! He wouldn’t do that to you. He’s a good guy. And what do you mean
who could blame him?” Why was she putting herself down like that? Rachel was
always so confident and sure of herself. I didn’t recognise the girl on the
other end of the line. Something had happened to make her like this and I’d
missed it. Christ, I’m a bad friend.

“Forget it. I’m over that too. Look I gotta go. Let me know if you ever
plan on coming back in case I need to make room for you.”

“Rachel please…”

“Bye, Emily.”

The first tear escaped when I tried to reply but was met with the dial
tone. She’d hung up on me. Rachel… my best friend in the whole world, the girl
I grew up with and the woman I’ve shared everything with… hates me.

Consumed with guilt and sadness, I curled myself up into a tight ball on
top of the bed sheets and rocked back and forth in an attempt to lull myself to
sleep.

I gave up after an hour. My eyes were sore and swollen and my head felt
like it was harbouring a thousand stampeding elephants. I heard Chris call me
from downstairs and I considered ignoring him but knew he’d only come up to
find me so I shouted back that I’d be down in a few minutes. Rolling onto my
side, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and checked for missed calls.
I did this several times a day despite knowing full well I’d hear any calls
that came through.

It’s been a week since I last spoke to Sarah. When I first came home
she’d call me every day to see how I was. Naturally I’d ask about Dexter and it
made my heart hurt when she told me she hadn’t seen him. Soon the calls turned
to once every few days, then once a week, and now… it’s
more
than a week.

It feels like they are forgetting about me. And yes, I know how
egocentric that sounds given the problems they’re experiencing over there but I
can’t help it. Dexter and Sarah were my
only
family, my
only
friends, my only
everything
for almost two months and I
miss them incredibly. I still think about them
all
the time and I can’t help hoping they still think of me too.

Looking down at the screen of my phone again I started to think I was
being ridiculous. Why didn’t
I
call
Sarah instead? It only just hit me that maybe there was a perfectly rational reason
for Sarah’s calls becoming more infrequent. Like money for instance…
International calls cost a bomb and then a whole new wave of selfishness washed
over me for not thinking about that sooner.

Speaking of money, I called Sarah from the airport before I boarded the
plane to come home. I told her about the cheque Patricia gave me and after
regaining the ability to breathe again, she told me to hold onto it. Part of me
was expecting her to tell me to shred it, so I was surprised when she said it’s
the least ‘that bastard’s’ family could do for Dexter. It turned out Dexter
just so happened to be the reason she didn’t want to cash it yet also. She
didn’t say it directly, but Dexter has stolen from her before to fuel his
addiction and I knew this was the main reason behind her anxiety.

Oh, Dexter…

Possibly –
definitely
– naively, I didn’t truly expect to be apart from him for this long. I
foolishly convinced myself my leaving him would send him flying eagerly into
rehab and he’d come out a few weeks later feeling like sunshine and roses,
ready and raring to fight for me. But as yet, I wasn’t worth fighting for.

And that’s destroying me.

After checking the time and noting it would be a reasonable hour in
Ohio, I tapped the call button below Sarah’s name. I was being silly to think
Sarah was forgetting about me. She loved me as much as I loved her and I knew
it. I was just too busy feeling sorry for myself to remember most of the time.