Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (17 page)

“I…love you too,” I said unevenly, feeling utterly gobsmacked. When I
hung up the phone I thought back through my entire life and every second of
contact I’ve ever had with my dad.

Yep. That was
definitely
the
first time he’d
ever
said he loves
me.

Ever.

Seriously…
ever.

Is bipolar contagious? Because I swear the people I know who have it are
multiplying by the day.

Sarah was the first to join me when I headed back to the kitchen. My
coffee was cold so I brewed a fresh pot for the both of us. She asked me how I
was feeling after my nightmare and I lied and told her I went straight back to
sleep with no problems. Then we talked about how the new brand of coffee she’d
started buying tasted like piss but it’s not too bad if you put four spoonfuls
of sugar in it. This was shortly followed by a lengthy discussion on how the
bread has started to go stale quicker now the warmer weather is approaching.

Basically, we were both making a fervent effort to talk about anything
that wasn’t Dexter.

“Wow, honey… you look dreadful,” Sarah declared when Chris finally
surfaced from his coma and made his way into the kitchen.

“Another migraine?” I asked before he could reply.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “So…” he began. He sounded nervous and I knew
immediately what he was about to say. He’s leaving. “I fly home tonight.”

“I’ll be sad to see you go,” Sarah replied sweetly. I just nodded. If
I’d spoken, I’m pretty sure I would’ve cried.

“Me too. It’s been great getting to know you, Sarah,” he said sincerely,
making me smile. “I thought I’d do a little sightseeing this morning before I
pack.”

“I’ll come with you,” I suggested.

“No,” he answered sharply. “I’ll only be miserable company. I just need
some fresh air to clear this damn headache.” Hmm. Sounded reasonable enough. So
why did I think he was keeping something from me? I let it go instantly –
remembering what happened the last time I doubted someone.

This. The situation I’m in now – following Dexter, finding out
about his parents, watching him speed down the path to self-destruction… this
is what happened.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Chris disappeared to get ready and after checking my watch and thinking
it was a reasonable enough hour, I called Dexter’s therapist. Again. He didn’t
answer so I left an answerphone message, praying the whole time today would be
the day Dexter would let me see him but knowing in reality he probably
wouldn’t. I know I’ll get to see him eventually and at this moment in time I’m
not sure whether I will kiss him or punch him.

I miss you, Dexter.

                           
~Dexter~
 

I
slept last night. Like,
actually
slept.
All
night. The last night I
remember that happening I had Emily tucked up in my arms. When I woke up and
she wasn’t there I briefly considered the idea of asking to see her but then
dismissed it just as quickly. I’m just not ready for that yet.

Yep,
you heard right. I said ‘yet’. Improvement right?

I
don’t know if it’s my body getting clean, or the fact that through all the shit
he talks Jeff actually makes some kind of sense, or just because I miss her so
fucking much… but I’ve finally come to realize how much I need her. But if she
still wants me too after everything I’ve put her through, then she deserves me
to be the best I can be – the
strongest
I can be.

I
took a swim in the heated pool and used the treadmill in the gym before
breakfast this morning. For the first time in ages I’m missing my morning run
so in an attempt to revive my neglected muscles I worked out for almost two
hours. I’d finished just in time for breakfast and after showering I pulled up
a seat next to Freya in the communal dining room.

Freya
kind of reminds me of Jared. There’s no point trying to keep your head down
because she’ll just keep bending until you’re forced to look at her. Like with
Jared, you can stay quiet all you like but that won’t stop her from talking.
She’s a nice enough girl – albeit completely fucked up. But I guess
that’s why we’re all here, right? She’s been abused by her stepdad for as long
as she can remember and has used crystal meth to block it out since she was old
enough to know how. So now at nineteen years old, she’s currently doing her
fourth stretch in this prison disguised as a hotel.

It’s
been a while since I’ve thought to assign a woman a candy category, but I’ve
invented a brand spanking new one for Freya. Freya is a Kinder Egg – a
delicate shell that’s all too easy to crack, revealing an assortment of tiny
broken pieces inside that would take a degree in engineering to piece back
together.

“This
is how my mom justifies her ignorance,” she told me yesterday. “Every few
months she raids her colossal bank account and ships me off here. She says it’s
because she loves me and I need help, but I think it’s just a convenient way of
getting rid of me so she doesn’t have to face what’s going on at home.”

Poor
girl.

Not being
in the mood for anything heavy to eat after my workout I settled for some
cereal. The only downside is they only have the healthy shit here. Now I’m
getting my appetite back I’d give my left ball for some Lucky Charms right now.

“Dex?”
I spun my head round and saw Jeff popping his head into the room. “Can I borrow
you for a sec?” Instinctively I looked at my watch. Our session wasn’t for
another hour so it couldn’t be because I was late. I told Freya I’d catch her
later, scraped the legs of my chair across the tiled white floor as I slid out
from the solid oak table, and picked up my coffee for one last gulp. “Haway,
man! I haven’t got all day.”

“I’m
coming, I’m coming,” I grunted under my breath. “Our session isn’t for another
hour,” I pointed out when I reached him.

“There’s
a guy called Chris Barton waiting out front to see you.”

Chris?
Emily’s Chris? Emily’s
brother
Chris?

“Chris?”

“He
said he’s ‘kind of’ your brother in law, so I guess that makes him ‘kind of’
Emily’s brother,” Jeff answered, complete with air quotes.

“Fuck.
Something’s happened. It must have. Emily must be in trouble. Jesus what if-”

“Dex,”
Jeff pressed his palms flat against my chest to stop me shoving past him. “Calm
down, mate. Emily’s fine.”

“Then
why the fuck has he come all the way from England to see
me
?”

“You’ll
have to ask him that. You wanna see him?”

“Um…”
Shit. Did I want to see him? He could only be here for two reasons. One: to
tell me something was wrong with Emily. Or two: to beat the living fuck out of
me for destroying his sister. “Sure.”

Jeff
led me to his office and I took a restless seat in the brown leather bucket
chair while he went to fetch Chris. Christ, why was I so nervous? My feet were
tapping incessantly against the cream carpet of their own accord and I rubbed
my hands across my pants every few seconds to rid my palms of the unremitting
beads of sweat. It felt like the worst comedown ever.

I
stood up abruptly when the door started opening. Then I sat down again. Then
when Chris walked through the door and my eyes caught his, I stood up again. My
hand stuttered by my side while I pondered whether or not I should offer it to
shake, but upon seeing the scowl on his face, I decided against it.

“I’ll
leave you two to it,” Jeff muttered while flashing me a look that said he
wouldn’t be far if I needed him. I nodded in acknowledgement.

Chris
and I stood in a tense silence for a few seconds – just glaring at each
other like some kind of silent standoff. I broke the stare first and cautiously
lowered myself back into my seat.

“Why
are you here?” I asked, my eyes following his as he sat himself down in the
chair opposite.

“I’m
here to find out what the fuck is going on,” he spat acidly.

Fuck.
What was I supposed to say to that?

“You
see Emily won’t really tell me shit. I found out you were here from some good
old-fashioned eavesdropping. All I’ve been told is that you’re suffering from
some kind of feeling sorry for yourself disease…”

“Depression?”
I asked quizzically.

“But
now I’m here,” he continued – ignoring my response completely. “I’m
thinking that might be a massive wad of bullshit.” I nodded slowly, unsure of
what he wanted to hear. “So? What’s the deal? Are you some kind of fucking
junkie?” Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust and I was certain I was only an
explanation away from a busted nose.

“Yes,”
I replied honestly – looking straight into his narrowed eyes.

“Are
you fucking serious?” he blared, ripping his fingers through his red hair. It’s
the exact same shade as Emily’s and I found my eyes lingering on the short
strands for a few seconds longer than necessary – remembering what they
felt like, smelled like, tasted like as they flicked across my lips…

Don’t
even go there. You know damn well I’m talking about Emily’s hair. But hey, if I
ever decide to play for the other side, you’ll be the first to know.

“Yes,”
I repeated. There was really nothing else to say. I had no reasons, excuses or
explanations that would make this any easier for him to hear.

“Jesus
Christ.” He shook his head – the tone of his voice growing weaker. “Why
the fuck did you get involved with my sister?” he asked on a long,
disappointed, worried-as-hell sigh.

“What
do you want me to say, Chris?” I asked, shrugging guiltily. I had no answers for
him that would fix the last few months and I had no promises that could mend
the future.

“I
want you to tell me everything from the very beginning. I want to know what the
fuck your deal is and how the hell you intend to take care of my sister.”

I
sat up straight in my chair and my eyes involuntarily narrowed as I eyed him up
suspiciously. It seemed like he was giving me a chance to explain. But why? Why
hadn’t he rammed his fist down my throat yet?

“It
started when I was three – that was the first time I saw my dad beat
fifty bags of shit outta my mom…”

He
wanted the truth and by fuck did he get it. I relived my entire childhood for
him. I explained everything I’d ever witnessed and been through in painstaking
detail. I reeled off every stupid mistake I’ve ever made since the day I took
my mom’s life from her. Then, I cried like a worthless fucking idiot.

“Do
you love my sister?” Chris asked with a
give-me-the-wrong-answer-and-you’ll-never-breathe-again glare.

“Yes.
More than anything.”

“Then
fucking fight for her, mate.”

What?

Seriously,
did I just hear him right?

“I
don’t…” I trailed off, shaking my head. Was this a trick statement? “I don’t
understand.”

“You
love her? Fight for her. Sort your shit out and stop letting her down. She’s a
fucking mess – you know that right?” My mouth dropped open but he didn’t
give me time to reply. “Fuck knows why but she’s determined to wait for you.
She’s adamant there’s no one else for her. Yet here you are in this cozy little
mansion and you’re refusing to give her the time of day.”

“I
don’t deserve her. I’ll hurt her,” I confessed shamefully. For the first time
in my life I felt discomforting waves of heat flood my cheeks. I’d never been
so embarrassed – or ashamed.

“Do
you
want
to hurt her?”

“What?
No! Of course I don’t.”

“Then
don’t.” Oh, okay then. Why didn’t I think of that? Patronizing asshole.

“Look,
mate. Whether I think you’re a waste of a skin or not is besides the point
– she
needs
you.”

“She
doesn’t. She’s got people who can take care of her better than I ever could.
She’s got you.” And Rachel, and Jared, and Aunt Sarah…

All
traces of color and readable expression fell from Chris’ face and his lips
appeared to be hovering over unspoken words as if he was afraid to say them.

“I
said she needs
you
. Listen to me
goddammit!” he snapped, forcing a lungful of air through pursed lips. “I can’t
even pretend I understand what you’ve been through,” he continued after
dragging in a deep, lingering breath. “Or that the reason you’ve ended up in
here doesn’t scare the living shit out of me. But… I believe you when you say
you love her. I also believe if you’d stop feeling so goddam sorry for yourself
and focus on that fact, it’ll be enough to get you through this shit.”

So,
this is what utterly fucking dumbfounded felt like. By now I was sitting on the
edge of my seat – waiting for the punch line… waiting for his fist to
meet my jaw.

“This
is the only chance I’m gonna give you,” he warned. “Take it. Stop fucking her
around and show her that she’s worth fighting for. I
need
to know you can take care of her.”
Why?
“I need to know I can trust you. Are you hearing what I’m
telling you?”

“Yes,”
I mumbled nervously, slightly afraid of the threat saturating his voice.

“One
chance,” he repeated, standing from his chair. “Blow it, and I swear to fucking
God I will kill you.” His voice held such determination, I didn’t doubt for a
second he was telling the truth.

I
stood up but didn’t move forward as I watched Chris walk towards the door. Just
as I was preparing to take what felt like my first breath in two hours, Chris
paused in the doorway.

“Please,
Dexter. I’m counting on you,” he mumbled – his voice strained. Then he
carried on walking, leaving me standing there - feeling winded, and confused as
fuck.

Less
than a minute later Jeff appeared in the doorway where Chris has just stolen my
last trace of rational thought. My eyes wandered towards the carriage clock on
Jeff’s desk and I noticed our session should’ve started over an hour ago.

“You
wanna leave today’s session?” Jeff asked cautiously, analyzing my mood by
skimming my tense body up and down with his eyes.

“No,”
I answered after a few seconds hesitation. “No, I um… I need to talk today.”