Hold On Tight (Take My Hand)

by Nicola Haken

  I miss home. I miss my friends and my brother. I miss my New Life list. I miss my New Life – full stop. I miss the little things. Like ‘our’ bread – it’s too sweet over here. I miss ‘our’ chunkier celery. I miss ‘our’ chocolates and ‘our’ breakfast cereals.

  I want to go home.

  I’d just rounded the corner when a car slowed to a halt beside me. Dusk was closing in and so - feeling a little unsettled - I picked up my pace.

  “Excuse me?” a woman’s voice called. I turned to see her head sticking out of the driver window. She had honey-blonde hair styled into a perfect bob, natural looking makeup applied flawlessly over her dainty face and she was driving one of those glossy, ridiculously expensive cars that guys drool over.

  “Yes?” I replied, strolling over to her car. She looked far too respectable to murder me, so I assumed she was maybe lost or something.

  “You’re Dexter’s girl right?” she asked, sending waves of panic cascading through my veins.

  “Yes,” I replied nervously. “What’s this about?”

  “My name is Patricia. I’m Kevin’s wife.”

  “Kevin?” Who the hell’s Kevin?

  “Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You probably know him as Martin. Dexter’s father.” The air leapt from my lungs, rendering me so breathless I stumbled. “I’d like to talk with you about what’s been happening.”

  “I…um…” I seriously struggled to breathe and my legs felt so weak I was terrified they would give way beneath me. “Okay,” I agreed.

  She leaned across the car and opened the passenger door for me to slide in. Hesitantly, I did so – regretting my decision instantly. This woman had played a key part in destroying Dexter and Sarah’s life. Maybe not directly, but she has supported the man who took everything from them and is now trying to do it again.

  “Look, I really think it would be in your best interest to go along with whatever Kevin wants,” she began, turning in her seat to face me. Relief washed through me as she made no attempt to start the car. At least she wasn’t taking me anywhere. At least we were parked on a street in view of the public with plenty of passers by.

  “How can you stand by a man like that?” I spat, unable to control the venom in my voice. “Do you know what he’s put that family through?”

  “I only have their word for that,” she retorted. I still don’t know how I managed to stop my palm slapping her across the face.

  “Why are you doing this? You obviously don’t need the money,” I remarked, hovering my hand over the fancy dashboard. “That house is all they have. If you take it – they’ll have nothing.”

  “I’m sorry but that’s really not our problem.”

  “HE’S HIS FATHER!” I roared. “How is it not your problem?” I felt physically sick breathing the same air as this woman. Suddenly, her relationship with Martin made perfect sense. She’s as twisted as he is.

  “Look, he could cause a lot of trouble for you. Walk away while you still can,” she warned.

  “Are you threatening me?” I gasped in disbelief.

  “No. I’m simply stating a fact.”

  “Well I think you’re bluffing,” I challenged. “I think the pair of you have just as much to lose as we do. I don’t know how you got away with the whole Martin ‘dying’ thing, or how you fixed the evidence so Dexter didn’t get caught for what he did… but if those things ever came out…”

  She laughed at me. Can you believe that? She actually laughed! One of those small, low, cackles like the villains in movies do. She was mocking me. I hated her.

  “You’re right, I did falsify evidence. And I can do it again. Who do you think a court would believe, little girl? A young man with a rap sheet longer than his arm, or a highly respected police commissioner? You can’t win this one. So stop trying.”

  I was stunned into silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t think – period. Probably because remembering how to inhale was the most vital thing in that moment – or maybe because she was right.

  No. She was definitely right.

  “Why are you doing this?” I repeated desolately.

  “Kevin needs the money from that house. It’s none of your concern why. The boy is obviously too stubborn to listen, but I can tell by your eyes you know I’m making sense. Let it go, little girl. Give him what he wants and move on.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but once again no words seemed willing to come out. Thankfully, as I closed it again, I was saved from the intimidating silence by the sound of One Direction singing from my phone. Hey, don’t judge me – Rachel set it as my ringtone before she left.

  It was Dexter.

  “I have to go,” I said curtly, opening the car door. Patricia – God even thinking her name left a bitter taste in my mouth and a knot in my stomach – grabbed my arm and gently held me in place.

  “Let it go,” she repeated, slipping a contact card into my hand… but somehow it was different this time. Her tone was gentler… more like advice than a warning. And something flickered behind her brown eyes but I couldn’t quite place what it was. Regret maybe? Empathy?

  Snatching my arm out of her gentle grip, I clambered out the car and set off in a brisk walk towards the house.

  “Hey, baby,” I answered the phone. “I’m on my way back now. Five minutes.”

  When I got back to the house I fed Dexter a fib and told him the shop was closed. I even went to the trouble of saying there was a sign on the door saying ‘Family Emergency’. When I’d finished spouting my heap of crap I found myself hoping he doesn’t know the shop owners personally. He grumbled playfully about having no milk for his coffee which ended up in a mock argument involving lots of bum slaps and underarm tickles. It was complete childish fun, and for those few minutes, I completely forgot about the real reason for me not going to the shop.

  I’m not sure why I lied to him. Actually I’m just saying that because I feel bad for doing it. I know exactly why I didn’t tell him. It’s because I was afraid. Not of him of course - but of his reaction. Throughout the walk home I role-played telling him what’d just happened over and over in my mind and I decided it would likely go one of three ways:

  1. He would get mad and run from me

  2. He would get mad and go and ram his father’s face in with his fist (or find a substitute face if he didn’t come across the card containing his address in my pocket)

  3. He would get mad and withdraw from me completely

  You know what? Screw that pathetic little list. I’ve just made him look like a selfish arsehole and Dexter isn’t selfish. He’s… he’s hurting.

  And so was I when he overheard me spilling everything to Sarah later in the evening.

  “What the fuck is this?” he spat venomously, crossing his arms in front of us.

  “Dexter I-” I jumped up and tried to explain but he cut me off.

  “Nice to know you two can confide in each other. Nice to know you trust HER with your little secrets and not me!” he yelled, pointing towards Sarah who was also standing up now.

  “Now you stop right there,” Sarah ordered. “This girl is worrying herself sick over you, you stupid boy!”

  “Yeah that’s me – stupid. Stupid for thinking I was part of this too!”

  “Dexter, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to-”

  “Save it, Emily. I’m done here. I’m fucking done!”

  Dexter rammed his fist into the doorframe behind him as he stormed off towards the front door. The sound of his knuckles crunching against the wood made me gasp and instinctively I reached out to grab him – to hold him. But he was gone before I could get to him.

  “Let him be, honey,” Sarah soothed, pulling on my elbow when I went to follow him out. “He needs to calm down. If you go after him now, he’ll only say things I know he’ll regret in the morning.”

  “Ugh, why does he do this?” I snapped, my body literally trembling with frustration. Why does he keep pushing and running?<
br />
  “It’s all he knows,” she said calmly. “Growing up – when things got tough, his only option was to run away if he didn’t want to get hurt too. It’s become his default defence mechanism I suppose.” Sarah’s words made perfect sense and my frustration quickly melted into heartache. “He’ll come back,” she assured. “He always comes back.”

  Chapter Seven

  ~Dexter~

  They can all go fuck themselves. Every one of them. Even you.

  Wanna know the first thing I did after storming out the house? Yeah that’s right, I got myself a hit. Come on, be honest… you expected nothing less. Go on, you might as well say it. I’m losing it. I’m losing control. Turns out I haven’t ‘got this’ after all.

  And you know what? I don’t give a fuck.

  I’ve been trying so fucking hard to keep my shit together for their sakes. But what’s the freakin’ point if they’re so afraid of me losing it they shut me out anyway? They clearly don’t trust me. It’s not just today – I’ve heard their hushed little conversations before. They talk about me - I know they do. Like I’m a little kid who needs discussing. Bet they sit up all night wondering what’s gonna become of me. Taking bets on what shit I’ll get myself into next.

  If they’re expecting me to let them down, I see no point in disappointing them. That’s what I told myself when I rolled the musky-smelling bill into a tight straw. I repeated it again like a mantra when I hovered it under my left nostril and pressed my right one closed with my forefinger.

  When I inhaled the numbing powder in one fluid stroke I didn’t need the mantra anymore. I didn’t need to say or think about anything except how fucking good it felt. Everyone says this shit is no good for me, but I’m not really seeing that right now. As I stared down at the specks of white dusting the top of the lightwood cabinet in Jax’s bathroom, I couldn’t help but mentally list all the positives it brought to my life.

  It doesn’t talk back –doesn’t give me shit.

  It makes me feel numb - makes me forget.

  Most importantly, it makes me feel stronger. You know, I’ve always concerned myself with letting everyone else down, but what about me? I’ve been let down my entire life. My dad beat on me and my mom since before I could walk and where was everyone then huh? Nowhere. That’s where. No one gave a shit back then and no one gives a shit right now.

  I don’t need anyone else when I’m jacked up like this. I can tackle the heap of shit people call life all on my own. It’s better this way. I don’t need anyone’s trust or support. I believe in myself. Everyone else can fuck the hell off.

  **********

  “Christ, Dexter, I’ve been so worried about you,” Emily cried, throwing herself onto me the second I stepped into the house. Holy shit, the scent of her fiery hair punched me in the face when I instinctively bent down to kiss her forehead. It danced up my nose, intoxicating me. Jesus, just an hour ago I was convinced I didn’t need anybody. But now the effects were starting to die out, I realized that was the blow talking. I need this girl who was wrapped in my arms.

  I will always need her.

  “I’m sorry, doll.” I sounded like a broken record lately. But what else could I do? I wasn’t doing such a great job with the actions, so words were all I had.

  “Please, baby…please stop running from me,” she begged - her voice strained and uneven.

  “I’m trying.” I sounded pathetic. My voice was weak and my eyes began to sting. “I’m really am. I just… I’m fucked up, doll. I’m losing it. I’m losing everything.”

  “You’re not losing anything,” she replied, sounding determined as she raised her chin to look up at me. She pressed her warm palm to the side of my cheek and stared intently, purposely into my eyes. “You’re not losing anything,” she repeated. “I won’t let you.”

  If only she knew. If only she knew I’d already thrown it all away. She was right – I’m not losing anything.

  I’ve already lost it.

  And the only thought more frightening than that one right now, is I’m almost out of gear.

  **********

  “Yeah, the head gasket’s blown,” Jaxon muttered, sliding out from underneath the blue pickup truck. “Think you can take this one?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I replied eagerly. I know my way around an engine with my eyes closed, but this was the first time I’d ever been asked to fix up a car for an actual paying customer. Raring to go, I grabbed a torque wrench from the steel cabinet behind me and got to work.

  Everything was going fine until I came to replace the head bolts. My hands were a little shaky and I just couldn’t seem to summon the right amount of hand-eye-coordination to get the job done. I knew damn well what was wrong with me but I persevered – refusing to admit how weak and reliant I’d become.

  Until I didn’t have another choice.

  “FUCK!” I roared so forcefully the word ripped chunks out of my throat. I brought my bloody hand up towards my chest, cradling it in front of me while I inspected the wound.

  “You okay, man?” Jaxon asked, tossing his handful of sparkplugs on the counter and strolling over to me.

  “Sure,” I replied, wincing slightly. “I just need to go clean this up.” After running his eyes over the tear in my skin, Jaxon nodded and turned back to whatever he was doing before.

  My hand had stopped bleeding by the time I reached the washroom. Once I’d ran some warm water over it I was left with nothing more than a deep scratch caused by my trembling hand skimming the moving drill bit when I was stripping the bolts. I decided then, it would be stupid – dangerous even – if I carried on denying myself a hit for the rest of my shift. The shakes would only get worse and I was already starting to sweat. If I didn’t sort that out soon Jaxon would notice something was wrong.

  I know you probably don’t see the rationality in my reasoning, but that’s because you’re just like the others. You think I should ‘talk’ don’t you? Share my feelings and all that shit? Well I don’t want feelings. I don’t want to feel them and I certainly don’t want to talk about them. Feelings hurt. All of them. Even the happy ones are only ever there to tease you – to lull you into a false sense of security. Then, just when you start to believe they’re real…

  BAM!

  You fall a thousand times further and land a thousand times harder.

  I know you’re judging me and I don’t blame you. And hey, if the whole ‘feelings’ thing works for you? Great - I’m happy for you. But numbness is what works for me – this amazing ability I’ve developed over the years to block everything out. It seems like the sensations I experience right after a hit are what I live for now … The fog clouding over my mind and my thoughts, the tingling warmth soaring through my veins and settling around my heart like an impenetrable blanket – protecting it, letting nothing in and even better, letting nothing out.

  “Hey, man, you in there?” Jaxon called, rapping on the door.

  “Shit,” I cursed under my breath. “Be out in five!” I called back before quickly splashing my face down with some cool water from the sink and then using some damp toilet paper to wipe away the last remnants of gear from the ceramic shelf above the can. “Your woman’s out here!”

  My woman?

  Fuck.

  And there it was again. The guilt – the pain… crashing down on me like a lump of solid lead. Who the fuck am I kidding here? I might want to believe no one gives a shit. I might want to believe I don’t need anyone else. I might even want to believe I can’t feel anymore.

  But the simple sound of her name being spoken, tells me that I’ve never felt more in my life.

  What the fuck have I done?

  When I stepped out of the bathroom Jaxon stopped me in my tracks with a firm hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m worried about you, man. Please tell me you’re not getting in too deep with that shit again.”

  “What’s it to you?” I snapped, pushing my way past him. Like he really gave a fuck. He was the one who got
me started on the stupid shit anyway.

  “Hey, doll,” I greeted, followed by a quick kiss on the cheek. Dismissing Jaxon’s misplaced concern, I tried to sound upbeat – casual.

  “What’s wrong, baby? You still poorly?”

  Poorly? Oh right… she means the head cold I lied to her about.

  “No I’m good, honest,” I lied through my worthless teeth. My fingers were twitching and my legs were restless. “Just lovin’ the job I guess. I’m in the middle of fixing a blown head gasket.”

  Slow down, Dex, I mentally scolded myself. My words were rushing involuntarily from my mouth at a speed which would give me away to someone who knew the ‘old’ me. I caught my foot tapping incessantly against the stone floor so I stood on it with my other, leaning against the pickup truck for support.

  I’d had too much. I wasn’t just relaxed – I was all out freakin’ buzzed.

  “If you’re sure,” she said dubiously. The eyebrow she raised told me she knew something was wrong but thankfully she was too naïve and inexperienced with the world to know what. “Will you be home soon? Sarah wants to talk to you,” she said nervously – her cheeks flushing and making me want to bend her over this bonnet and fuck her pretty little brains out. “She’s made a decision about the house.”

  Whoa… See what I mean about the ‘good’ feelings. They always screw you over.

  “A decision?” I barked. “What kind of decision?” I spat, the words sizzling on my tongue.

  “You really need to ask Sarah.”

  “FUCK SARAH! I’m asking you!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa…. Take it easy, man.” I shrugged away from the hand Jaxon had clamped down on my shoulder all of a sudden. It was only then, when he glared at me with a confused, yet revolted look in his eye, I realized I was right up in Emily’s face. She was leaning against the exposed brick wall in an effort to shrink away from me.