by Nicola Haken
“Then what are you cut out for?” Uh oh. He sounded annoyed. “Working in McDonalds for the rest of your life?”
“Oh please. You sound just like Mum,” I spat. “Sorry,” I tacked on immediately afterwards. I’d never spoken harshly to my dad before. I’ve always wanted him… and my mum… to be proud of me. But… I’m finally starting to accept that it’s probably not possible.
“Are you happy, princess?” Jesus, what is it with everyone lately? First Chris - now my dad. I’ve got visions of us all sitting round a campfire with braids in our hair, humming alone to Kumbaya some time soon.
“Yes, Dad. I’m really happy.” Okay, so that was a big fat whopper of a lie but what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, Dad. I know we don’t really talk much but I thought you should know I’ve fallen in love with a guy from Uni who just happens to be addicted to class A drugs and now I’ve followed him half way across the world to wait for him while he’s in rehab. Oh and by the way, did I mention he shot his mother?”
Yeah, when you put it like that, we should be guests on Jeremy bloody Kyle.
Hey, don’t take that as me not taking this seriously. Sometimes finding humour, however inappropriate that may be, just makes the whole damn situation that little bit less terrifying.
“Well that’s what matters I suppose.” I heard another sigh filter through the line – a nervous sigh. “How’s Christopher?”
“Chris?” I had to ask to make sure I’d heard right. My parent’s stopped asking about Chris a long time ago.
“You’re right. That’s um…none of my business,” he muttered – stumbling on his words.
“No, Dad of course it is. He’s-”
“Look, princess I have to go now,” he interrupted, seeming flustered. But I’ll call again soon okay? I don’t want to leave it this long again.”
“Sure, Dad. Talk to you soon.”
“That you will. I love you, princess.”
What the…
“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.
Chapter Twenty-Two
~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 mak
es 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.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
~Emily~
I started missing Chris about ten min
utes after he left for the airport yesterday. I offered to go with him and wave him off but in his words ‘he’s not got time for all that soppy shit’.
In a pointless effort to take my mind off things while Sarah was working I went on a serious cleaning mission. I wiped, vacuumed, mopped and polished every available surface before reorganising all the kitchen cupboards – putting everything in size ascending order and making sure all the packets and tins were facing forwards. Of course, in a flat this tiny it only took me an hour and soon enough I was back on the couch twiddling my thumbs.
Sarah and I stayed up late last night making plans. She seems to be giving the whole moving to the UK idea some serious thought and has even looked on the internet for midwife vacancies and all the rules and regulations that go along with emigrating. From the information she gathered we’re pretty sure she’d have to attend some refresher courses or maybe even go back into part-time study but she’s more than willing – excited even – to do that.
There’s one humongous obstacle in her way of course.
Dexter.
Neither of us can make any definitive plans until we know whether Dexter will be on board. Obviously this is proving difficult seeing as he’s still refusing to see us. I swear if I didn’t love him so bloody much I would hate him right now.
Resigning myself to yet another day sitting in front of the TV I changed into my pyjamas, popped Sarah’s Titanic DVD in and slumped back into the mountain of cushions I’d piled up on the couch. I’d just pressed play when my phone dinged. Leaning forward I plucked it off the coffee table, expecting it to be Sarah, and then gasped when I saw it was in fact Jared.
Jared: Rach misses u. She’s just too stubborn to say it. WTF’s gone on with u 2?
Jared: P.S. I miss u too
Gripping my phone a little tighter, my heart felt unbearably heavy. Tears pricked the back of my eyes and I brought the phone to my chest and hugged it as though it were Rachel herself. WTF’s gone on with us, he asked. I don’t even know. And you know what? I don’t even care. Jared was right. It’s gone on too long. Rachel has always been too stubborn for her own good and I’ve always been a wallower which is what’s turned this situation into the mess it is. Rachel’s pride won’t allow her to back down, and my over-analysing has made me too afraid too make the first move.