Hold On Tight (Take My Hand)

by Nicola Haken

  **********

  “Chill out, you two,” Jeff said after barging through the door ten minutes late and tossing a stack of files onto his desk. “This isn’t going to kill you.” I’m guessing the fake smile I put in place wasn’t all that convincing.

  From the corner of my eye I noticed Dexter turn his hand palm up and offer it out to me. I slipped mine on top and he curled his long fingers around it and rested it on top of his knee.

  “Okay, might as well get stuck right in,” Jeff announced, taking a seat at his desk and folding his arms across it. “No point beating around the bush. I’ll start with you, Dex…” Phew. “You thought about scoring while you’ve been here?” Can you un-phew?

  Dexter shot me an anxious look as if he was nervous about the truth. But that’s why we were here – for honesty… to move forward. Therefore as much as I didn’t want to hear it I knew I had to. So, smiling encouragingly, I gave him a silent nod and a squeeze of the hand that assured him he could say whatever he needed to.

  “Yes. Every day.” I took in a sharp intake of breath through my nose. Even though I knew his answer was a possibility, somehow it still managed to wind me.

  “So why haven’t you been out and got something?” No way did he just ask him that!

  “Aren’t questions like that just going to encourage him?” I interjected, feeling slightly stunned by Jeff’s bluntness.

  “If he wants to take something, Em… mind if I call you Em?” I shook my head. Was my name really relevant right now? At that point I was undecided whether I did in fact like Jeff. I thought I did, but suddenly he was making me feel nothing but uncomfortable. “Well, Em… if he wants to take something, he will. Talking won’t change that. Talking is just words. Words can’t force actions.”

  Hmmm… I guess they can’t. Maybe this fella does know his stuff after all.

  “So?” he turned to Dexter who drew in a deep breath.

  “Because I’m trying,” he answered. “The itch… it’s still there. Whenever a bad thought crosses my mind, or if the guilt starts choking me, hell even if I stub my fucking toe… the first thing I think about is how much a bag would make it all go away. But…I don’t want the last few months to be my life anymore. I want to be happy. I want make Emily happy. And Aunt Sarah. I want to move back to the UK and get a job – support us. Be a family. I want to live, not exist. I want… I want to be able to forgive myself.”

  Instinctively my fingers wound themselves tighter around Dexter’s hand, almost like I was subconsciously trying to squeeze all his pain from his body.

  “And what do you think about that, Em? How do you feel knowing he still thinks about scoring?”

  “Petrified.” That was an understatement. A word has yet to be invented for how seriously, gut-wrenchingly terrified I feel. “I can’t watch him go through that again,” I confessed. Tears stabbed the back of my eyes so I closed them for a second to wash them away.

  “You know you might have to one day though, right?” I almost choked on a hitched breath at the brutal honesty smacking me in the face from every angle. I heard Dexter take a breath as though he was about to speak but seemingly, he changed his mind. I suspected it was because he knew Jeff was making a valid point.

  “Yes. I know. And I feel better prepared now. I’ve got a better understanding of what we’re dealing with.” Marginally…

  “I’m not saying any of this to scare you. Dexter knows the drill. Addiction can’t be cured, only controlled.”

  “Yeah, he’s told me that before.” I thought back to the night he opened up to me about his problems, playing the question and answer game on my couch in London. That feels like a lifetime ago. I laughed that night… proper belly-laughed. If I try really hard, I can just about remember what that feels like.

  “But this is why we’re here. To find new ways to control it. You both need to remember that relapse is a possibility not an inevitability. Especially you, Dex. You need to stop waiting to let everyone down. You need to start believing in yourself and your recovery.” I looked straight at Dexter and offered him another encouraging nod. “Right, that’s the hippy shit out of the way. Em?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Dexter tells me you get nightmares about your sister. Wanna talk about that?”

  What the…

  “Um…” I uncurled my fingers from Dexter’s hand so I could fiddle nervously with the loose strands of hair framing my face. “I um… don’t see what that’s got to do with any of this,” I answered timidly, confused and if I’m honest, slightly annoyed.

  “As my patient, Dexter’s important to me. You’re important to Dexter. That makes you my kind of… step patient.” Seriously, who in their right mind gave this guy a certificate? “Dexter needs a strong support network when he leaves here. In order for you to be part of that network you need your own shit sorting out too. I’m qualified and I’m right here. Use me,” he shrugged. “Think about it, how can you convince Dex to let go of his guilt when you feel it too?”

  I glared at Dexter - frustrated that I didn’t know what the hell he’d been telling Jeff behind my back.

  “I don’t feel guilty,” I lied. I wasn’t sure if he would buy it because I didn’t know how much he knew.

  “Come on, Em…” Jeff said my name with such familiarity – like we’d been friends for years. “You’re almost as bad a liar as he is,” he said, pointing to Dexter with his thumb. I swear I could see sparks flying off my cheeks because they were so hot. “Why don’t you tell me about the dreams? Tell me what happens in them.”

  Christ I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. Although Chris has always known, I’d never spoken in depth about my nightmares to anyone but Dexter. I looked to him for reassurance and this time I was the one on the receiving end of the encouraging nod.

  So, I nervously relived the same pattern of events that happens during every dreaded nightmare. Once I’d finished Jeff somehow managed to coax more information from me about my relationship with my parents and the fact my mother blames me for Livvie’s death… the fact I blame myself for her death. I thought I’d let go of that guilt. Turns out, I totally haven’t.

  I don’t know how he did it but I almost felt like I was simply chatting with a friend I’d known for years. Seriously, the guy is a bloody genius.

  “I think you need to talk to your parents,” Jeff suggested, causing my back to stiffen involuntarily.

  “No way,” I said unwaveringly. “No. No, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Jeff shrugged. Every question he asked was said so calmly – like he was truly accepting of every situation and really believed there was no reason a person couldn’t achieve anything they wanted.

  “Because her parents are assholes. I don’t think she should talk to them,” Dexter piped up.

  “Well, I’m sure Emily didn’t think you should score a bag of coke for your mam’s funeral but you did it anyway.”

  “Fair play. I’ll mind my own business,” Dexter shrugged sulkily to which Jeff’s lips twisted up at one side as if he was fighting a smile.

  “My parents don’t talk. I mean they talk obviously… but, well I guess we’re just not a ‘talking’ family.”

  “Seems your mam has no problems talking. She’s got no trouble letting you know how she feels. Is your mam more important than you?”

  “Um…” I took a second to answer as I pondered the hidden meaning usually buried in his questions. It didn’t work. I had no idea where he was going with this. “No... I suppose not.”

  “Then why do you allow her to have the right to speak her feelings and not you?”

  Wow. He was right. I do allow her to talk to me the way she does. I rarely retaliate and I never say what’s really on my mind. I just roll over and take whatever crap she throws at me. How had I never realised that until now? More importantly, how did Jeff – a complete stranger – realise it before me?

  “I’m afraid of disappointing her I suppose.”

  “
But you already disappoint her.” Jesus, don’t hold back. “And that’s not a healthy relationship to have with anyone. I’m not a believer in respecting your parents simply because they’re your parents. They chose to have you – you owe them nothing. If she insists on making you aware that you disappoint her so badly, it’s only fair she’s made aware that she disappoints you too.”

  “But… where will that get us? Isn’t that just tit for tat?”

  “It may get her to realise her mistakes. She may realise she’s been misplacing the blame on you because she’s been struggling to cope and you are her nearest outlet. Or, she may be seriously pissed off with you and think she underestimated just how much of a shit daughter you are.”

  “Jeff that’s-” Dexter tried to interrupt but Jeff cut him off by holding up his hand.

  “Button it, Dex. We’ll get to you in a minute.”

  “But what it will definitely get you,” Jeff continued, “is equal footing. No relationship should have a superior member. Both parties deserve to know where they stand. You need closure, Em. The nightmares are still haunting you because the events of that day are still wide open. You’re spending your life waiting for your mam to forgive you, to tell you it wasn’t your fault. Which it wasn’t by the way. You need to know if that’s ever going to happen and then you need to accept the answer either way.

  “You might not hear what you want to. But once you know how she feels and you’ve accepted that it’s never going to change, you can stop feeling guilty. You’ve done all you can at that point. Life is too short to waste waiting for people’s approval. Even if those people are someone as important as your parents. You’re stuck, Em. You can’t move on because you don’t know if your mam will ever let you. Find out. Tell her how you feel and get an answer from her. Accept it… and move on.”

  “Wow,” I breathed, feeling utterly overwhelmed.

  “You don’t mention your dad much. Do you think he blames you too?”

  “No,” I replied without hesitation. “I think he just goes along with whatever Mum says for a quiet life.”

  “In that case, maybe you’d find it easier approaching him first.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, partly to shut him up and partly because, much to my surprise, I was actually considering the idea. How was this man managing to change the way I’ve thought and dealt with things my entire life? Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Yep… he has magical powers.

  “Well, that’s enough food for thought for you today. We’ll revisit this next time.” Thank GOD. “Okay, Dex… you’re up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ~Dexter~

  “I’m proud of you,” I mouthed to Emily while Jeff shuffled some files about on his desk. She smiled nervously, her pale cheeks pinking slightly.

  “Ah here we go,” Jeff muttered to himself, pulling out a file from the middle of the pile. “Okay, so we might as well dive straight into the heavy shit.”

  “Didn’t expect anything less,” I retorted with a hint of a smile.

  “So, you first used again the day of your mam’s funeral.” I heard Emily inhale sharply. We both knew she was about to hear some difficult things but we also knew she needed to hear them. “It can’t have been an impulsive thing. I’m guessing your average mourner doesn’t carry round bags of coke, so… you must’ve planned it. You must’ve purposely gone out of your way to get it. Right?”

  “Right,” I nodded after a brief pause to assess Emily’s tense posture.

  “So when did you plan it? At what point did you first start thinking about using again?”

  Straightening back in my chair to enable my lungs to drag in more air, I took hold of Emily’s hand again. I wanted… no I needed to feel her with me.

  “It’s always there. You know that – I’ve told you before. But the urge to go through with it isn’t usually as strong as the love I feel for those closest to me – the ones I know will get hurt if I go through with it. But… the night Emily followed me, saw me with my mom and discovered I’d been lying to her… I was convinced I’d lose her. Therefore, if I didn’t have her… technically I couldn’t hurt her. So, the urge to score began outweighing the need to shelter her from that side of me.

  “I didn’t score that night. I tried to numb myself with alcohol instead. But of course, once I’d started thinking about it seriously I couldn’t stop. Then, when my mom died… the craving had already taken me. I was weak. I gave in.”

  “You said, when you thought you’d lost Emily, you couldn’t hurt her. But what about Sarah? You still had her.”

  Okay so before you read this, I know damn well I’m about to sound like an insensitive, undeserving, selfish dickweed. But hey, we’re being honest, remember?

  “But I knew I’d never lose her. Whatever shit I’ve put her through, she never gives up on me. She’d seen me at my worst and stuck by me. I knew she’d do it again. So… I refused to let myself think about the impact it would have on her. I knew she’d be there at the other side and I told myself that was all that mattered.”

  “Well what are you going to do differently, Dex? You will hit hard times again… so what are you going to do when you start thinking a line is the answer.”

  “I…um…” Shit. He’d got me on that one. “If I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Just imagine it. Imagine right now that your dad hurts someone you love again, or Sarah dies in a tragic accident…Maybe you’re driving the car. You crash. Sarah dies. You feel guilty about that. Wha-”

  “Jesus, Jeff.” I know he’s unconventional but surely even he has a line he won’t cross. “Nothing too serious then huh?”

  “Could happen,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. “So tell me, if it did… what do you wish you could do instead of score?”

  I forced out a heavy breath, unintentionally blowing a raspberry because my lips were pressed into such a tight line. I knew exactly what I’d like to be able to do, but I also knew how hard it would be.

  “I’d like to talk to Emily. I’d like to be honest with her – tell her what I’m thinking… that I’m struggling.”

  “I want that too,” Emily interjected, squeezing my hand.

  “But, I’ll always be too afraid of pushing her away. If I were to tell her I’d been thinking about scoring, she’d feel let down. Worried. Scared. She wouldn’t trust that I’m not gonna go out and do it.” I turned to Emily, fixing my eyes on hers. “And I couldn’t blame you for that. But that kind of constant fear of being let down isn’t any way to live. There’s only so many times you’ll put up with it before you come to your senses.”

  “You don’t know how she’d react, Dex,” Jeff interrupted. He does that shit a lot. “I’m going to refer back to what I discussed with Emily. You’re stuck too. You can’t move on because you’re too busy trying to second guess Em’s reaction to everything. Again, you need to ask her what she needs from you. Ask her if she’s going anywhere. Then, accept it. Move on. Stop waiting for it to fuck up.”

  I nodded slowly, never taking my eyes off the paperweight shaped like a duck (no shit) on Jeff’s desk. I’m telling you he’s got some kind of paperweight fetish going on. There’s literally too many to count dotted around his office.

  But he was right. I am always waiting for the fuck up.

  “But the fuck ups always come. Always.”

  “Sure they do. That’s life. So what, you think you’re too special to tackle them head on like the rest of us?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Look at Em,” Jeff said. “Go on, look at her,” he repeated when I looked at him with a puzzled expression. I did as I was told and shifted slightly in my seat, facing Emily. She was chewing on her bottom lip with her head bowed slightly down as she gazed anxiously up at me. “Say Emily makes a mistake. She’s out driving with her brother, she crashes the car…”

  My head jerked towards Jeff and I couldn’t help the amused smile that crawled across my lips against my will.r />
  “You know you’re kinda twisted right?”

  “Says the junkie who shot his mother?” Jeff threw back without a second’s pause. Did you gasp like Emily just did? Yeah, Jeff’s ruthless candidness gets some getting used to, but honestly, that’s why he’s so great. I’ve never once felt patronized or judged and he’s never made me feel like a lab rat under the microscope. Doctors, therapists… they all have certain stares.

  There’s the pity stare. That’s mainly reserved for the women. It’s the one where they cock their head to the side and nod slower than a freakin’ turtle all the way through the conversation.

  Then there’s the clinical stare. Usually used by doctors with eyeglasses. It’s where they keep one eye on you at all times and it’s always that little bit narrowed – suspicious… like it’s waiting for you to trip up.

  Finally, there’s the assessing stare. That’s the one where the eyes scan you up and down over an over like you’re some brand new and fascinating species. Every so often the stare will break to glance over the notes being continually jotted down on the open notepad in front of them. I hate this stare the most. It makes you feel like a scientific experiment.

  Jeff? He doesn’t have a stare. He looks at me like he’s just come into The Blue Apple, the pub I worked at back in London before I fucked everything up, for a pint of beer. And that, I suspect, is how he gets me to talk to him. My instincts trust him whether I want them to or not. That’s also the reason I didn’t shove my fist so far down his throat he’d be shitting my fingernails for a week after his last comment.

  “Touché,” I replied with an exaggerated arm roll. My lack of offence seemed to appease Emily’s nerves and her teeth relieved some of the pressure on her bottom lip, allowing the color to filter back in.

  “So where were we? Right…Em, brother, car crash…”

  “Yeah I get it. Chris dies, Em feels guilty… Now what?”

  “Would you want her to talk to you, or shut you out and try deal with it alone?”