Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (15 page)

“All I want is a free life with my daughter. I’m not interested in
punishing him; I just want him to leave us alone. I think if I convince him
that I’m prepared to go all the way with this unless he does that… he’ll go.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I said.

“Then it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I don’t want my daughter anywhere
near him. If that means she has to learn to live without me too, then so be
it.”

“I think you could be right,” Sarah agreed. “Martin’s a weak man… he
wouldn’t need to beat on defenceless women if he wasn’t. He wouldn’t last a day
in prison and he knows it. Still… that’s an awful big risk. You could lose
everything.”

“I know that. But it’s time. I’ve waited too long. I can’t live with
this guilt anymore.”

“”I don’t know what to say,” Sarah mumbled under her breath. I didn’t
know what to say either – which is why I stayed quiet.

“There’s nothing
to
say. This
isn’t your fight. Take the money… move on. Forget he ever existed.”

“And your daughter? Don’t you think she and Dexter deserve to know about
each other?” Sarah sounded upset… offended even. “If this plan of yours goes
wrong, he might be the only family she has left.”

“I…I…” Patricia stuttered. “I’ve not planned that far ahead yet,” she
admitted. “Look, Sarah… I don’t know how this is going to go. I’ve not worked
everything out yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to do
it. All I can do at this stage is say I’ll keep you informed. But please… don’t
risk my daughter’s safety by telling Dexter. If he decides to come and find her
before-”

“He wouldn’t,” Sarah interrupted. “But right now, I agree. I don’t think
it’s the best timing for either of them.” They both nodded in silent agreement.
“How old is your daughter?” Sarah asked curiously. Patricia sighed and fixed
her gaze on the table.

“She’s twelve.”

Twelve? That means she was two the day Dexter and his mum’s lives were
destroyed.

“Just how long have you been with Martin?” Sarah asked in an accusatory
tone.

“Fifteen years,” she admitted guiltily.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked, seeing no reason to continue
that
conversation between the two of
them. However wrong it was of Patricia to have an affair with a married man,
she’s paid the price by the man in question being a controlling and violent
bully.

I dragged in a deep breath feeling utterly bewildered. This whole
conversation was so unexpected. I thought… well I don’t know what I thought.

“I’ll call you. Give me your number. But please… don’t call me. I
promise I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Sarah and I both nodded, then
Sarah scribbled down her mobile number on a scrap of paper from her handbag. “I
hope you and your family can get past this. I appreciate my apologies can’t
change anything, but I’m sorry all the same.”

“I wish the same for you and yours,” Sarah said, offering her hand.
After shaking hands, Patricia gathered her mac and handbag from the back of her
chair and left. Sarah and I stared after her until she was completely out of
sight.

“It doesn’t seem enough,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That he just
gets to walk away.”

“I don’t care anymore, honey. All that matters is he’s not ruining any
more lives.”

“I hate him,” I spat.

“Dexter’s the important thing now. Your love for him is greater than the
hatred you feel for his father and that’s what you need to focus on.” I nodded
feebly – knowing she was speaking the truth but struggling to accept it.
“Come on, honey. Let’s go see our boy.”

                           
~Dexter~
           

How
the fuck is she affording this? That’s
what I thought when I walked into the ginormous lounge of The Springs substance
rehabilitation center. I’ve never been anywhere like it. The place is fucking
huge and filled with an abundance of fine furniture and impressive technology.

I
was told yesterday that Aunt Sarah had arranged my stay here. I know it’s not
going to work – been there, done that…
twice
. But at least when I get out of here she will finally see
that there’s no hope left for me. I’d tell her myself if I could face seeing
her. She and Emily have been calling everyday but I refuse to speak to them.
They turned up at the hospital a few times too but after witnessing the pain
I’d put in Emily’s eyes last time I saw her I decided enough is enough. I won’t
keep putting her through that. And if I’m honest, I’m too damn selfish to want
to go through it again myself.

“Follow
me,” a lady in a sharp gray pantsuit wielding a clipboard said to me. “I’ll
take you to your room.” She had ‘the voice’. You know the one. The one doctors
use when talking to children. Patronizing and sickly sweet.

I
followed the woman who continued to talk to me like I was three years old
through the lounge with the small backpack of stuff Aunt Sarah left at the
hospital for me slung over my shoulder. She led me through some double glass
doors and down a long hallway with a view of the grounds. Holy freakin’ shit
– they’ve got a pool! An actual full-length pool surrounded by reclining
chairs and potted trees. This place is like a five star hotel. There has to
have been some kind of mix up. I’ve no insurance and I’m pretty sure a week
stay in here would cost Aunt Sarah three years of her shitty salary.

“Get
yourself settled and someone will be along to give you a tour and talk you
through things soon,” Mrs. Condescending said with a saccharine smile after
opening the door to my room.

Jesus.
I was greeted by a double bed covered in expensive-looking maroon bedding. The
walls were lined with fitted closets and in the corner there was a full-size
armchair with plump cream cushions and a padded footstool. A freakin’
footstool! Dumping my bag on the bed, I walked to the other side of the room
and pulled open the heavy maroon drapes. Wow. Hidden behind them was a
floor-to-ceiling window which opened out onto a small balcony overlooking the
extensive gardens.

There
has to have been a mistake here.

Pushing
that thought aside, I opened the only door that wasn’t the one I just came
through and found the bathroom. The shakes had stopped but the cold sweats were
still very much seeping out of every pore in my body, saturating my clothes.
Turning on the cold tap I bent towards the basin and splashed bountiful
handfuls of water over my face. I groaned satisfyingly into the cooling spray
that was bouncing off the ceramic and splattering onto my flushed forehead.

I
still feel like utter shit. It’s lasting longer than I’ve ever experienced
before and I’m starting to wonder if it will ever go away. Of course, I know of
a guaranteed way to make it stop… but I’m keeping that idea on hold.

For
now.

When
I rose back up, letting the droplets of water linger on my face and drip down
onto my neck, I met a face in the mirror. I stared into its hollow eyes. They
were dark… lifeless. Who was I looking at? An addict? A murderer? A lost cause?

Yes.

I
was staring at myself. And I am all of those things.

“Dexter?”
I spun around to the sound of my name and nodded towards a man leaning causally
against the doorjamb. He was dressed in jeans and a black hoody, and his smooth
black hair contained more girly hair shit than the entire cast of Hairspray.

“Jeff,”
he stated, offering his hand. I walked over to him and shook it warily. “I’m
the lucky bastard who’ll be overseeing your treatment while you’re here.”

Fuck.
Off.

Did
he expect me to believe that? He can’t be that much older than me – ten
years max. He was dressed like he was heading out to a rock concert and he
spoke to me like I was one of his friends. Do they treat the nutjobs here too?
They must.

“I
can show you my papers if you need reassurance,” he said, shaking his head and
laughing. It was then I noticed an I.D. badge clipped to the side of his pants.
I didn’t bother to read it. It looked official enough. “Come on. Let me show
you around your home for the next few months.” He turned to leave and I didn’t
realize I was just standing there like an imbecile until he looked back and
said, “you need to hold my hand?”

“I’m
good,” I replied, summoning my most sarcastic smirk.

Hmm.
This is gonna be different…

Jeff
took me on an in depth tour of The Springs. As well as a gigantic pool… they’ve
got a gym, library, a TV room and a garden that must take up half of Ohio. He
showed me his office where I’m required to take my daily counseling sessions
with him (sounds fun huh?) and despite me knowing the damn thing by fucking
heart, he talked me through the 12 step program.

“Right.
10 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late,” Jeff ordered as he shooed me out of his office.
He’s got a fucked up accent that I couldn’t quite place and seeing as I refused
to allow myself to think of… well I won’t say their names because I’m not
thinking about them… I thought about where his accent originated instead.

**********

“It’s
been three days, Dex. If I’m honest I’m getting a little bored. How ‘bout you
have a bash at actually talking today.”

 
I shrugged like a petulant child. Most
people in this place treat me like one so fuck it, might as well act like it
too.

“You’ve
stopped shaking,” he noted.

Silence.

“You
plan on scoring again when you get out of here?”

No.
Maybe. Probably.

Jeff
opened his mouth to ask another pointless question no doubt, but was
interrupted by a knock at the door. After shouting ‘come in’ Mrs. Clipboard
came waltzing in. I’m still not sure what the point of her is. But seriously
I’m starting to think she’s accidently glued that clipboard to her hand and is
too embarrassed to tell anyone.

She
went on to mumble something about his ‘2 o’clock’.

“Champion.
Cheers, pet,” Jeff replied, seeming satisfied with whatever she came in to say.
Remember that fucked up accent I was telling you about? Turns out he’s from
Newcastle back in the UK. I took a shot at Liverpool and he told me not to
insult him like that again if I ever wanted to get out of here. He’s weird like
that. Jeff is like no doctor or shrink I’ve
ever
come across. I’m not sure who the hell gave him his license, but I’m pretty
sure they were wasted at the time.

“Emily
called again,” he informed me. He does this on purpose I know he does. I think
the sadistic bastard enjoys watching me squirm. “Wanna know what she said?”

“No.”
I gave the same answer he’d heard for the last three days, all the while
staring at the gold fountain pen he always keeps next to the phone.

“Do
you wanna talk about her?”

“No.”

“You
wanna talk about anything?”

“No.”

“Well
you know I’m gonna ask you stuff anyway.” I huffed in frustration. A huge part
of me wanted so badly to open up to him. But I couldn’t tell him the truth so
what was the point? I’d been there before… doctors and counselors trying to
lure me into spilling with those monotone voices they all have.

“Do
you love Emily?”

Whoa…
That was a new
one. I didn’t say anything. Instead I just looked at him like I wanted to kill
him.

“Another
no? You don’t love her?”

“Of
course I fucking love her!” I spat, balling my fists and slamming them onto his
disorganized desk, making the gold fountain pen roll across the wooden surface.

“Finally!
You do realize you just said six words in a row?” Christ this man is an
irritating jackass. “You must let me know if you start to feel faint from the
exertion.” I scowled at him, then turned my attention to the glitter-globe
paperweight on his desk. Hmm… one quick crack over the head with that baby
would soon shut him up. “Are you ready to see her yet?”

“No.”

“You
know you’re hurting her. How does that make you feel?”

“I thought
the point of this shit was to stop me feeling so fucking bad about myself?”

“I
can’t make you feel anything, Dex. If you want to stop feeling all this guilt
you’ve got going on, then
you
need to
start acknowledging your behavior. That’s what this ‘shit’ is about.” The
patronizing bastard actually air-quoted me.

“I
do acknowledge it. I know what I am.”

“And
what’s that?”

“Selfish.
Worthless.” I exhaled a heavy breath. “I destroy people.”

“Why
don’t you humor me and throw in some positives.”

“There
aren’t any.”

“I
see. Guess that makes Emily and your auntie pretty dumb then huh?”

“What
the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I yelled - ripping through my hair with my
fingers. I was struggling to see where this conversation was going. I got that
this dude doesn’t ‘do’ conventional… but I was seriously considering asking to
take him up on his offer of checking out his papers. “Don’t talk about them
like that.”

“Why
not? You’ve just said you’re worthless and selfish with nothing decent in
between. So, surely you’d have to be pretty dumb to love someone like that.
Unless of course… that’s not
all
you’re
about.”

Ah, I see where this headin’…

“I
know what you’re trying to do and it ain’t gonna work,” I said, shaking my
head.

“Yeah?
And what
am
I trying to do?”

“You’re
trying to get me to redirect my thoughts. You might go about it in a different
way than the others but I’ve been through this shit before. It didn’t work then
and it won’t work now.”

“Why
won’t it? Why won’t you let yourself be happy, Dex?”

“Because
I don’t deserve to be.” Shit. Did I really just admit that? So much for my
‘keeping quiet until he gets bored’ plan.

“Why
don’t you?”

“I’ve
told you – I destroy people.”

“How?
How’ve you destroyed people?” He was firing questions at me so fast I didn’t have
time to pre-empt the crap coming out of my mouth.

“I
hurt them!”

“How?”

“I
destroyed my own mom!”

“How?”

“I
took everything from her!”

“How?”

“I
shot her!” I blasted, slamming my palms onto the desk. “I fucking shot her…” My
voiced trailed off into a hoarse, trembling whisper. I knew I’d just landed
myself in a whole heap of shit, but you know what? I didn’t care. It felt good
to get it out. I felt lighter… calmer…
hopeful
.
Maybe now I’d admitted it, I really
could
start moving on. Just maybe…

“Why’d
you shoot her?” he asked so calmly, seeming completely unfazed by my monstrous
confession. He might as well have just asked why I bought her apple instead of
orange juice from the store. I looked at Jeff warily. Why wasn’t he calling the
cops right now?

“I
didn’t mean to,” I admitted. “The bullet was meant for my father.”

I’m
still not quite sure how it happened – how he got me to talk… but after
two hours I’d given Jeff a very thorough run down of my childhood, everything
that happened on
that
day and everything
that’s happened since. By the end of it I felt… exhausted. Afraid. Shameful.

Free.

“That’s
some heavy shit,” Jeff said, leaning back in his high-backed chair. Seriously,
what is the deal with this guy? Not only does he dress like a teenager gone wrong,
but he’s got a foul mouth, he listens like he actually gives a shit and even
more bizarrely… he doesn’t write anything down.

“Yeah,”
I agreed.

“So,”
he continued casually. “You said your father seemed pleased to see you in such
a state that night on the bench. It’s funny, because I would’ve thought after
everything he’s put you through, you’d want to prove that you’re capable of
living a better life than the one he wants for you. Maybe there
is
a part of you that wants to make him
happy.”

“That’s
bullshit,” I snapped.

“Then
why keep walking this same path, Dex? Why push everyone away? You wanna prove
your father wrong? Change.”

“You
say it like it’s so fucking easy.”

“Hell
no. Nothing about changing is easy. If you want to succeed it’s gonna be one of
the hardest fucking roads you’ve ever walked down. And you wanna know the thing
about long roads, Dex?”