Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (16 page)

“Go
on,” I breathed, exasperated – wondering what bullshit wisdom was gonna
topple out of his Geordie mouth next.

“You
can’t walk them alone without getting tired and falling. At some point you’re
gonna need someone to carry you a bit of the way.”

“Jesus,
mind you don’t choke on that philosopher’s bible,” I teased - for the first
time in forever, cracking the slightest hint of a smile. “So what happens next?
You gonna call the cops?”

“Unless
you’re planning on nicking that pen you’ve been staring at all morning, then
no.”

“I
thought you had a duty to report serious shit,” I questioned, eyeing him up
with wary eyes.

“Only
if I believe it puts you or somebody else in danger. You planning on shooting
anyone else when you get out of here?” he asked bluntly. I shook my head,
trying not to laugh at his candidness.

“Thought
not. Okay, so I think we’re pretty much done for today.”
Thank fuck.
“But before you go I’m gonna throw this out there so
it’s not such a shock when it comes to it.”

“Why
do I think I’m not gonna like what you’re about to say?”

“Because
you’re not,” he stated flippantly. I sucked in a deep breath in preparation. “I
want Emily to come to some of your sessions. Maybe even your auntie on
occasion.”

What!

“No
fucking way.”

“Like
I said, just putting it out there. But just so you know, I’m kind of
persistent.” Who the fuck was he telling? Sensing the end of our session I
stood up to leave. Shit, I needed a nap. That guy sure knows how to tear you
down.

“Oh
and, Dex?” Jeff called as I pried the door to his office open. I looked back
and gave him a nod. “You did good today.”

I
hesitated by the door for a few extra seconds to absorb his words. Then, nodding
again, I walked out and closed the door behind me.

Yeah.
I did do pretty good today.

~Emily~

A
light tap on the bedroom door stirred
me, but not enough to wake me up fully. It was the second, more forceful bang that
made me sit up in bed.

“Come in,” I called through a sleepy yawn.

“Mornin’, Emmie.” I smiled warmly at Chris as I rubbed my puffy eyes. He
ambled over to the bed so I hitched myself a little closer to the headboard to
make room for him at the bottom. “Emily, I’m going to have to head home soon,”
he said despondently. My chest tightened.

“I know,” I breathed, nodding understandably. It’s been nine days since
I last saw Dexter – nine days since he broke down on me in the hospital.
Sarah and I went to see him after meeting with Patricia in the posh café but he
refused to see us… and has continued to do so ever since.

“I don’t want to, but… the garage…” He stumbled on his words like he
felt guilty for saying them.

“You don’t need to explain. I can’t and don’t expect you to put your
life on hold. You need to get your business set up.”

“Come with me,” he practically whispered. There was a pleading undertone
to his voice that wound tightly around my heart, pulling me to him. But the
piece tied to Dexter was just that little bit stronger.

“You know I can’t.” Chris shook his head resignedly and I knew it was
because he struggles to understand my loyalties. “I know it makes no sense to
you,” I added. “Dexter and I haven’t had time to give what we have much of a
shot – I know that. But I also know, that in the short time we did have,
it’s the only time I’ve ever been happy.
Really
happy. Accepted. Sure of who I am.”

“You’ve been unhappy?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised as he
reached across the bed and took hold of my hand. “Since when?”

“Since always,” I admitted. “Since Livvie died…”

“Emmie you know no one blames you for that. Is that why you get the
nightmares? Do you feel guilty?”

“Sometimes,” I confessed – lying only slightly. Truth is, since
meeting Dexter I don’t feel guilty anymore. I don’t know why and I don’t
suppose it really matters. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen what misplaced guilt
can do to someone. Part of me wanted to tell Chris that Mum blames me… but that
would only cause the already open can of worms to explode.

“Look, don’t hate me for saying this…” Chris began to say. I cocked an
anxious eyebrow. “You say he makes you happy? I’m just…” he trailed off while
he gathered a deep breath. “I’m just struggling to understand
why
. I mean… how? Your whole world’s
been tossed upside down since you met him. You’ve been flitting back and forth
between home and the states, you’ve given up Uni and work, you’re not talking
to Rachel anymore… All the while he’s too busy feeling sorry for himself to
even talk to you!”

He shouted the last part and instinctively I shrank back.

“That’s not fair,” I retorted. Though, I suppose I couldn’t entirely
blame him. I still haven’t found the courage to explain why Dexter was
really
admitted to hospital – or
where he is now. Instead I fed him some made up spiel about Dexter becoming
depressed after his mum died.

“I’m sorry, Emmie. But I don’t give a flying fuck how sad he’s feeling.
You
should come first.” An awkward
silence descended upon us. I don’t blame Chris for how he feels. I understand
he’s just being protective of me. I also appreciate that despite voicing his
opinion on the matter, he still supports me in whatever I decide. “I’m going to
see if I can get a flight tomorrow or the day after. I want you to call me every
day you hear? Reverse the charges – I’ll pay. I just need to know you’re
doing okay. You’ve been left too long to deal with this shit on your own.”

“Damn it, Chris,” I scolded weakly, rubbing the tears from under my eyes
before they had chance to spill down my cheeks. “You’ve made me cry.”

Without hesitation Chris moved up the bed and enfolded me in his arms. I
buried my head in his shoulder and let three months of emotion spill all over
his shirt.

“I love you, Emmie,” he whispered shakily into my hair, his breaths
slightly stuttered. I pulled away instantly to check his face but he jumped to
his feet and faced away from me before I could get a look at his eyes.

“Are you crying?” I asked, clamping a hand to my chest. I can’t remember
the last time I saw Chris cry. In fact, I’m not sure I
ever
have. “Chris?” I prompted.

“Am I fuck,” he said, trying to laugh it off. But the big snotty sniff
(yeah it sounded just as gross in real life) he did beforehand gave him away.
“Right, I’m um… going to go and look on the internet for flights,” he added.
Then he left the room without ever looking back at me.

**********

“Emily?” I heard my name being called but I fought against the pressure
I felt on my shoulder. “Emily… Emily…”

“GET OFF ME!” I screamed, burning the back of my throat. “I need to get
to her. I need to get her out!”

“Jesus, Emily, wake up!” The pressure on my shoulder increased and it
felt like I was being jostled. “EMILY!” My eyes sprang open and Sarah’s
terrified face was hovering above mine. “Dear God you’re soaked,” she
whispered, wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as soon as I’d gathered my bearings.

“Don’t be. I was worried about you. You were screaming and shaking…”

“I, um… have nightmares,” I admitted. “About losing my sister.”

“Oh, honey,” she consoled, patting my burning cheeks down with her
hands.

“I don’t always get them. They sort of come and go in phases. At times
when I have a lot on my mind I suppose.”

“That makes sense. Have you talked to anyone about them?”

“Only Chris and Dexter. No one else knows.”

“What about a doctor?”

“A doctor?” I repeated, my face wrinkling in confusion. What good could
a doctor do?

“Sure. There are meds out there to help you sleep. And therapy… have you
thought of that?”

“God no.” I dismissed her instantly. There is no way
anyone
will get me to pour my heart out
to a total stranger –
ever
.
Besides, it doesn’t seem to be doing Dexter much good. He’s still refusing to
see me.

“Well, just think about it.”

“I will,” I lied.

“Do you want anything or are you going to try and get back to sleep?”

“I’m good. Thanks, Sarah.”

“Okay, honey.” She bent down to kiss my flushed forehead. “See you in
the morning.”

Sarah left with a concerned sigh and I rolled onto my other side. I
briefly wondered why Chris hadn’t heard me – he
always
hears me. Plus, this flat is so miniscule I actually heard
him fart in his sleep the other night.

It’s times like this I’d usually pick up my Kindle to stop me falling
back to sleep. I know from experience when I’ve been pulled from a nightmare I
always slip back into it if I chance going back to sleep so soon. But I was in
such a rush to get here this time I forgot to pack it.

So instead I just stared at the wall and made pictures out of the
shadows on the wall.

Please come back to
me, Dexter…

**********

I couldn’t go back to sleep, or rather I wouldn’t
let
myself, but I stayed lying awake in bed until a reasonable hour
so I wouldn’t wake anyone else. I gave in at 6 AM and tiptoed around the tiny
flat – showering, changing and making some toast as quietly as I could.
Chris was still asleep on the couch. He was curled up into a tight ball and had
a pillow clamped to his face with his forearm. Assuming he must have been
having one of his migraines, I left him alone and went to sit in the kitchen
with a strong coffee.

I detested the silence – it gave me time to think. Though on
reflection I preferred it to the sound of my phone ringing in the bedroom.
Darting on my tiptoes to get it I flew into a panic. I couldn’t think of anyone
who would call me so early in the morning unless something had happened to
Dexter.

“Hello?” I answered in a fluster without checking the screen.

“There you are, princess. It’s been too long,” my dad greeted, calming
the fire of nerves in my belly. “I thought you might have called on your
birthday.” Why? I thought to myself. It came and went like any other day. The
only difference being I can now tell people I’m twenty. Besides, he could’ve
always called me – you know, seeing as I’m his
daughter
and everything.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, choosing to dismiss his birthday comment
because the more I thought about it the more peed off I was getting. “Why are
you calling so early?”

“Early? Princess it’s half past eleven.”

Oh.

Damn.

“Oh um… I’m in America. It’s early over-”

“What on earth are you doing in America?” he cut me off, sounding
disgruntled.

“I’m sorry, Dad. It was kind of a last minute thing. I’m visiting my
boyfriend’s family. I’ll be home soon.”

“You have a boyfriend?” He knew that already didn’t he? I didn’t tell
him where I was at Christmas but assumed Rachel did.

“No need to sound so surprised, Dad. I’m not
that
ugly,” I teased. He let out a heavy sigh. Over the years I
gotten to learn what his different sighs mean. This was his regretful sigh.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell us that’s all. We don’t talk anymore. You
don’t visit. Everything’s changed since you moved down to London. I miss you,
princess.”

“I miss you too.” I didn’t realise until I heard his voice that I
really, truly did. “It’s just… well…”

“Your mother.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a humourless giggle. “But you’re right. I know I
should make more of an effort. I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back I
promise.”

“I know she doesn’t always show it well, but she loves you too. She’s
just had a lot on lately with this new charity of hers.” There he went again
– making excuses for her. “So, how’s university?”

Double, triple, quadruple, bazillionuple crap balls…

“I um… sort of don’t go to Uni anymore,” I confessed shakily.

“Oh, princess,” he replied, followed by his disappointed sigh. “This is
my fault isn’t it? Because I didn’t stand up to your mother about paying your
fees.”

“No, Dad… it’s-”

“If you needed money you could have still come to me,” he interrupted.
“Maybe it’s not too late. I can send you some money right away. If you pay your
fees they might let you back in.” The tone of his voice was so hopeful, which
made me feel really crappy about what I was about to say.

“They didn’t kick me out, Dad,” I confessed guiltily. “I left of my own
accord. I’m just not cut out for university.”

“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…