Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (20 page)

“I’m
not saying that to make you feel bad,” she continued. “I just think all we’ve
got left now, if we have any hope of moving forward, is honesty. And honestly?
It hurts, Dex. Trust me when I say I will always wait for you and I will always
be around to share your pain… but I need to believe the future holds more
laughter than tears because I don’t think I can survive a lifetime of the last
few months.”

Wow.
A hefty kick to the balls would’ve hurt less.

“I’m
gonna try, doll. That’s all I can promise you.”

Bet
you’re getting sick of me saying that aren’t you? Hell, I know I am, which
means Emily must be too.

“Jeff
wants you to come to some of my sessions,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Shit. What was I thinking? “I mean… you don’t have to. It was his idea. I said
no. It’ll probably bore the shit outta you anyway. I mean, you can… but you-”

“Dexter,”
she interrupted my ridiculous rambling. “I think that’s a great idea.”

She does?

“You
do?”

“Honesty,
remember? There’s a lot we
both
need
to work through here and maybe it would help having an outsider there to
listen… to guide us. Your…
issues
…
are like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and to be honest I have
no
idea what I’m dealing with. I
thought
I did… but I don’t. So yeah… I
would like to come to some sessions.”

“Guess
I’ll let him know then.” Christ, why the hell was I so nervous all of a sudden?
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” I whispered as I pulled her close and inhaled the
scent of her hair.

“But
remember, this is why you’re here – for us… so we never have to be apart
again.”

“Kiss
me,” I asked, cupping her face in my hands. I felt her smile against my lips
when I pressed them to hers. I let them linger for a moment, committing the
feel of them to memory. Then I gently ran my tongue along the groove, silently
asking for permission to taste her.

Her
lips parted slowly and I flicked my tongue against hers causing a delicious
little moan to escape from her throat. My hands wandered into her hair,
twisting and clawing at the strands while I explored every corner of her mouth
with my tongue. She tasted of mints, coffee and Emily.

“Fuck
I’ve missed you,” I groaned into her mouth, fighting with every ounce of
strength my body possessed not to throw her to the ground and fuck her right in
front of the receptionist watching us through the window.

“I’m
right here,” she murmured. “I’ll always be here.” Pulling away, I wished I
could say it back. But I’d said it before and meant it, and look what that made
me… a liar.

“I’ll
call you tonight.”

“You
better,” she ordered.

“Tell
Aunt Sarah I love her?” It came out as a question.

“She
already knows. But of course I will.”

After
another kiss that didn’t last nearly long enough, Emily climbed into the cab
which had been waiting for her for the last few minutes.

“I’m
sorry,” I whispered knowing no one was around to hear. Because I am. I am so
desperately fucking sorry for everything I’ve done and all the pain I’ve
caused.

Tucking
my hands into my pockets, I kept my head down, deep in thought – or
self-pity – and walked back inside. Then, shoving past me, some reckless
jackass almost knocked me to the ground.

“What
the fu-”

“Stand
aside!” I held my hands up in silent apology for almost yelling obscenities at
him when I realized it was a paramedic. Within seconds there were half a dozen
more people scrambling past me and out of morbid curiosity, I followed them.

Everyone
bustled towards the corridor leading to our rooms and I trailed behind casually,
keeping out of their way and watching curiously from afar… until they burst
into
my
room. My pace picked up into
a sprint and within seconds I was paralyzed by the open door, gawping in shock
at the paramedics sticking tubes and needles into an unconscious Freya on my
bed.

“Give
them some space, mate.” My neck snapped to the direction of Jeff’s voice. “Go
wait in my office.”

“W-what’s
wrong with her?” I stuttered. My eyes refused to shift from her tiny body and
my mouth dropped open as white foam started to spill from the corners of her
lips and the color in her face evaporated.

“Dex!”
Jeff ordered, firmly this time. Pulling my gaze away from the male paramedic
ripping open Freya’s shirt and attaching something to her chest, I turned to
Jeff. “My office. Now. I’ll be there in a minute.” I didn’t argue. Nodding, I
stepped past him and made my way back down the corridor, past reception and to
his office.

I
paced up and down the short length of Jeff’s office for several minutes, never
taking my eyes off the window overlooking reception for any sign of him coming.
He said he’d be a minute – turned out he was fifteen.

“What’s
wrong with her?” I repeated the second he approached the office door. Sighing,
he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“Looks
like an OD,” he said calmly.

“An
OD?” I repeated, completely confounded.

“Smack
by the looks of it.”

“
Heroin?
How the hell did she get hold of
that? I’ve never seen her with visitors.”

Jesus,
is that what I looked like when they found me. Was my body convulsing? Had my
eyes turned black and lifeless? Was I foaming at the mouth like some kind of
rabid dog? Did Sarah and Emily feel even a fraction of the worry and fear I
felt for Freya when I saw her like that? Because if they did, I’ve just fallen
into an even deeper pit of guilt.

Selfish,
worthless, bastard. That’s what I am.

“This
isn’t a prison, Dex. You know you’re free to go whenever you want. Freya
checked out for an hour this morning.” He was right. I didn’t
have
to stay here. If I’m honest with
myself I’ve just been too afraid to leave the safety of the grounds as yet.
Once I walk past those gates I’m back in reality. Back in the torturous world
that led me to this place. Back in the line of temptation. Back with the people
whose faces remind me every single day of all the unforgiveable shit I’ve put
them through.

“She
had a phone call from her mam last night. It’s not my place to tell you what
was said but… well, I’ve said too much already.” That’s why I like Jeff. He
gives just enough away to allow you to trust him but not enough to lose his
professionalism.

“She
gonna be alright?”

“I
don’t know,” he answered honestly. It was the first time I’d heard Jeff speak
in such a sober tone and it literally knocked the air from my lungs. “The
hospital will call with any news. I’ll keep you posted,” he continued as I
slumped down into the brown bucket chair. “I didn’t realize you guys were so
friendly?”

“We’re
not. Well… I don’t know. She talks to me sometimes so I talk back. That’s
really all there is to it. She’s been through some heavy shit though… can’t
help feelin’ for the chick.”

“So…”
Jeff began, his chirpier tone making an approaching subject change apparent.
“You said you needed to talk today?”

Shit.
I did, didn’t I?

“It’s
cool,” I dismissed the mass of unruly thoughts and emotions whizzing through my
brain. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“No
you don’t. You canny get away with it that easily. I’ve got a meeting in five
but I’ll meet you back here in an hour. Comprende?”

“Sure.”
Saluting Jeff, I stood up from my chair and ran my fingers through my hair.

“Good.
Go grab a coffee and get your shit together and I’ll see you in an hour.”

Hmm,
coffee. I wanted more than fucking coffee. The familiar itch under my skin told
me exactly what my body was craving and in an effort to ignore the destructive
voice in the back of my head, I headed straight for the gym.

~Emily~

Holy
nervousballs.
Today was my first session with Dexter and his therapist Jeff. I was hoping
Sarah would be with us the first time but apparently Jeff doesn’t want us all
together initially. I lay awake all night trying to think of what I was
supposed to say yet by the time morning came around I was still none the wiser.

Fresh from the shower, I was blasting off my hair with the hairdryer
when I noticed my phone light up on the bedside table. Turning the dryer off,
Adele’s soulful voice flooded the air (I deleted the One Direction ringtone because
it reminded me too much of Rachel and the fact she hates me) and upon picking
it up I saw it was Chris calling. I answered immediately.

“Hey!”

“Hey, Emmie. How’re things going?” He asked the same question every day
and every day I told him the same.

“Okay,” I muttered, trying to hold back the permanent sigh threatening
to expel itself from my lungs.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth for a change eh?” He caught me off
guard and I let out a small involuntary gasp. Usually, even if he didn’t
believe me he would just accept my answer. “Dexter cheered up yet?” he asked
unsympathetically, referring to Dexter’s ‘depression’.

“He’s getting there,” I replied vaguely. “I’m going to see him soon.”

“Cut the crap with me, Emmie. I need to know what’s really going on. I
need to know you’re really okay.”

“Whoa… how to change the atmosphere from fun to serious in one easy
step, by Christopher Barton…”

“Stop it,” he ordered. I swallowed forcefully and my heart rate spiked.
What had gotten into him? “I know about Dexter,” he added.

“What do you-”

“I know he’s an addict,” he interrupted. “I know where he is and why
he’s there.”

Oh…

“How do you-”

“I went to see him before I left,” he admitted, cutting me off again.

“You did
what?
Why didn’t you
tell me?”

“Because I hoped you’d trust me enough to tell me yourself.”

Regret forced my heart down into my stomach.

“I
do
trust you. I was just…”

“Worried I’d think he was a worthless lowlife and that you deserve
better?”

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.

“Don’t you?”

“Of course I think you deserve better.” My heart plummeted so far my
toes had to kick it back up to where it belonged. “No one is good enough for
you. But…” But – there was a but… “I believe he loves you, and I believe
he means it when he says he’d never intentionally hurt you.”

Dexter said that?

“What are you saying, Chris?”

“I’m saying he’s getting one last chance from me and he knows it. But I
swear to God if he ever lets you down again he’ll need more than a bag of coke
to make him forget the pain I’ll cause him.” And that, ladies and gents, is my
big brother. My over-protective, always got my back, loving and annoying as
hell big brother.

“I love you, Chris.” At that moment, no other words would suffice.

“Course you do. I’m fucking awesome.” A small laugh escaped me and I
found myself clutching the phone a little tighter to my ear as if that made us
closer. “I gotta go now, Emmie. Ernie’s stayed on to help with the books and
shit and he’s whining about some contract he can’t find.”

“Which one?”

“Masons.”

“Bottom drawer of the blue filing cabinet, third folder from the back.”

“Fuck me, you’re good. Tell that nobhead to get his arse in gear and
hurry yourself back home. I could really do with you here to sort this shit
out.”

“I’ll pass on your well wishes,” I teased, giggling.

“Love you, Emmie.”

“Love you more.”

“Probably.” I could hear the smile in his voice and my own lips turned
up in response. He’d sounded a little down lately… subdued and distracted. It
was nice to hear him sound somewhat like his ‘normal’ self.

As for him being so unexpectedly accepting of Dexter… that right there
is why he’s the best big brother in the world and why I absolutely should’ve
trusted him sooner. I would without a doubt be lost without him.

My hair had continued to dry naturally while I was on the phone so after
hanging up the call I ambled over to the oval mirror on the wall and scraped it
back into a messy bun. Then I slipped off my dressing gown, climbed into some
black leggings and pulled my long sleeved, purple shirt-dress over my head
before posting my feet into some pumps and rushing downstairs to call a taxi.

Our session with Jeff wasn’t for another hour but I knew I could spend
the extra time with Dexter and that thought invited thousands of little
butterflies to come and play in my belly. I’ve been worried about him since I
last saw him two days ago. Turns out that girl with the attitude waiting in his
bedroom took an overdose and though he’s not said it directly, I know it’s
affected him. She’s doing okay as far as I know. Well, she’s not going to die.
I suppose that’s as okay as you can get when recovering from an OD.

The taxi sounded its horn outside within minutes of me calling for it.
Folding my jacket over my arm and picking up my bag, I headed outside, locked
the door and eagerly made my way towards it – smiling all the way down
the path at the knowledge I would be in Dexter’s arms soon.

**********

“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?”