Take My Hand

by Haken, Nicola

  As a more intense look of bewilderment invaded her eyes I found myself praying to a god I don’t even believe in to give me a sign that I could do this. That I could have her, take care of her, love her… without destroying her.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I should get going,” she practically whispered, teasing herself away from me.

  Fuck. She felt rejected and embarrassed. I’d hurt her already and I hadn’t even kissed her.

  “Don’t do this, Emily,” I pleaded, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it tightly. “Don’t let this ruin what we have here. Don’t let me ruin what we have here. You’re my best friend. I love spending time with you and I don’t want to lose that,” I admitted but it did nothing to dull the offense in her eyes. “I wish I could explain why I can’t do this with you. I wish you could see that I’m doing it to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” she asked - for the first time sounding altogether pissed at me. “Protect me from what, Dex?” I let out a frustrated groan and pinched the bridge of my nose between my tense fingers.

  “From me. I’m protecting you from me,” I confessed solemnly. She sighed, exasperated.

  “Why? I feel things when I’m around you that I can’t switch off – I’ve tried, believe me. If you really do feel those things too then why punish us by refusing to see what happens?”

  “I’m not punishing you.” I’m punishing myself. “You don’t understand.” Holy fuck what the hell was that? For a second I could’ve sworn I felt a tear on my face and I rubbed it away. Sweat. That’s what it was. I was nervous. Being nervous makes you sweat.

  Yeah, I definitely hadn’t turned into a giant fucking pussy.

  Honest.

  Fine. Don’t believe me then.

  “What don’t I understand? I know about your past and I don’t care. I’m not some wishy washy bimbo who doesn’t understand what she’s getting involved with you know,” she snapped.

  “You only know what I’ve told you,” I retorted and regretted it immediately. She shrank back. Her face drained of color and she looked… winded? Shocked? Hurt yet again?

  “So, tell me,” she muttered apprehensively.

  “I can’t,” I choked out – that damn sweat leaking from my eyes again. Guess I was more nervous than I thought.

  “Even after the way I’ve opened up to you tonight?” she barked. “After the way I stayed with you last night even after you tried to make a show of me in front of those cheap sluts? Even though I’m offering myself to you on a FUCKING platter when I’ve spent my whole life shying away from people. Have you any idea how hard that was for me?”

  “I can’t,” I repeated.

  I couldn’t look her in the eye. I couldn’t watch her expression as I destroyed her too. In my peripheral vision I saw her bend to the floor to grab her purse then I felt her get up from the couch.

  “Goodbye, Dexter,” was the last thing she said to me in what would probably be forever. When the slam of the door came I threw myself backwards onto the uncomfortable couch and rammed my fists into the back cushions a few times before throwing my quivering hands over my face.

  Then that damn sweat started pouring rapidly down my stupid fucking face and I had to wrestle with every damn muscle in my body not to reach for the half-empty bottle of Jack I knew was hiding under my sink.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emily

  Three tortuously long weeks have passed since I laid myself out there for Dexter. Three weeks since I made an almighty fool of myself and three weeks since I ruined the best thing that’d ever happened to me.

  I haven’t heard from him since. He hasn’t text or called and he hasn’t shown up for Uni once – leaving me to put together our assignment which thanks to him I’m sure we’ll fail. I’m assuming he’s spoken to his tutors about his absence because I’ve not been asked if I know where he is. I’ve heard from Jared that he’s been in work as scheduled and I’m sure he’s filled Rachel in too because she asks me no less than twice an hour what happened between us that night. The only answer I feel able to offer is ‘I don’t know’. Because I don’t. And I have to face the fact that I probably never will.

  I keep replaying the last words he muttered before falling asleep after his ‘private party’. ‘I’m losing her’, he said. I’ve tried numerous times to find similar sounding words – words that I could’ve mistaken for the ones I thought I heard. But there were none. Because those were his words. I chose not to mention it the day after. He was clearly struggling with something and me being foolish and gullible, I thought we had all the time in the world to get to that conversation.

  I need to let it go because I’m tormenting myself. I’ve convinced myself countless times that whoever he was losing was the reason why he wouldn’t kiss me, and then unconvinced myself just as many. I hate what I’ve become lately – a whiny, wallowing mess. No better than the clingy, annoying girls in some of the books on my Kindle – the ones who I loathe reading about.

  As if the last three weeks weren’t painful enough, the nightmares I’d almost forgotten about have returned with a vengeance. They started the night after Dexter took me to the beach and it’s made me afraid to go to sleep because I’ve started to see Livvie’s lifeless eyes staring back at me before I’ve even drifted off. So I spend most nights curled up on the couch with a strong black coffee in one hand and my Kindle in the other.

  But even Travis Maddox can’t stop the nightmares from coming.

  Eventually the urge to sleep gives in against my will and my baby sister is right there. Her fine, blonde, saturated curls are clinging to her petrified face every time her little head bobs above the water. She’s screaming. She’s pleading with me. She’s begging me not to let her die.

  But I do.

  I always do.

  Every night I watch her die all over again. I have to see her face turn white. I have to feel how cold her tiny body gets as her eyes stop focusing on me. I have to sit on the grass by the pond and listen to my mum yell at me for being so selfish and stupid.

  The nightmares stopped when I was thirteen – I don’t know why, and I don’t know why they’re back now. Chris is the only person who knew about them while I was growing up – or at least he was the only one who acknowledged them. Therefore when my first one in six years left me shaking and screaming and clinging to my bed while he was staying with us, he was by my side immediately. He stayed an extra couple of nights than he planned to, and he backed up my story to Rachel that I couldn’t remember what it was about. But of course he’s got his own life to lead and so he had to leave eventually. Now I’m left alone with the nightmares and a concerned Rachel who thinks I need to see a doctor.

  “Knock knock!” Jared yelled when he threw open the door to our flat unexpectedly.

  “Bloody hell, Jared it’s eight thirty in the morning! What are you doing here?” I barked at him, scared to my wits end. “And how did you get in?” He jangled a heart-shaped keyring with a solitary key hanging from it.

  “Rachel gave it me for emergencies.” She did what? Why? She must have been drunk. I planned to have her over that later.

  “And scaring the crap out of me early in the morning is an emergency?”

  “No. But feeding you is an emergency. You’ve lost weight,” he noted, holding two crammed McDonald’s bags in the air. “It’s making you ugly.” Rolling my eyes and laughing softly I stood up and took a bag from him. “And nothing helps you put on weight like a Double Sausage & Egg McMuffin with deep fried hash browns.”

  Jared winked at me and I giggled again. The second I took the bag from him the smell of grease danced up my nose and my stomach growled for the first time in three weeks.

  “Hey, Rach, get your arse out here!” Jared hollered in the direction of the bedrooms. “I come bearing food!”

  A few minutes later Rachel wheeled in from the short hallway. The moment she clapped her eyes on the brown paper bags she started rubbing her hands together.

 
“There better be pancakes and sausage in there with my name on it,” she said in the obnoxious tone only Rachel could get away with.

  “Madame,” Jared replied, standing up with her polystyrene tray and passing it to her, while rolling his other arm like a waiter. She flipped the lid eagerly and then looked at Jared like she wanted to squish him like an insect.

  “There’s no maple syrup in here. You can’t have pancakes without maple syrup. It’s the law,” she clipped.

  “NOBODY MOVE!” Jared, blasted like there was a real emergency, scaring the life out of me for the second time this morning. “No need to panic, everybody stay calm!” he yelled as if he was addressing a crowd. Then he plucked the shoulder of his white shirt and spoke into it like he had a radio device attached to it. “We have a code red situation over here, sir. Rachel Mason has got no maple syrup. I repeat, no maple syrup.” Rachel glowered at him, giving him the evil eye. “EVERYBODY DOWN! SHE’S GONNA BLOOOOOOOW!”

  “You’re such a twat, Jared Mattheson,” Rachel said before setting her lips into a tight line. Though I could tell by the strain her cheeks were under she was trying desperately hard not to laugh.

  “You’re such a fuckin’ drama queen,” Jared teased her. “Here,” he added, pulling a tiny carton of maple syrup from his pocket and tossing it Rachel’s way. She caught it effortlessly. I have always wondered if being unable to use her legs has given Rachel some kind of superhuman powers in her arms, because believe me that girl could beat any big burly bloke in an arm wrestle.

  Her lips morphed from a tight line to a tight smile and then I saw a look being exchanged between them that I’d never noticed before. It was Rachel’s ‘I’d so do him’ look, followed by Jared’s proud ‘you’d so do me look’. I’d seen the look in question on both of them numerous times – but never once aimed at each other.

  Had I missed some major life event unfold during my three weeks of wallowing? Or was I just so tired I was imagining things?

  **********

  After screwing up the breakfast wrappers I chucked them in the bin and then showered and changed for Uni. My chest felt tight the whole time. I don’t like going to Uni anymore – it’s… lonely.

  “You not coming?” I asked Rachel when I noticed she was making no attempt to move. I on the other hand, was flitting around like a blue-arsed fly trying to find my car keys. There was still over an hour till my first class, but you can never set off too early in London. I could’ve probably set off last night and still been twenty minutes late today.

  “My creative practices class was cancelled so I’m not leaving for another couple of hours.”

  “Well just give me a bell and I’ll come and get you,” I offered. I don’t like Rachel taking public transport alone. And yes, that’s completely prejudice of me, but I can’t help it. I worry about her.

  “No you won’t. You’ve got enough on your plate today. You memorised all the Frappuccino’s yet?”

  “Damn,” I sighed. Did I mention I crossed off Number 9 a few days ago? Well, I did.

  · Find a job

  “I’ll do it this afternoon.” I was starting my first shift at Starbucks tonight and the woman who interviewed, and subsequently offered me the job, suggested it would be in my best interest to learn the menu before I started. I’ve looked over it a few times but nothing seems to stick. It’s like my mind is too full and it won’t even consider processing any extra information.

  Plus, there’s got to be like fifty million kinds of Frappuccino on there – not to mention everything else they sell. Seriously, whatever happened to plain old white with two sugars?

  “I’ll run the iron over your uniform while you’re out,” Rachel said.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll have plenty of time when I get back.”

  “I want to. I’m excited for you! It’s Starbucks, Ho! We love Starbucks.” Yeah, we do. In fact I’ve probably had more Starbucks in my life than I’ve had hot dinners so I bet you’re wondering as much as I am why I don’t know the bloody menu off by heart yet.

  “You’re the best, Rach. Let me know if you change your mind about that lift.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you still here?” she teased.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” Then I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way to the car.

  **********

  I knew Dexter wouldn’t be in class before I even set off this morning, so why did my heart sink all over again when I wandered over to his empty seat and sat down beside it? After mentally slapping myself across the face I set my bag down on the desk and took out my books. Glancing at the clock I noticed I was early for the first time ever and still had twenty minutes to kill before the tutor arrived.

  I looked around and felt a pang of jealousy watching everyone else chatting along to the people sitting next to them. A few weeks ago that’s what I would’ve been doing. Now I had no choice but to sit here looking like ginger-no-mates.

  “Emily right?” A girl’s voice startled me and I spun myself around to see where it was coming from. I was facing a blonde girl, sitting on the desk behind me and twiddling her ponytail around her perfectly manicured fingers.

  I nodded.

  “You’re friends with Dexter aren’t you?” she asked eagerly.

  “Not really,” I shrugged, my heart stuttering.

  Not at all in fact.

  “Well do you have his number? It’s just we spent the most amazing night together on Saturday and I left my number with him but I’m thinking I must’ve scribbled an extra digit or something because he hasn’t called.”

  I think I stopped breathing. No, I definitely stopped breathing. The blood drained from my face so quickly I started to feel a little faint.

  “You okay? You look kinda green,” Miss Blonde said, backing away slightly as if she was worried I was going to spew all over her designer dress.

  “Um, no. I erm, I think I’m coming down with something.” I stood up from my chair, the legs screeching against the highly-polished floor, and prepared to run faster than I’d ever ran in my life. But not before scrolling through my contacts. “Here,” I said, holding up my phone in front of her with Dexter’s details illuminated on the screen. Her eyes lit up like fairy lights and she copied it down quickly. If she’s the kind of girl Dexter wants, who am I to stand in his way?

  “Thanks,” she beamed, tapping her feet excitedly against the floor.

  I was already running before I could reply.

  **********

  How I made it home without driving straight into a tree I don’t know. Not that there are many trees in the centre of London but you get my drift. My eyes were swollen and cloudy, but I wouldn’t let myself cry. Not over him. Not over a guy I clearly meant jack shit to.

  See what he’s done to me? I never used to swear before Dexter but now I feel that bloody frustrated all the time it just keeps toppling out of my mouth.

  “Why are you here?” Rachel asked, clutching her hand to her chest. “I think I just shit my knickers!”

  “I live here,” I deadpanned, heading straight for my bedroom.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, missy.” She grabbed my arm as I tried to pass her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I tried to lie. But then I made the mistake of making eye-contact with her and every millilitre of water my body contained came spilling out through my eyes with excessive force.

  “Hey there, girly. Talk to me.” Rachel steered herself towards the couch one-handed, never letting go of me with the other. I had no choice but to follow and I plopped myself down on the couch and snorted (I was really ugly crying now) in my tears. Using her superhuman arms to hoist herself from the chair, Rachel sat beside me and threw both arms around my shoulders.

  “Oh, Rachel,” I whined. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  “Fuck me, you’re not pregnant are you?” I gave her the eye-roll and shook my head.

  “It’s… it’s…”

  “It’s?”


  “It’s Dexter,” I finally admitted for the first time to both Rachel and myself. “I think I’m in love with him.”

  “I knew it! I knew there was something going on with you two!” she said enthusiastically.

  “That’s just it. There’s nothing going on. He won’t even talk to me.”

  “So you’ve tried talking to him?”

  “No,” I stated sulkily.

  “Then how’d you know he’s not sat at home thinking the same thing about you?” A sardonic laugh involuntarily erupted from my throat.

  “Well if he was, I’m guessing the blonde he screwed Saturday night helped him get over it.” I tried my very best to sound nonchalant but only succeeded in making my tears fall faster.

  “I always said he was a good for nothing wanker!” she blared. She soon changed her tune. “That fucker better not come near me if he values his balls,” she seethed, her whole body growing rigid with anger. Impossibly, I cried even more. “I’m sorry, Ho,” she uttered, taking a calming breath. “Calm down. Calm down,” she mumbled to herself. “K, tell me everything.”

  I began with the line ‘there’s nothing to tell’. But soon enough I was telling her ‘nothing’ for the best part of an hour. By the end of it she pretty much hated Dexter. She didn’t exactly use the word hate, choosing instead something along the lines of ‘that C U Next Tuesday is nastier than the shit that comes from the arse of the lice that live on the mouldiest set of pubes ever to be found’. Oddly, that made me feel guilty – it made me uncomfortable hearing bad things being said about Dexter. Like I said, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

  “I’ve got to get going soon, Ho. I hate leaving you like this,” Rachel said, rubbing my back.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lied. “I think I’m just nervous about tonight,” I lied again. “I’m okay now I promise.” You guessed it – that was a big fat lie with a cherry on top too.