by K. L. Jessop
And she’s not here.
Because of me.
As much as I crave the JD to numb the ache of despair, I’ve not touched a drop since the fretful night, and as much as I’ve been tearing my hair out for a release from each vivid nightmare, I’m reminded of what it led me to do when I hurt her. Like every other occasion I seem to fuck up, Emmet has been by my side even more so than he had been before. With his support and his faultless friendship, I started my first round of therapy two days after Pepper left, him proving once again that his friendship, despite my state of mind, doesn’t come at a cost and that he’ll shell out even more than he should to get me the right treatment. The only clause in this agreement is that I have to work my arse off and prove to him that I mean every word.
And I do.
I’m tired of walking this long road with no answers and dead ends. I’m tired of being the ugly version of myself where I lash out at others in order to breathe. I’m fucking exhausted of it all, and the amount of grief that is sitting on my shoulders from what I’ve done weighs me down to the point I can barely carry myself anymore. I’d walked into the therapist’s room and stripped my soul bare of the sheer pain I have faced since I was a boy: the fact I’d been a young carer when I was only a minor, how all I’d wanted was for my mother to love us—to love me—but how she’d loved her poison so much more it had eventually killed her; how I swore I’d protect my baby sister, instead allowing the vultures of this city tear our little family unit apart; and the guilt and regret I’ve lived with every passing second and how the devil in me grows bigger over time as he feeds himself on my demons.
I’d told her everything as I broke down into thousands of pieces, but when she’d mentioned my Blue, my world had crumbled greater than ever because I’ve lost the one thing that brings the sunshine and warmth to my cold, damaged heart. The void that Pepper has left since she’s been gone is excruciating. I miss her warmth, her sweet smile and I ache to have her body next to me.
I’ve been a fool—a heartless arsehole—and she deserves so much more than I can possibly give her, but I can’t bear the thought that I may have lost her forever. I’ll do anything to make this right.
I have to make this right because a life without Pepper is not life worth living anymore.
I never wanted to fall, but now I fear I can’t face this tainted world without her by my side.
“You won’t find her here.” I hear a familiar voice at the bottom of the steps.
Turning my head that still resting against the wood, I find Malcolm standing with his arms folded, glaring up at me with every right to do so.
“Where is she?” I plead, the anguish in my tone raw.
He needs to know the urgency of what I feel. “Please, Malcolm. I just need to know she’s safe.”
“You have no right to ask that given what you did.”
“I know.” I close my eyes, hating his honesty. “God knows I know that.” I want to go to him—show him I mean every word and make him see, but at the same time, I don’t want to freak him out either. The last thing he will want is my hands on him, knowing what they are capable of.
Turning my body, I slide down the door to the floor, holding his stare and begging him again. “Please, Malcolm. Please just give me something. Anything.”
His expression falters a fraction and he mutters something under his breath before he climbs the stairs and stands two down from me, pointing his finger as the aggression leaves him. “First of all, you’re a fucking arsehole for what you did. Second, you don’t deserve to know anything about her when you’re so reluctant to giving her your all. And third.” He arches a brow. “Third, I don’t know what it is Dexter, but there’s something about you that I like when I shouldn’t, and it has nothing to do with my gay arse.”
For the first time in a week, he manages to stir something that has my mouth tugging at the corners. But I’m soon put in my place.
“Oh no you don’t. There is nothing to smile about here when you’ve wrecked her like you have. She’s broken. She’s confused. She cries constantly, but the thing that’s worrying me more is that she’s not fucking eating. She went through weeks of that shit when Persie died and it almost killed me to watch her do it, so don’t you dare sit there and smile at my comment because I don’t think there’s much to smile about right now do you?”
Guilt rips at my chest. I’ve broken her.
“I know that you’re bipolar—Pepper has told me everything—but I’m not going to be the pitiful person that tells you how sorry I am because of what you’re going through each day you walk your sorry arse around London. Life is hard on everyone, Dexter, and despite what you live with daily, your actions from that night are despicable. You could have done a lot more damage than you did. So, all I will say is whatever shit comes with being who you are, I suggest you rein it in and get some proper help before you destroy her altogether, you selfish motherfucker!”
His words come out so fast it’s like his vocabulary is on a treadmill, but I take the hit of every word because the man speaks nothing but pure truth.
Then his eyes widen, and his hand covers his mouth as if he’s just realised everything he said.
“I’ve got nothing to fight back with, Malcolm. You’re right. I’m not going to sit here and play the victim because of my twisted mind. I have no right. Life has been tough to the point where I wouldn’t even want my worst enemy to walk the road that I have, but I know I’ve done wrong. I know I may never be able to fix it.” I pause. My chest tightens, a lump forms in the back of my throat and my lip begins to quiver as the depression in me takes over. “But God knows I would never intentionally hurt her. She’s my Blue. And I’ve ruined that because I refused to take myself away from the past that has been eating away at me all this time.”
I let my shoulders fall as I close my eyes, trying to control the assault that’s likely to tear me apart. She is my everything and more, and I should have realised that sooner before I tore her heart out as if she meant nothing to me. She’s my saving grace. The one I love with every beat my heart allows me to have, and I’ve destroyed it all. Not having her with me is killing me; I can’t bear it.
“Tell me how to make it right,” I whisper as a tear falls, my body now trembling, and I don’t even care how weak I look.
“Let her in, Dexter,” he says softly, his hand gripping my arm in comfort. “It’s what you should have done from the start. Just let her in. Help her understand what makes you tick when things get so bad because right now, that’s hurting her more than anything. Behind the sassy attitude she throws at people is a woman that cares for others and loves like she’s never been hurt. But your secrets will destroy her if you keep holding back.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. The thought of doing that, though, scares me all the same. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sniff back my tears and bring my head up to rest against Pepper’s door.
There’s apprehension on Malcolm’s face.
“I’m sorry. It’s unfair of me to put you in this situation when your friendship with Pepper has more value than my feelings.”
“Pepper’s happiness means more to me than anything. And yes, when she first said that she was going to work for you, I was reluctant because I’d heard stuff about you that had me worrying for her because of everything she’s been through already. But then, over the weeks, I’ve seen her change. Her spirits have lifted and for the first time I’ve seen her genuinely smiling. I’ve not seen her like that in a long time. Now… now she’s hit rock bottom all over again, but the difference is you can change that. No one else. People suffer shit that they can’t control. I’ve watched a member of my family kill himself with alcohol and it was the worst thing in the world, but he was ill. And so are you. And as much as I hate seeing her hurting and you being the cause of that, I’m not just going to push you aside like you mean nothing because of it. Pepper is a bloody good judge of character, and if she’s seen a side to you that she feels is wo
rth loving then you need to remember that and keep hold of it. Don’t shut her out just to bury it all.”
I’ve no words because his statement has floored me. We’ve both lived in our own cruel world for too long but I hadn’t realised how much being with me had changed her for the better. I want her to feel that change every day. I want her to have that relief for the rest of her life. I need to keep her alive even if I know its likely to kill me.
I need to find her.
“Is she staying with you?”
His eyes hold mine with more determination than ever before.
“Yes, but I’m not telling you where my place is. Give her time, Dexter. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”
What if she’s never ready?
My chest tightens at the thought and my stomach cramps. I need her to find her way back to me. She has to find her way back because if she doesn’t, I fear I’ll forever be lost in the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pepper
Anxiety lays heavy and my palms are sweaty. When I left Malcolm's and said I was heading into work, I didn’t expect the level of apprehension that has followed. I’ve known it wouldn’t be easy, but I can’t hide forever either.
Standing in front of the gallery, I wonder whether or not to take a step forward or turn in the other direction. I dread to think what I am likely to face once I pass the threshold.
It’s been almost three weeks, and each day that has passed, Emmet has secretly texted or called with updates on Dexter’s progress. I know now he’s been to see the doctor, is on new meds that are better suited for him and is slowly getting back on track without the help of alcohol.
I can’t deny that the reports have been a comfort because they have, and on many occasions, I’ve found myself waiting for that all-important update before I could close my eyes at night. It brings comfort to know that Dexter seems not to be in such a dark place as he was when I saw him last, but deep down, there’s still that grey area of worry about how long it’ll be before he’s back there and that’s what I’m struggling with.
However, no amount of time that has past has eased my aching heart or provided the ability to think clearly. No amount of time has changed how I feel about him or given me the strength I’ve been so desperate to find. If anything, being further from Dexter has weakened me to the point I can barely breathe.
As much as I’d told myself I should just walk away, my heart has overruled because I miss him more than I want to admit. But that doesn’t mean I excuse what he did. I know he’s fighting a battle I can’t even begin to comprehend but he’s hurt me and neither of us can run from that. With a shaky breath, I turn the key and enter the gallery.
My emotions hit me hard to the point I’m unsteady, and for a moment I don’t move. I can’t. My body burns with so many memories at being back here.
Everything looks so different yet nothing has really changed at all.
I inhale the lingering smell of the paint that my senses have forgotten but that brings warmth to my insides and makes me feel like I’m home. The murals of colour had once seemed so vibrant now make me question who they actually represent. The boy on the swing seems more broken than I’d first imagined, and I’m now even more convinced that these stories represent the life of the man that painted them and not just life in general.
With my mood falling faster than I want it to, I force myself to stand tall and push these feelings aside. I head into my office to try and focus on doing some work, unsure what Dexter’s plans are now or if in fact he even wants me here. I’ve hardly been working and when I have I’ve only opened a few e-mails before forwarding them on to Emmet because I haven’t been able to concentrate.
When I open the door, I suck in a breath and am filled with apprehension when I find Dexter on the opposite side of the room, causing me to drop my satchel to the ground.
I can’t move.
My stomach plummets as my blood runs both hot and cold. I go to speak but nothing comes out. I’d assumed he would be here, but I’d never expected to have this reaction that’s suddenly raging through my body. My heart is racing at the beautiful sight of him as he holds my anxious stare.
“Pepper?” It’s barely a whisper and it’s as if he mirrors every single feeling I’m suddenly suffocated with. His eyes, those big, shadowy hues that I love to fall into, are saturated with so much sorrow and regret it’s hard to look at him, but I have to remain strong.
I silently pray to myself that I can be, but if it weren’t for my tight grip on the door handle, I’d be in a heap on the floor.
“I didn’t think you would come back.”
“I… I didn’t want to.”
“Then why are you here?”
Because you mean too much to me to just walk away.
Like I’ve no control over anything anymore, tears sting my eyes. Standing in front of him, everything I’ve wanted to say has been wiped from my memory. He’s stolen all my words and power and Goddamn strength just by being here. His eyes alone hold me captive, more so than they have ever had the ability to do before, and if I were to have any thoughts of running, I know I won’t get very far because he always brings me back.
He'll always bring me back.
“Because for some twisted reason, I can’t stay away,” I admit.
That ever-growing tension slowly builds along with a silence I can’t bear. Trying not to mess with his head, I confuse my own and keep him talking, wanting to take control of this conversation.
“Pepper, I—"
“How have you been?” I fix my gaze on the floor, somehow hoping that the lack of contact will create a barrier between us.
“Still a little low but I’m doing better. I’m on new meds which are starting to kick in. I’m also on something for my anxiety and I’m seeing a therapist.”
I look up, shocked that Emmet hasn’t mentioned the therapy to me, but the only response he gets from me is a slight nod. What I want to say to him is that he should never have stopped taking his meds to begin with because he’s made me think it’s my fault. I want to say its that he’s been a fool and let himself down, but I can’t. Most of all, I want to say I’m pleased he’s feeling better, but I don’t because while he’s in better spirits, I’m still walking around with a heavy heart and in pain for loving him when he doesn’t deserve it if he has no intention of loving me back. He’s been seeking help from every direction while I’m still fucking broken.
And now my stomach grips because I feel like a selfish bitch for thinking everything I just have when he needs all the help he can get for his recovery.
“You look good,” he says softly then closes his eyes briefly as if he thinks saying it is wrong. I can’t work out if he means because of what I’m wearing or in general to try and ease this underlying tension that is building between us—a tension that symbolises God knows what: frustration with him or the need for him.
Wearing a jumper dress doesn’t cover up the hurt in my eyes, and I know he sees it. My heart feels like it has been crushed twice over and is barely beating, even though it’s still thundering against my chest because he’s so close—looking good doesn’t even cut it.
“I don’t feel good,” I whisper as a tear slips down my cheek. I continue to hold on to the door handle as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive. When he steps closer, I silently will him to go back, needing to gain space between us as I try and steady my racing heart and battered mind. Dexter is my weakness and having him this close will only make me falter.
“I’ve missed you, Blue.”
His words cause my eyes to close as I try not to break down completely. He has no fucking idea how much I’ve wanted to hate him for all of this—hating him would be easier than what I feel—but I haven’t been able to.
“Don’t say that. You’ve no right to say that.”
“I know.” He steps toward me again. That crackle of electricity still hangs in the air despite everything that has happened and everything I’m
still left in the dark about. “Words can’t describe how sorry I am. I hate myself for it more than you know.” The fragility in his voice makes my stomach clench. When he reaches out to touch my cheek, I pull back.
The melancholy in his eyes matches that in my heart as his voice cracks. "I'm not going to hurt you, Pepper."
"You already have."
"That wasn't me," he stresses, his lip now quivering as he fights his own emotion. "You know that wasn’t me."
And he’s right. My Dexter hadn’t been the one hurting me. My Dexter is lost in the world that I am shut away from.
My breath catches as his hand presses against my waist. The effect of his contact alone is too much to control. The warmth of him radiates through the fabric of my dress sending that rush of electricity to the core of my soul burning me with the undeniable need he always generates. How? How does he have the power to make me feel so good when I’m in pieces on the inside.
“I need your forgiveness, Blue. I need you more than anything.”
I struggle to find my self-control. I need to gain my strength because right now I’m fighting a losing battle the more the feelings in me continue to build.
“Your need for me is the wrong kind, Dexter.”
“That’s not true. You know that’s not true. I can’t do this without you.”
“But you’re willing to go on and keep me in the dark?” I’m trembling hard, my breathing shaky as tears now fall. Needing to hit him where I know it will hurt, I let go of the door and rip the scarf from my neck, knowing there are no marks for him to see but seething out my words anyway in the hope I can make him realise that there could have been. “You hurt me, and I don’t. Know. Why.”
As if he’s had no true idea of what his actions have done until now, he inhales sharply, the colour draining from his face as he breaks down. Resting his forehead against mine, the devastation in his features and seeing him this broken makes my chest tighten. I realise now that he’d been truly unaware what damage his actions could have caused on my body.
