by Nicola Haken
Enough is enough. I want my best friend back.
Releasing my firm grip on my phone, I swiped across the screen and went to the last conversation between Rachel and me.
ME: I miss y
I stopped mid-type when a call interrupted me. It was The Springs – Dexter’s rehab centre – and in the two seconds it took me to answer a thousand different scenarios raced through my head. Was he sick? Had he discharge himself? Ran away? Got hold of some drugs somewhere? Dear God was he back in the hospital?
“Hello?” I answered quickly, my heart crashing against my ribs. “Hello?” I repeated agitatedly when I didn’t get an immediate response.
“Hey, doll…” I gasped inwards and my lungs refused to let go of the air until I started to feel lightheaded. “Emily? You there?”
“Y-yes. I’m…I’m here.” For what could’ve been hours after that sentence, the only sound penetrating the dense air was that of our slow, heavy breaths. “Are you… okay?” What a ridiculous question. Of course he wasn’t ‘okay’. If my hand wasn’t shaking so badly, I would’ve slapped myself across the face.
“I’m getting there,” he replied sombrely. The sadness… the regret, in his gruff voice cut deep into my chest like a razor blade. I didn’t need a physical wound to feel such intense pain. “Emily, I’m…” he began but then seemingly needed a moment to compose himself. I heard him sniff in his tears and my hand instinctively reached out to touch him, to soothe him… then it balled itself into a fist mid-air when it realised his smooth skin wasn’t waiting at its destination. “I miss you.”
I tried to speak but all that came out was a sob. I tried to stifle it with one hand over my mouth, the other struggling to keep a grasp on the phone by my ear.
“Don’t cry, doll,” he soothed. “Please don’t cry.”
“Can I see you?” I asked shakily, terrified of his answer.
“Yes.” Yes? As in… yes? YES?
“Thank you. Dear God, thank you,” I whimpered down the phone.
“Don’t thank me, Emily. Just… just get here.”
“Now?” I asked – feeling surprised, hopeful, excited, petrified…
“Now.”
“I’m on my way.”
After hanging up the call I raced to my temporary bedroom and changed into the black jeans and cream tunic with silver sequins sewn around the waist and cuffs that were in a crumpled heap on the floor. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I pulled on my trainers, threw my handbag over my shoulder and bolted out the door – slamming it behind me.
I ran to the main road and hailed the first taxi I came to. God I missed having a car at times like this. I’d have been at the centre before I’d even said goodbye. I gave the driver the address and I’m sure I caught his judgemental eyes narrow in disgust. Dick head.
My mouth dropped open when the driver pulled our taxi into the grounds of The Springs. I was expecting it to be clinical looking like a hospital. Instead my eyes were greeted with vibrant flowerbeds, vast manicured lawns and a mansion-like building that resembled a gazillion star hotel. The driver grunted something inaudible and pointed to the fare meter. I handed over a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change – not because he deserved it, but I was too desperate to get inside the building to wait.
My fast-paced strides waned into slow, anxious steps when I approached the gleaming glass doors. I walked inside and approached the polished wood desk that span across the whole wall in front of me. A woman with purposely-curled blonde hair and a sickly sweet smile look up at me over the top of her designer glasses.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a nauseatingly high-pitched voice.
“I’m here to see Dexter Michaels. My name’s Emily. Emily Barton.”
“Emily?” I looked around to the sound of my name, recognising the voice as that of Jeff – Dexter’s therapist. His Geordie accent was unmistakeable. I reached out and took the hand he was offering. “Great to finally meet you, pet. Can I borrow your ears for a minute?”
“Sure,” I agreed, forcing a smile. All I wanted was to get to Dexter. Jeff cocked his head for me to follow and I trailed behind him as he led me to what I assumed was his office. He gestured for me to take a seat in a big brown chair, so I did. Then he perched himself on the edge of his desk with one foot firmly on the floor and the other hanging from the table. It looked awfully uncomfortable but hey, whatever floats his boat.
“So… how do you feel about seeing Dexter today?” he began.
“Ugh,” I breathed a frustrated sigh. “Excited. Nervous. Worried. Hopeful…” Jeff nodded sympathetically.
“That’s to be expected. You should know he’s come a long way the past few days. He’s making really good progress.”
“That’s so good to hear.”
“But I need you to be aware that this is a long process. Dexter is far from being healthy – physically and mentally.”
“I know that. And I’m willing to support him however I can. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. He just wouldn’t let me.”
“Yeah. Stubborn bastard isn’t he?” My eyebrow shot up. Nothing about this man said ‘professional’. I liked it, and I imagined Dexter would too. “I believe you. I think you’ll be good for his recovery. But don’t take on too much by yourself. This could be a hard road. You need to take time for you. My role isn’t just to work with Dexter. I’m here for you too, and anyone else involved in his recovery.”
“Um… thanks?” Unintentionally, it came out like a question. Was he saying I needed therapy too?
“Don’t look so afraid. I don’t bite,” Jeff teased. “Hard,” he added with a wink. My whole life flashed before me when I almost choked to death on my own spit. “Haway,” he said, cocking his head as he slid off the edge of the table to his feet. “He’s waiting for you in the visitor’s lounge. I’ll take you to him.”
Sucking in a heavy breath, I got to my feet and followed Jeff out of the room. He led me through a huge lounge with plush couches, padded chairs and a TV bigger than Sarah’s flat. Then we walked down a long hallway with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a sports courtyard and a bit further down… get this… a bloody swimming pool!
I didn’t realise my tongue was hanging out until Jeff stopped abruptly and I slammed into him.
“Sorry,” I muttered automatically.
“Don’t worry, pet. It’s a lot to take in, eh?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, my fingers twitching by my side in anticipation.
“Just listen,” he added reassuringly as I reached for the door handle. “Talk… Be patient. Gizza shout if you need me.”
“Thanks, Jeff,” I uttered sincerely. Nodding, he turned and walked back along the hallway the way we came.
Placing my hand on the cold, round doorknob, my breathing had quickened despite my decided efforts to control it. I turned the knob and choked on the involuntary sob that took over my body when I saw Dexter sitting on the edge of a cream-leather bench seat with his hands clasped together across his knees.
“Emily,” he breathed, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his pockets. He walked a step towards me and froze. I did the same. Then we just stood there staring at each other like we were both unsure of the other’s intentions. I knew all I wanted was to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, but I couldn’t help worrying if he’d push me away. As I stared into his troubled denim-blue eyes, I wondered if he was thinking the exact same thing about me.
Seconds later, without warning, Dexter lunged forward and crashed his body into mine – wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me so tightly into his chest it was verging on painful.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into my neck - his warm breath swept over the sensitive flesh, sending aching shivers down my spine.
“I’ve missed you too,” I croaked, the tears welling around my swollen eyes once again. “So much.”
“I’m gonna make this right, doll. I swear to you. I swear I can take care of you. I’m
serious, doll… this place,” he said, releasing me slightly and gesturing one hand around the room. “It’s changing me. Jeff? He’s… well I’m not sure how, but he’s finally getting through to me. For the first time in my life I believe I can do this. I need you, Emily. I love you and I swear on my mother’s grave I won’t ever let you down again.”
My throat was too swollen, too clogged with tears to reply. Instead I just wept into his chest and swayed back and forth with him. I’d waited so long for this moment and I gripped onto him as hard as I could. When he tried to pull back I tightened my hold on him – terrified if I let him go I would lose him again.
“Doll,” he murmured. I shook my head – refusing to acknowledge him. I wouldn’t let him go again. “Emily,” he pressed again as he gently tried to pry my arms off him. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I won’t push you away again. I promise.”
God I wish I could believe him.
“I’m afraid, Dex. I’m so scared of losing you again,” I whined into his chest.
“Doll, look at me,” he ordered in a soft, pleading voice. Nervously, I looked up to meet his eyes – never releasing my grip of his shirt. “I want to earn your trust again. I don’t care how long it takes… hour by hour, day by day – I will prove myself. I can’t promise you the earth, Emily… but I can promise that I’ll never stop trying to show how much I love you.”
“I want to believe you,” I snivelled.
“I don’t need you to put your faith in me, doll. Not yet. All I need from you right now is time. Say you’ll stay long enough to let me try and make this better. Please…”
It only took a momentary glance into his eyes to know my answer. So far, there have been more downs than ups between us – more tears than laughter… but it seems I’m suffering from my own addiction.
Dexter.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. To let me be here for you.”
I buried my face back into his chest and he pressed one hand to the back of my head and rubbed up and down my spine with the other.
“Don’t ever forget that I love you,” he whispered into my hair. And just like that, all the sadness, tears, heartache and worry… disappeared into insignificance.
Chapter Twenty-Four
~Dexter~
Round two of the tear fest was fast approaching – Aunt Sarah was on her way. Emily hadn’t left my side since she arrived. Her hands have been permanently attached to some part of my body or clothing for hours and I was terrified of the moment when she would eventually have to let go.
“You know, you’re gonna need to pee soon,” I teased, twisting those fiery-red curls I’d missed so much with my fingers as we snuggled up on the plush red couch in the dayroom. Visitors aren’t allowed in patient’s bedrooms which is the only thing about this place that makes it feel like a damn prison.
“Then you can come with me,” she breathed, sighing contentedly. “You can help me pull my knickers down.” Her little head bobbed up and down against my chest when I started laughing – really laughing. A wholehearted, side-aching, throaty laugh erupted from deep within my insides. It had been so long since I’d even smiled and I’d forgot just how amazing it felt.
“Did I miss something?” Our heads snapped up in unison to the sound of Aunt Sarah’s voice. Emily peeled herself from my body to allow me to stand and as I did I looked at Aunt Sarah – and I mean properly looked at her – for the first time in months. She was thinner, her eyes were dark – her skin pale… almost grey.
Ah fuck. I was only a heartbeat away from bawling my eyes out.
I blinked the tears that were sitting precariously on the brink of my eyes away and forced out a manly cough in an effort to disguise what a fucking pussy I was being.
Yeah, that lasted all of two seconds.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I declared, sprinting forward and throwing my arms around Aunt Sarah. I heard her sigh into my ear and she gripped me tighter.
“I’ve missed you, honey,” she whispered – her voice tender… comforting. “Your therapist seems…”
“Crazy?” I finished for her as she pulled slowly out of our hug.
“Different…” she added, raising one eyebrow and smiling. “Do you think he can help you?” she asked cautiously, seeming nervous of my answer.
“He already is,” I stated honestly. She let out a relieved breath and took hold of my hand in both of hers. “How the hell are you affording this place?” I asked because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The air turned thick and serious in a nanosecond, leading me to believe I wasn’t going to like her explanation.
“It doesn’t matter how. All that matters is that you get better.”
“How?” I demanded, feeling more uneasy by the second.
“I’ve got some savings stashed away,” she lied.
“No you don’t. Any savings you had went into Mom’s medical bills. So tell me, how?” I growled, the anger I felt showing through the color of my cheeks. I had visions of her begging some dodgy shark for a loan she’d never be able to repay. If she got herself in such deep shit for me… I’d never forgive myself.
I caught Emily throw a subtle nod Aunt Sarah’s way like she was in on this fucking secret too. I stepped back, flipping my eyes back and forth between them.
“Tell me!”
“Patricia. Your father’s wife,” Aunt Sarah confessed guiltily, looking to the floor. So that’s what time standing still felt like? I backed away another few steps. My fists were balled tightly by my sides and then I shoved them in my pockets to stop them lashing out at the nearest wall.
“Let us explain, Dex,” Emily said calmly, reaching out to touch my arm. Feeling rigid with anger I instinctively tried to shrug away from her, but then I saw the hurt in her big blue eyes and I melted. Taking one hand from my pocket I reached out to her and cradled her hand in mine. Then, forcing a long, pent up breath from my lungs I nodded my head.
Emily and I sat back down on the red couch and Aunt Sarah sat opposite on the other side of the oblong pine table in the matching red armchair. Another one of those ‘we know something he doesn’t’ looks crossed between them and I had to take purposeful breaths not to let that piss me off.
“So? Is someone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Okay, so it seems the purposeful breaths didn’t do jack to calm my irritation.
This time it was Aunt Sarah doing the nodding thing – code for ‘you go first’. It was probably a wise decision. Nothing ever sounded quite as bad when it was being told in Emily’s sweet, British voice.
“She gave Sarah some money… money your dad doesn’t know about.”
“Why the hell would she do that?” I snapped. “And why the hell would you take it?”
“I think she feels guilty. I think it’s her way of apologizing.”
“This is unbelievable,” I said on a heavy exhale. “That doesn’t explain why you took it.” I turned my attention to Aunt Sarah. It was her who accepted the money and I wanted to know what the fuck she was thinking. “So what… you’ve accepted her worthless apology? We all BFF’s now?”
“Dexter,” she began. I didn’t like how soothing her voice sounded. I wanted to be pissed off at her. “She’s in the same situation he put your mom in for all those years.”
“What are you saying? That he beats her too?”
“Yes. Everything she did… everything she’s done… she’s afraid of him, Dex.”
“So… I’m supposed to feel sorry for her?” I spat, knowing that I sounded like a heartless bastard. Then I huffed in frustration and dragged my fingers through my hair. I was annoyed with myself because I did care. I did feel sorry for the woman. But I sure as hell didn’t want to. “Sorry,” I muttered quietly.
“She’s got this whole plan worked out,” Emily joined in. “Your dad… the reason he faked his own death is because he got himself in trouble with illegal money lenders. She helped him out of it… faked some evidence, deleted some files, that kind of thing. She’s th
reatening to bring it all forward if he doesn’t leave her and Marianne alo-”
Emily cut herself off with a small gasp.
“Who’s Marianne?” I asked, confused by Emily’s suddenly nervous disposition.
“She’s um…” she stumbled. Her face was glowing brighter than her hair and I knew instantly she had planned to keep whoever this secret woman is from me.
“She’s your half sister,” Aunt Sarah finished for her. I stood up from the couch, straightening my back to give my lungs more room as they struggled to fill with air.
“My… sister?” My hand flew to my stomach. It felt like I’d been kicked there repeatedly. “I have a sister?”
A sister?
“Have you met her? How old is she? Does she know about me?” I fired out only a tiny fraction of the endless questions racing through my mind.
“No I haven’t met her. No she doesn’t know about you. And… she’s twelve.”
“Twelve?” Fucking twelve! “So the sick bastard would beat the shit outta my mom and then storm out to go and fuck the mother of his other kid?” I felt sick to my stomach.
“It’s not her fault, Dex. Don’t let the anger you feel for your father cloud how you feel about her. She’s just a kid,” Aunt Sarah argued. “And she’s your sister.”
Fuck.
“So what happens now? Do I get to meet her? Or is that not a part of this little plan you’ve all got going on?”
I know what you’re thinking… And you’re right – I was being a total jackass. But Jesus Christ, will my life ever stop throwing giant fucking bombs of shit my way?
“I think Patricia would rather wait until she knows your dad’s out of the picture,” Emily piped up.
