Take My Hand (18 page)

“Drink this,” I
ordered in a soft tone with a firm undercurrent. She nodded weakly, taking the
bottle from me. My knuckles brushed the back of her hand for the briefest of
seconds when I pulled away and I swear I don’t know how I managed to stop
myself from grabbing her entire hand and pulling her into me. That split
second’s touch was all it took to remind me how soft she was. How warm, and
gentle, and goddamn fucking perfect.

I heard her
screwing the cap off the water as I turned around to gather the last of the
glasses. After taking them through to the back I came back out and wiped down
the bar before picking up the stools and standing them upside down on top of
the tables, ready for Maggie to vacuum underneath in the morning.

I noticed
Emily’s bottle was almost empty when I was not-so-strategically placing fresh
beer mats along the counter. Hitching my legs up, I hopped straight over the
high surface and pulled another bottle from the cooler. I took it over to her
and waved it in front of her face, silently telling her to keep drinking.
Again, with no resistance she popped off the cap and carried on glugging.

The silence
between us was deafening. The air was thick. There was a giant fucking elephant
standing right between us that neither one of us could seem to see past. Was I
being an ass? Was
she
being an ass?
Was I being inconsiderate by not asking if she was okay? Did she
want
me to ask her if she was okay? Did
she even want me to talk to her at all? Maybe she was too intoxicated to form
coherent sentences, so as the only person in the room capable of rational
thought, I should probably be the one to make the effort. But what if she
didn’t
want
me to make the effort?

Jesus Christ I
was giving myself a freakin’ headache. It shouldn’t have been such a difficult
decision. So, yanking my head out my ass I opened my mouth to speak… but she
beat me to it.

“What’d I do,
Dex?” she asked solemnly. In that very moment I knew what it felt like to have
your heart rammed through a shredder and fed to a wild dog. I looked into her
baby-blue eyes – unable to think of a single thing to say that would stop
this excruciating throb in my chest.

“I…You… Just
drink your water, doll.”

Emily

Why
couldn’t he tell me what I’d done wrong? I got it
– we weren’t friends anymore. But we were once upon a time so didn’t I
deserve an answer before he started ignoring me again? We sat in uncomfortable
silence for what seemed like a lifetime. Dexter stared at his hands, and in
between much-needed sips, I stared at my water.

“I’m going
to wake up tomorrow and want to die of shame aren’t I?” I said to no one in
particular. Mainly because I didn’t know if Dexter would answer me or if he was
back to being an ignorant pig.

“Why’d you
do it, doll? Why’d you get so wasted? You don’t even
like
the feeling of being drunk – you told me that after the
last time.” Now, to most people, drinking yourself into an obliterated fool
wouldn’t warrant this kind of question. They’d have been having fun –
letting loose. But not me. That’s not who I am and Dexter knows that. He knows
me too well and I hate it.

“You don’t
need to make small talk,” I replied acidly, even though it was me who started
the conversation. Guess I’d forgotten that part. My brain was still a little
woozy.

“I’m not.
All that before – the dancing, the singing… that’s not you, doll.
Something’s wrong and I want to know what.”

“Are you
trying to be bloody funny?” I snapped again. His eyes sprang wide open like I’d
just slapped him in the face. Like I’D just slapped HIM in the face. “Dexter I
thought we were friends. Actually I thought we were
more
than friends. I felt things with you I’ve never felt for
anyone before and it scared the crap out of me but it didn’t matter because I
knew you’d make it all better. I trusted you dammit! I’ve never trusted anyone
besides Chris and Rachel and even though I’d only known you a few weeks you
made me think you cared.

“I laid
myself right out there for you. You know things about me I’ve never been able
to face telling anyone – not even my best friend in the
whole
world. And all because I wanted a
teeny bit of that honesty from you in return you decide to just kick me aside
like a piece of dog crap on the grass. You let me care about you. Jesus Christ,
Dexter – YOU LET ME FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

Dexter
gasped.
I
gasped. I didn’t just tell
him I loved him. I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t. I was drunk and I
imagined
telling him that. Yes that’s
what happened.

Don’t
argue with me. That. Is. What. Happened.

And so I
carried on like nothing had happened. Because it didn’t. Remember?

“If I was
just a game to help you get over whichever bird you’re losing then that’s…
that’s…” I trailed off, wrinkling my face in disgust. “So who is she anyway?
Blondie from sociology? Someone from back home?”

“I don’t
know what you’re talking about,” he said – or should that be
lied
.

“Don’t
give me that crap. We’re not friends anymore remember? So why bother lying?
It’s not like you’ll want anything to do with me this time tomorrow so you’re
secret’s safe with me.” I was being outright nasty and I didn’t care. It felt
like all the hurt, the frustration, the anger and confusion I’d experienced the
last few weeks was firing out of me like a bullet directed at Dexter’s head.
But I wasn’t sorry. He was the root cause of all those feelings. He deserved my
anger.

“I heard
you, Dex,” I continued just as snappily. “The night of your little orgy?”

“Don’t
call it that,” he interrupted, sounding every bit ashamed of himself. So he
should. “You know I’m sorry for what happened that night.”

“I bet you
are. Bet you’re sorry you let slip about the girl you was losing eh? Sorry you
can’t just screw me and lose me like you usually do with girls because you know
damn well I’m not the kind to fall for that crap when there’s someone else
involved.”

“Emily
look at me,” he said earnestly, shifting his body so his face was right in
front of mine. “I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about.” God, he
was a good liar. Must be all the years of practice.

“When you
fell asleep on the floor that night, you mumbled something like ‘I’m losing
her’. I didn’t think too much about it at first because we’re… sorry
were,
just friends. So why would it
matter to me who was breaking up with you?”

“Shit,” he
muttered under his breath.

“Yeah.
Shit,” I repeated in his guilty tone.

“You’ve
got it all wrong. I don’t know what I said that night but… there’s no other
girl.”

 
“So I suppose this is the part where you
tell me you can’t remember the ‘amazing’ night with Blondie you had last
Saturday either?” I barked, emphasising the word ‘amazing’ with air quotes.

“No. I know
who you mean,” he admitted, and I felt so winded by his honesty I wasn’t sure
I’d ever be able breathe again. “But it’s not what you think. Nothing
happened.”

“Right,” I
mocked. I didn’t know why I was still even sitting here. Actually, yes I did
– I was still wobbly on my feet and I knew that if I risked standing
right now I’d probably end up face-planting the pavement.

“I know
you have no reason to believe me but it’s the truth.” I looked intently into
those striking denim-blue eyes of his and they oozed sincerity. Regardless, I
still wouldn’t allow myself to believe him. I would not trust this man again.

Ever.

“I won’t
lie and say I planned it that way. I took her home with every intention of
fucking her till I felt numb.” I inhaled a sharp breath and hoped he didn’t
notice. I couldn’t let him know how much that sentence affected me. “It’s what
I do, doll,” he confessed as if he knew what I was thinking – that he was
a complete and utter dirtbag. “It’s how I switch off – distract myself.”
He shrugged guiltily and stared down at his knees. “But I couldn’t do it. I
tried… but her touch made my skin crawl.” He shuddered.
Actually
shuddered. For a brief second I wanted to reach out and
touch him. It was like I could
literally
feel
whatever pain was reverberating around his insides and I wanted to hold him
– take it away.

Then I
remembered he was a lying scumbag and that I hated him. What? I did. I detested
him. Oh whatever. Think what you like.

“So I
called it a night. I think she took that as me being a gentleman. It’s
laughable really,” he added, forcing out a laugh that never reached his eyes.
“I wouldn’t know how to be a gentleman if I tried.”

“Oh diddums,”
I spat, hoping he’d take that as I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “So
what’d you need distracting from? The fact that you’re an arsehole?”

“Guess I
deserved that,” he uttered. In truth he deserved a hell of a lot more than
that
.

“Or was it
this girl you were losing?” I accused. “Rachel’s always said the best way to
get over one person is to get under another.” I laughed humorously but
immediately stopped myself when the muscles in his neck started to pop.

“YOU
GODDAMMIT! I was trying to distract myself from YOU!” he roared. Then he stood
up and marched over to the bar, smashing his fist into the wood. After shaking
off his hand he sighed heavily before slowly turning around to face me, still
keeping his distance. In my head I screamed ‘what the hell are you talking
about?’ but I’m still not sure whether it actually came out of my mouth or not.

“Dammit,
Emily…” he sighed, seeming exasperated as he ripped through his ruffled brown
hair with his tense fingers. “You think I don’t care about you?” he snapped.
Whoa, whoa, whoa… HE was annoyed with ME? The cheek of him! “You think I don’t
think about you every single second of every single fucking day?”

“I…” I
forgot what I intended to say before I said it so I closed my mouth.

“Emily,”
he said sombrely. “I don’t
want
to
feel this way about you. I don’t even know what it is I
do
feel. But I know whatever it is will only ever end up hurting
you.”

I tried to
speak again but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. Was I imagining this
whole conversation too? I’m never drinking again. I
mean
it this time.

“I just…”
He threw his head in his hands. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Neither do I.

“I’ve
tried to forget about you. I’ve tried to move on – let
you
move on. But I can’t. You’re
impossible to forget, doll and I fucking hate myself for it!”

“
Why?
I don’t understand any of this. I
mean it sounds like you’re saying you care… maybe even more than a friend? So
why are you so set on punishing someone you care about?”

“Ah hell
no, doll. You think I’m
punishing
you?
Christ I’ve really fucked this whole thing up,” he almost whispered, like he
was talking to himself.

“This
thing? And what exactly is ‘this thing’?”

“I don’t
know.” He was moving closer to me now – the arresting scent of his
aftershave assailing my nose making me dizzy. Then he paused just in front of
the table but didn’t sit down. “Actually I
think
I know. But I wish I didn’t.”

“You know
what? Screw this, Dexter!” I blasted, standing up from my seat. I planned to
make a dramatic exit and storm out but I was still a little wobbly on my feet
so I had to take a second to steady myself on the table. “I’m sick of you
talking in riddles all the bloody time! I don’t know if you like me or hate me.
If you want to be my friend, something more, or have nothing to do with me. And
whatever this big secret is you’ve got going on that you clearly don’t trust me
enough to tell, is quite frankly becoming a little FUCKING annoying! Unlike you
I have no idea what the hell ‘this’ is,” I yelled, motioning my hand back and
forth between us.

“All I
know is when I’m around you – even now, arguing like crazy – I’ve
never felt more alive. You make me feel safe. You make me laugh. You make me
cry. You make me feel so many different things and it’s exciting, overwhelming
and heart breaking all at the same time. So that’s what-” Suddenly I couldn’t
speak. Not because the words had gotten lost on their way to my mouth, but
because I
physically
couldn’t.
Dexter’s lips crashed into mine and his hands were twisting in my hair, pulling
me forcefully into him before I could finish the sentence.

I couldn’t
breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t remember a single reason why I could ever
be mad with this beautiful man who was making my whole body feel like it was on
fire. I kissed him back instinctively – for the first time not needing to
think about it, pre-empt my moves or wonder if the person attached to my lips
felt nothing just like I did.

Because
holy hell, I felt it. Goosebumps erupted wherever his skin touched mine. Every
hair on my entire body stood to attention in anticipation – wondering if
they were next in line to be touched – and delicious tingles ricocheted
through my insides, pooling between my legs.

There was
no doubt in my mind he was feeling it too. My hands wandered to the sides of
his neck and his erratic pulse throbbed violently against my fingers. Rasping
moans accompanied his every breath and he squeezed my body so tightly to his as
he claimed my mouth over and over, I struggled to move - yet I still didn’t
feel close enough.

He pulled
away too soon, grazing my bottom lip between his teeth before sucking it gently
into his mouth and then releasing it with a light pop. I swallowed forcefully
and closed my eyes. I felt dizzy and disorientated and I couldn’t tell if it
was the beginnings of a hangover setting in or the fact I had never in my life
experienced
anything
even remotely
close to the exhilarating sensations taking over my body just then.

“Fuck,
doll,” he murmured against my forehead. “This?” he said, pointing his finger
between us. “
This…
is the point of no
return.”

We stood
in that position – chests heaving against each other, fingers intertwined
between our stomachs – for an immeasurable length of time. We didn’t
speak. We didn’t kiss. We didn’t make eye-contact. We simply remained perfectly
still in contemplative silence – both too afraid to ask the question,
‘where do we go from here?’

“I should
go home,” I muttered reluctantly, breaking the blissful silence.

“Yeah. You
should,” he agreed, making my heart do this weird flopping thing in my chest.
“But you’re not going to,” he tacked on. I peeled my forehead away from his and
looked at him questioningly. “You’re coming home with me.” It sounded like an
order and I didn’t know if it was ridiculous of me to feel more than happy to
obey.

But soon
enough the nerves kicked in and coupled with the alcohol, I started to feel
queasy. Was I ready to go home with him? What did ‘go home’ with him even mean?

“I just
want to hold you, doll. Nothing more,” he clarified like he could read my
thoughts. I nodded slowly – too busy concentrating on slowing my
stuttering heart to form a vocal response.