Take My Hand (25 page)

Emily

It
turned out the overly familiar woman
was Dexter’s Aunt - Sarah. I remember Dexter mentioning her once. She was his
saviour – the person who got him the help he so desperately needed at the
lowest point of his life. I loved her already.

After closing the door Dexter had left open she led me through to the
small but homely living room and pointed towards the plum couch for me to sit.
I smiled nervously and took a seat, and then she disappeared to make
hot-chocolate’s while I tapped my foot impatiently against the cream carpet.

I had an awful heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach – like the
one you get when you’re hovering at the very top of a rollercoaster just before
you plummet downwards. I’ve known for a while Dexter had secrets –
secrets that he promised to tell me one day. But going off the spectacular ache
in my heart right now, I just knew whatever it was would turn out to be so much
worse than I ever could’ve expected.

Whatever it was, I was almost certain it was bad enough to lose him. The
look of revulsion almost blackening his denim-blue eyes when he saw me earlier
will haunt me for the rest of my life. He didn’t want me here. What if… he
didn’t want me, period?

Sarah returned after what seemed like an hour (though I knew in reality
it was only minutes) with what looked like a man’s t-shirt draped over her
forearm.

“Here,” she said, passing me the shirt. “Change into this. It’s from the
stuff Dexter left behind,” she clarified. So he used to live here? Did I know
anything
about him at all?

Sarah left the room again to fetch the drinks so I wrestled out of my
wet top while she was gone and then slipped Dexter’s over my head. I let it linger
over my face a little longer than needed before tugging it down. It still smelt
like him and with all the overpowering emotions battling away inside my
freezing body right now, the scent of him calmed me.

It also made me want to cry.

“I’ll pop it down here. It’s a little hot right now,” Sarah said when
she re-entered the room, carefully placing two steaming mugs of cocoa on the
marble coffee table.

“Thank you,” is what I replied. What I was thinking however, was ‘get
the hell on with it’.

“He said he’d told you,” she began vaguely. “He
should’ve
told you. I can tell just looking at you that you won’t
give up on him. But that’s what he’s afraid of – losing you. So you
mustn’t be angry with him for the way he reacted just now. He’s a good boy.
He’s just… scarred.”

Holy hell this was ripping me to pieces already. I knew in that moment
he would never lose me. If he wanted me, I was his.

“Do you know anything about the problems Dexter’s had in the past? He
said he’d told you… but now I’m not sure.”

“If you mean his struggles with addiction then yes, he’s told me,” I
answered timidly - both eager to hear and afraid of whatever she had to say
next.

“Then I suppose all you
don’t
know
is what led him down that path in the first place,” she stated solemnly. An
awkward pause followed while Sarah dragged in a deep breath. All I could do was
wait patiently, trying my very hardest not to cry. “Dexter’s father is a
horrible man…”

Is?

“So he’s alive too?” I interrupted.

“As far as I know. But I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes he
wasn’t.” I almost retched as I swallowed back a stinging lump of bile rising
swiftly up my throat. His dad is ‘bad’. They wish he were dead. Had Dexter
been… abused?

Oh please, God, no…

“That man beat on my sister since the day he walked her up the aisle. I
didn’t know for years – she hid it so well. I always suspected she was
unhappy. She just… didn’t seem to smile anymore. Plus something about Martin
always made me feel uneasy but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. I told her to
leave him more than once – assuming he was just a lousy husband who
didn’t pay her enough attention.

“But it was only when I caught her changing upstairs one day I saw the
horrific state of her body. Swellings, bruises, scars…” Sarah winced at the
memory but all I could think about was holding Dexter. Where had he gone?
Please come back…
“Dexter had been
witnessing this his entire life but was too scared to tell anyone. That bastard
made damn sure he was too scared to tell anyone.” The happy expression I was
first greeted with earlier tonight had morphed into utter disgust. If this
twisted father of Dexter’s were to walk in the room right now, I’m pretty sure
the look on Sarah’s face would be enough to kill him.

“So… did he beat Dexter too?” I asked tentatively – my voice
shaking.

“From what he’s told me just a slap here and there. Nothing like what he
put my sister through. But the threat was always there. Dexter knew what he was
capable of and being a child, he was naturally too afraid to go against him.”

Another silence followed and I could no longer feel my heart beating. I
was sure I was only one more revelation away from passing out.

“My sister – Dexter’s mom… her name is Deborah. Like any mom she
idolised her son. Whenever Martin was away she would do everything in her power
to make Dexter happy. Day trips, baking cookies, playing soccer in the park…
all the usual things loving parents do with their kids only
more
of it. She felt responsible. She
confessed it all to me the day I found her changing. She said she was too
afraid to leave – for her
and
Dex,
and that made her weak. She said she knew Dex deserved better and that she
wished every single day he could’ve been born to a mother that was strong
enough to protect him. Can you believe that? Can you believe she blamed herself
the entire time for what that monster put her through?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Goosebumps mottled my skin even though I
wasn’t cold anymore and my stomach felt like it was being constricted by knots
of barbed wire.

“You may’ve noticed Deb isn’t quite…
herself
,
when you were upstairs,” Sarah continued.

“Um, yeah,” I agreed uneasily.

“She’s brain damaged. Deb was… shot… almost ten years ago.”

Fuck.
No other word would suffice right now.

“The bullet shattered her spleen and she lost so much blood her heart
stopped beating. It took almost fifteen minutes to revive her – they were
just about to give up. We were told there was a high chance of complications
because of the amount of time her brain was starved of oxygen. Though I don’t
think any of us were prepared for just
how
complicated.” I noticed Sarah blinking repeatedly, as if she were trying to
stem the tears before they fell. I wasn’t so good at it though – I was
wiping them from my cheeks with the hem of Dexter’s t-shirt before she’d even
finished talking.

“Was it
him
?” The word ‘him’
burnt my tongue like acid. “Dexter’s dad?”

“No, honey. It wasn’t.” Sarah’s eyes fell to the floor and she drew in a
few short, stuttering breaths, and in that moment I
knew
who’d done it. An argument ensued in my head. I felt like I
should
be afraid – want to run…
leave him. Yet in reality, I had never wanted to cradle him in my arms so
badly.

“Dexter shot his mom,” she confirmed. “Though the bullet was meant for
his father.” Another pause followed. There’d been a lot of them and to be
honest they were a relief. I needed those moments to learn how to breathe again
– to try and absorb the unbelievable information trying to force its way
into my brain.

“Dexter came home from school one day and found Deb on the floor being
kicked repeatedly by his father. He said he’d never known it to be so bad
before. She was screaming apparently, but the louder she screamed the harder he
kicked.”

Giving in to the desolate tears, Sarah plucked a tissue from the box
behind her and dabbed under her eyes.

“Martin always kept a handgun in that drawer over there.” She pointed
towards an oak cabinet in the far corner of the room. “God knows why –
probably to frighten people. He was good at that. Dex said he pleaded with him
to stop but he lunged at him and told him he was next. So without thinking,
when his father carried on beating the life out of Deb, he grabbed the gun. But…
he missed.” Tears were flowing freely from both our eyes now.
Please come home, Dexter.
“He was only
fourteen – still just a boy. And he was terrified.”

Sarah looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something. But my
tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I was breathing too rapidly to
form coherent words.

“He’s never been able to forgive himself. When we brought Deb home he
became so distant… withdrawn. He isolated himself from us completely. He
stopped talking, stopped eating… Then he started coming home later and later
until eventually he stopped coming home altogether. I knew he was suffering,
blaming himself… but I didn’t realise just how bad things had gotten till the
day I caught him stealing from my purse.

“He was so thin… and jumpy. And I’ll never forget his eyes when he
noticed me watching him. They were so dark and sunken. He was seventeen by this
point but he looked eighty years old. He was on edge all the time and if I
dared question him he’d either yell and smash things or shut down completely
– he’d leave and not come back for up to weeks at a time. And… well you
know the rest from that point.”

“And he thinks I’ll give up on him if I know this? That’s why he didn’t
tell me?” I asked Sarah but I was really just straightening things out in my
head.

“He still feels it, honey. The guilt. He’s convinced himself he doesn’t
deserve happiness because he took it away from his mom. But it wasn’t Dexter
who stole Deb’s life… it was his father. The day she was shot was nothing more
than a terrible accident - one which was brought on as a consequence of that
piece of shit who tortured my sister and nephew for so long. So yes, he thinks
he doesn’t deserve you, and he has this warped idea that if he ever lets
himself love again he will end up hurting them too. And I’m sure in that
misguided head of his he thinks if you were to find out, you’d think exactly
the same. He’s never said all of this of course but I know him. I love that boy
like my own.”

“I couldn’t give up on him even if I wanted to,” I admitted. “I love
him.”

“And that, honey, is why you are already a member of this family to me.
I wondered the first time I heard him describe you if you were that special
someone who could save him.
 
Then
second time I was pretty sure, and each and every time after that I was downright
certain.”

“So…
you
knew about
me
?” I asked curiously.

“Did I ever,” she said, playfully rolling her eyes. “I had to coax it
out of him initially. I knew something had changed because I could almost
hear
him smiling on the phone. And when
a man smiles like that, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s down to a girl.”
Sarah smiled warmly at me – maybe even gratefully. “After enough
pestering he finally gave in and told me all about you. Then he told me all
about you again and again every time we spoke since.” She leaned in close then,
wrinkling her nose and squinting her eyes as she scrutinised my face. “Oh yeah,
you
do
have a cute freckle just below
your eye,” she teased, making me blush like an idiot. I almost smiled, but then
the image of Dexter’s haunted eyes invaded my mind and I started crying again.

“But I haven’t saved him. He’s gone. What if he runs straight down the
same path as before? What if he doesn’t come back for weeks? I can’t wait for
him here. I’ve got no money… I have family… and friends… and-”

“It’ll be okay, honey,” Sarah interrupted my panic. “You’re thinking too
far ahead. He’s mad with himself, not with you. He loves you and he feels like
he’s let you down. He’s scared that’s all, and when Dexter’s scared… he runs.
But the important thing to remember is that he
always
comes back.”

“But when? What if he goes on one of his week long benders?” I pressed,
flustered. It would kill me to leave without him but regardless of the fact I
had people, and studies, and work, and a whole life waiting for me at home
– I didn’t have enough money.

“He won’t. Deb hasn’t got that long left. He won’t let her go without
saying goodbye, no matter what’s going on in that head of his.”

“She’s dying?” I knew we were coming here because someone was dying but
when I found him with his mum earlier, that memory kind of escaped me. “I mean
I know she has brain damage, but that doesn’t kill you does it?”

“No it doesn’t. Like I said earlier, the bullet Deb took shattered her
spleen so it had to be removed. That’s made her susceptible to all kinds of
illnesses and infections even with the meds she has to take. A few weeks ago
what started as flu developed into pneumonia. The doctors thought they were on
top of it but then a couple of days ago she deteriorated rapidly. She’s just
too weak to keep fighting. So… they sent her home.”

To die…