On the Edge (The Grange Complex Book 1) novel Chapter 17

Sasha

I instantly smelled a strong odour of weed coming from the kitchen and living room. Dexter was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed. I spotted a joint on the table with a half-empty bottle of whisky. I guessed he must have drunk quite a bit already.

I shouldn’t really have cared about him and his well-being. As he’d pointed out several times, it was just sex between us, but after this morning I couldn’t stay away. I was concerned that he was mixing too many unregulated medications just for the sake of it, causing more damage than good to himself.

“Hi,” I said softly.

“What are you doing here, Sasha?” he asked. I was expecting him to be his usual self, acting superior like this morning, but his question was quiet and guarded.

“I was worried about you,” I said, knowing that there was no point in making stuff up about why I was here. I got an impression that he liked to put on an act, and I wasn’t buying it anymore. All I wanted to do right now was to find out what was wrong with him.

Tomorrow I had another viewing that he probably didn’t know about, and there was a strong possibility that I could gain a sell out of it. The estate agent had mentioned that his client was very keen. But this wasn’t the time or the place to bring it up.

He ran his hand over his face, then looked at me. For the first time I noticed dark circles under his eyes.

“I have a really bad fucking migraine. So sorry, but I can’t fuck you right now,” he growled. He lifted himself up, hissing as he did so, probably as the pain in his head escalated. People who suffered from migraines had to lie still for several hours, mainly in a darkened room.

Dexter picked up the joint from the table and lit it up.

“Does this happen often, the migraines?”

“Too fucking often, and after years of using it, the weed doesn’t seem to be working as effectively as it used to,” he snapped, sounding angry.

I bit my lip, trying to come up with something, anything. The silence stretched for several minutes. “A nurse that I work with knows a very good neurologist in Glasgow,” I said and then paused, not even sure if I knew what I was saying. “I can arrange an appointment for you tomorrow; we can drive there together if you want?”

He inhaled sharply, dropping his head down. “My mother has been dragging me to doctors since I could fucking remember. All these fuckers are the same, doing tests, but never knowing what the hell is wrong with me.”

I shook my head, understanding why he was resistant. I sighed and walked to the bathroom, and an idea popped into my head. In the bottom of a drawer I found a black towel. My own muscles were tense after the workout and I didn’t want to fight with him anymore; we were past that now. I ran the towel under cold water and then squeezed it out.

“Sasha, what the hell are you doing here right now?” he repeated when I walked towards the sofa. It was a positive sign—he wasn’t using that stupid nickname again, but my real name. Maybe arsey and arrogant Dexter had finally left the room.

“Helping. Now lie down on the sofa again,” I ordered.

He didn’t argue this time; he looked like he was in a lot of pain. I placed the towel over his eyes and forehead and told him to stay still. For the next twenty minutes we didn’t say anything. I sat down on the chair opposite, thinking about Joey and my mother. I’d been meaning to visit her and if Dexter agreed to go to see a neurologist, I could kill two birds with one stone.

Sometimes migraines were very severe. I didn’t want to ask him about the pills, alcohol and whatever else he was taking. Those kinds of personal questions seemed to anger him. In time I was certain that he would eventually explain what was going on. I bet he was the kind of guy that if pushed, would withdraw further and close up completely, so I had to be patient.

After some time I thought that he finally had fallen asleep, but then his husky voice vibrated through the room. “Tell me about the saddest day of your life, Barbie?” 

I dragged more air into my lungs and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to talk about it. Since that day three years ago, I’d thought about that terrible day only a handful of times. I had been suppressing it inside for years now; maybe it was time to finally share it with someone else. I had refused to talk about it, remembering how long it took me to put the pieces back together again. That deep wound always remained inside me and I was afraid to scoop it out with my own words, in case I fell apart all over again.

“It was three years ago. It had been raining all day in Glasgow and I was eating curry that my boyfriend had cooked for me. Two hours later I was sitting in the hospital and the doctor told me that I’d had a miscarriage.” 

I swallowed the tears, not wanting to break down in front of him. For several minutes we didn’t say anything. I don’t know why I decided to tell him about the fact that I had lost a baby. He didn’t care and it wasn’t like we were going to end up together anyway, but I felt comfortable being here with him. That hadn’t happened since I left Glasgow.

“How did you feel then?”

His voice was comforting for some reason. My little baby had meant the world to me and I was in denial for so long after that. Kirk had been so happy when I announced that I was pregnant. My limbs went numb as an old pain started pulsing through me again, reminding me of how I felt then. It was only the beginning of everything that went wrong in my life. When I found out that I was pregnant it was the happiest moment in my life, but then it was taken away from me in a heartbeat. 

“It was like someone had scooped out the last bits of joy left in my body and thrown them away. There was nothing after that; just emptiness that I had to face every single day. No comfort, no solace, no anything.”

He took the towel off his eyes, but I refused to meet his gaze. There was no point. He wouldn’t understand it anyway. Dexter had never loved anyone, and I had burned myself so many fucking times. 

“Maybe the baby was not meant to be. Maybe the guy was an asshole and it spared the baby and you any future pain,” he said.

Tears fell down my cheeks and I still refused to look at him. The past version of me temporarily replaced the real me, the happy me that I was then, pushing in dark twisted memories of what happened, so I shut myself down. Dexter was right, Kirk had turned into a monster, but we’d both wanted that baby back then. He was hurt and the whole relationship had gone downhill from there. I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if I’d stayed with him.

I got up and headed to the door, wiping the tears away. I couldn’t let him see me like that, so lost and damaged. I liked playing strong. Why did I have to be so honest all of a sudden?

“Hey, Sasha,” he called after me and I stopped and turned around. “Whoever he was, he wasn’t worth your time and I’m sorry about your baby. It must have been hard.”

Dexter