On the Edge (The Grange Complex Book 1)

Chapter 25

Sasha

“What do you mean?”

“Well, apparently Dexter accepted the medication and finally opened up. That was only two days ago,

and everyone is still wary about any progress.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

“I’m not quite sure. The nurse said that he probably realised that he wasn’t getting out of the hospital

any time soon, so he gave up. Decided to act like a grown man for a change.”

“Thank God,” I muttered.

“You know, I need to tell you—Dexter does care for you a lot.”

I inhaled, feeling as though my heart had stuttered in my chest.

Crap, where did this come from? I felt the usual warmth rising in my body. I wanted to forget about him

and move on with my new life. Dexter said some crushing things to me, things that I couldn’t simply

forget.

“Mrs. Tyndall, when I moved in, Dexter had many female visitors and he wasn’t particularly discreet

about it. I believe that he used sex as a distraction, an outlet for his bipolar issues. He won’t have

changed—I haven’t tamed him. He showed me his true colours in the hospital and said some very

hurtful things that I can’t forget. Now, with proper medication, his illness can be managed. I’m moving

out in two weeks and I–” Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

“I believe my son has fallen in love with you, Sasha,” she cut me off.

I went silent, staring at her as if she handed me my still-beating heart on my palm. I needed to get up,

but I flopped back on the chair. Love—that word sounded funny even to me. Dexter didn’t believe in

love or emotional attachment.

“Did he say that?” I asked.

She didn’t reply. Okay, so it was clear that he didn’t drop on his knees and reveal to her that he finally

found the love of his life. Besides, I couldn’t imagine him even saying something like that.

Mrs. Tyndall cleared her throat. “No, not exactly.”

“He doesn’t love me, Mrs. Tyndall. It was just sex between us, that’s all.”

“Dexter shared with me what he said and the way he spoke to you in the hospital. I believe that week

gave him some time to think and now he regrets what he said.”

I needed more air, because all of a sudden I felt like I was suffocating. He called me a fat, whiny lay

and told me he was done with me. This whole thing went too far. I wasn’t ready to hear that he finally

came to his senses, that he understood that he’d done wrong. Whatever. He had weeks with me and

never once told me that he wanted me to be anything more than a quick fuck.

“Dexter believes… I won’t directly quote him, Mrs. Tyndall, but to him love is for wimps, so it’s

impossible. He doesn’t love me and there won’t be any reconciliation between us.”

“He’s a man, Sasha, and it takes them longer to grasp something so obvious. I’m not here to convince

you to give him another chance. That has to come from him. I just wanted to thank you for looking out

for him. My husband took his own life. He, too, went to the doctors and they never looked into his

mental well-being. This illness could be genetic, and now after so many years I can finally begin to

understand what had been going on.”

I felt like I was betraying Dex and myself. I couldn’t go to visit him, because I knew that if I saw him, I

couldn’t deny that I was in love with him. Dexter needed to get back on his feet on his own. His mother

could say whatever she had to, but we both knew that Dexter wasn’t willing to change.

Mrs. Tyndall didn’t stay long. We chatted a bit more about his behaviour and the fact that the doctors

believed that finally he had the right medication to control his illness. All I wanted was to move out

before he returned, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to start over without saying a proper good-bye.

Dexter

It had been two and a half fucking weeks and I was still stuck in the ward. It didn’t take me long to

grasp that Bishop was a self-important asshole. I couldn’t fucking bribe him and the big nurse wasn’t

falling for my charms. They were relentless, trying to convince me to take the meds, but I knew better.

For months I had been taking my own drugs, and I didn’t need Prozac to feel like a new me. I spent

most of the time in my room, staring at the wall, thinking and analysing what happened to be me.

For about a week I refused to see my mother and brother. Jack was in the army and he was away

somewhere in Germany. I was glad. He didn’t need to see me like this. I knew that I was a stubborn

fuck. My own inner darkness had been mounting since the moment Sasha had walked away from me.

This place wasn’t helping. Nights were the worst, because then I had dreams. Shit—so many intense

dreams that pulled me back into the oblivion.

One morning, I woke up abruptly after dreaming about my father. I missed him and I still hadn’t come to

terms with the fact that he made that selfish decision to leave us. I was just a kid then, but I should

have known that there was something wrong. Now I remembered all the symptoms, the outbursts of

anger, the mood swings. I always did what he asked me because I wanted to make him proud.

I remembered very well that day when I found his body. He had been drinking in the evening and

arguing with Ma about her talking to the neighbour next door. He thought that she was having an affair,

that she was cheating on him. I couldn’t listen to him, so I went out to see a girl from school that I

desperately wanted to date. I spent my last pocket money on some shitty flowers and chocolate,

thinking that if I impressed her she would finally choose me. Dad always taught me to show people how

much you cared for them, so that’s what I did. When I showed up she was standing outside her house

with a popular kid a year older than me, and they were kissing. I couldn’t believe it. I had been helping

her with homework, bringing her tea and sweets during breaks. I thought she was the one.

She didn’t even notice me and I was devastated, furious with the fact that I wasted so much time with

her. Back then I was naive enough to believe that I had a better chance of going out with girls if I

treated them well.

That evening I stayed up until the early hours of the morning, walking around the neighbourhood

waiting for my father to find me and give me hell about being late. He didn’t come, so I went home.

Mum’s car was gone. I knew she was probably out looking for me. I headed straight for the attic,

planning to stay there and wait for Mum, wanting to be somewhere else. The attic door was stuck, but I

managed to open it. As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes took in my father’s swaying body. He was

hanging from the ceiling. For a long moment I just stood there trying to snap out of my shock, the

darkness slowly consuming me. A cold chill invaded the marrow in my bones, and I couldn’t catch my

breath. I had no idea how long I stood there. Maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. Finally, I heard my

mother’s car and I went to get her. For about half an hour everyone in the house was screaming,

crying, trying to deal with the shock. I went back to my room and clenched my fists. Before I knew it,

tears began falling and didn’t stop. My father had left me; he took the path of death and despair.

I didn’t even realise that I was crying now too, as I sat here in the hospital ward. Warm tears were

streaming down my ugly face and I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing hard, trying to stop this

fucking nonsense. I never cried, not since I buried my father. He was the man that I looked up to. He’d

taught me to treat everyone with respect. We had shared some incredible moments together, and I

always tried hard to please him so he could be proud of me.

Right now these fucking tears were making me weak—I hated being that guy from the past. I achieved

more acting like I didn’t give a fuck. Women preferred the other me, the hardcore Dexter, the dirty-

talking man that fucked them hard. Dad’s death broke me and I was never the same after that. All of a

sudden he was gone and I had no one to talk to, no one to go camping with, no one to go fishing with.

People paid no attention to me when I was polite and caring, but they did when I was obnoxious.

I stayed in my room, thinking that the hospital itself was making me unstable. The only thing left for me

was to sit and think about my shitty life all day long. When I was alone, Sasha was standing next to me,

naked, giving me her usual attitude. When I was eating the shitty hospital food, talking to that asshole

Bishop, or hanging around the ward, she was with me. I saw her face all the time. I thought about her

more than I was supposed to and I was angry, fucking furious with myself. The doctors, the nurses, my

mother and my brother—they all wanted me to take meds. They were all saying that I wasn’t going to

get better until I understood that they were with me, not against me.

“You will never get that girl back if you refuse to take your medication, Dexter,” said Nurse Jones when

I was pacing around the corridor in the evening. This drove her mental and I liked winding her up; it felt

like a small victory in this place.

“What fucking girl?” I snapped.

“The one that you keep screaming for every night.”

I stopped and glared at her. She couldn’t have known about my nightmares, but she probably had

heard me. Bitch. I tried playing nice Dexter with her, charming Dexter, arrogant Dexter. Crap, nothing

was working. She wasn’t taking my bullshit.

“Whatever. I have no idea who the hell you mean,” I barked, feeling sweat run down my back. I hated

my dreams, hated Sasha and the whole system, and at some point I hated my father. Nurse Jones

smiled, revealing her grey teeth.

“The woman, Sasha, she must mean something to you. I heard you, honey-bunny. You ain’t getting out

of here if you won’t start taking your meds,” she added, smirking at her own cleverness and turning her

eyes down to her magazine. I hated the fact that I didn’t get my way. I clenched my fists and strolled up

to her window. Every night I had the same dream. I saw Sasha walking away from me, never

responding to my shouts of protest. Maybe I had pushed this whole asshole attitude too far. Life was

better if I was obnoxious and rude, but Sasha meant everything to me. I wanted her to love me, the

true, real me.

Okay, I’d had enough; I was done with Bishop and this whole thing. I needed to get out of here.

“Fine, give me the tablets, woman. I’m fucked off by your snide little comments,” I snapped at her.

Nurse Jones grinned like she just lost half of her fucking weight when she handed me the pills. I

swallowed them with water and walked away dejected.

That was about a week and a half ago. My thoughts kept racing away, but within days I started feeling

better, more like myself. From that day I began taking six different pills every day. Bishop called this

progress, I called it a weakness. Either way, I didn’t want to stay in the hospital longer than was

necessary. I needed to get out.

Mum showed up and I agreed to see her. As usual there were tears, a lot of tears, but then we talked

like two normal people. She kept telling me that I was good person, that deep down I cared for people,

but I wasn’t sure if I believed her. She started blaming herself, so I opened up to her and told her my

innermost thoughts, stuff about Sasha and the fact that she was the only woman that I found tolerable.

I didn’t like showing the real me to other people, but I was done hiding and for sure I couldn’t hide shit

from my mother.

“Bipolar disorder can be genetic, Dexter, and I’m sorry that I didn’t see it. It was my fault. I had been

dragging you to all the wrong doctors for no reason.”

I grabbed my mother’s hand, remembering the shit that she was talking about. Yeah, she was right.

There was no need, but I didn’t want to make her feel worse.

“Don’t be absurd, Ma. Those stupid assholes didn’t know what they were talking about. Bishop is an

idiot too, but apparently he knows the shit. The pills are working. I could be out of here in no time.”

“Maybe you should stay with me for a bit then. I don’t think–”

“No, Ma, I’m not disabled. I need to get back to my own life.”

“But Dexter, you can’t be alone.”

“There are no buts. The meds are doing me good. I’m ready to get out, so stop it, please.”

We argued about that shit for a bit, until I got my way. My mother couldn’t do that to me. Besides, I had

to speak to Sasha. I wasn’t fucking delusional; I knew she would probably curse me out, but I had to at

least try.

Two and a half weeks later, I was finally getting out. Bishop wanted to see me for a consultation next

week and I was supposed to be taking the meds for the next six months minimum.

I had to admit—at last some doctor had done something right. I didn’t feel like I was high, but I didn’t

feel down either. I felt stable for the first time in years. I didn’t have the same amount of anger coursing

through me; I wasn’t trying to filter through a million thoughts at once. I wasn’t thinking about what I had

to do next, later, tomorrow, next week—I was happy to just be in this moment right here without the

chaos my mind created. He suggested I join support groups, to talk to people who'd had to live with this

fucked-up condition for years, but I wasn’t ready. All I wanted was to get back to normal.

The day that I got out, Mum insisted on dinner in her place. Jack and Emily were visiting with their twins

and I had to play a family man. Everyone was acting normal, or at least they tried. The dinner turned

into a supper. Mum was doing everything she could to keep me in the house longer. By the time I was

able to finally get back to the apartment, it was after eight.

I was fucking nervous when I drove up that road towards the complex. I had run through different

conversations with Sasha in my head a few times, but I had no idea if I was doing the right thing. Sasha

was feisty and she didn’t take my bullshit. I messed up, fucked everything up, but I was hoping that she

would at least listen to what I wanted to say.

My new Range Rover was parked in the usual spot. I walked to the other side of the car park to check if

she was in. As far as I remembered her shift pattern, she didn’t work on Tuesdays. I dragged my hand

through my hair, feeling the familiar burning in my groin. This whole thing was getting out of control.

Bishop mentioned something about sex. I didn’t listen to his usual bullshit, but one thing stuck. I used

sex to mask and suppress my emotions. Maybe there was something in it. I fucking loved sex—I mean

I am human—but I’d been sleeping with a different woman every week. I wasn’t planning to just give

sex up, but since they locked me up I was no longer consumed with the thought of it. Sasha’s tight

pussy was the only pussy that I wanted.

Even without my illness I wasn’t the monogamist type, but for her I was willing to give it a try, even

change a little just to be with her.

Duncan in concierge was ecstatic when I showed up. Apparently he had no idea that I had been in the

hospital. He gave me some updates about what had gone on when I wasn’t around, and then I headed

upstairs.

My corridor was empty and my stomach made a funny noise when I looked at Sasha’s door. I couldn’t

just go inside my apartment. I had to talk to her, see her, fucking touch her again. My palms were damp

when I approached her door and knocked. Almost three weeks had passed and now I was finally going

to see her—and I was freaking out because I realised that I really cared about her.