CHAPTER TEN
Dex
I was falling.
Free falling, kind of like Tom Petty, if Tom Petty was signing about falling into the fiery pits of Hell.
Maybe he was, I don’t know.
All I saw was the black, all I could grab was handfuls of nothing. All I felt was evil, waiting to sink its teeth into me, a present at the very bottom. Soon it would have me and I, I would be empty.
The sound of the television brought me out of the blackness. I groaned and tried to roll over, away from the sound of morning television, my head throbbing with sharp shards of pain. This could have been Hell for all I knew.
I expected to be roused from my half-conscious state, for a familiar voice to chide me for sleeping in so late and not getting up.
What I got wasn’t words, but had that floaty, airy quality of a singular thought, plucked from elsewhere.
I’m afraid of him.
I opened my eyes to see the hazy morning sun of Manhattan filter in through the window, blinding me. It only revved my headache into high gear but managed to get me thinking.
Why did I feel like such utter shit? What happened last night? And where did Kelly Ripa get her crack cocaine from because, shit did I need some of that.
My brain immediately brought me back to the phrase: I’m afraid of him.
Carefully, as if my head was comprised of nothing but glass, I sat up and looked around the room. The TV was on and Perry was sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, watching me with steady eyes and a firm mouth.
I had done something wrong. Immediately, I knew that’s what it was. The problem was, I didn’t know what. The last thing I remembered was coming back to the hotel after the self-indulgent play. I remember being horny as fuck, slamming her up against the door, eager to get in her pants.
None of that was very unusual. But after that, my memory kind of tapered off. I hadn’t had that much wine at supper and I just had a beer at the theatre, much to Daniel’s disappointment. Still, I usually remembered having sex. Like, that was the one thing in life I never forgot.
And then, as I was staring dumbly at Perry, trying to piece back the night, I noticed her fingers caressing her throat and suddenly my mind was flooded with unwanted images. I remembered her crying out in pain, the feel of her neck beneath my hands, so easy to crush. I remember blood in my mouth, the need to eat her, devour her, consume her until there was nothing left. I remember feeling nothing but hatred, pure and primeval, pouring out of me and directed at her.
I remember her pleading for me to stop.
I remembered enough to make me feel like I’d just been kicked in the heart, in the gut, in my very soul. The shame flowing through me was enough to make a weaker man kill himself.
And I wasn’t sure how strong I was.
“Perry,” I said gently, hoping that my memories were lies.
But the blank look in her eyes, the kind she gets when she’s been hurt too much, when she’s cried too much, and can’t take anymore, that’s all I saw.
She lifted her hands away from her throat and I saw the dark red fingerprints around her throat. I knew it was from me. I knew I had done that.
She looked away from me, staring at the carpet instead. Maybe she could sense it. Maybe she could read the pain on my face.
“Did I do that?” I asked softly, my voice cracking. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Someone did,” she said. “He looked a lot like you. Talked a lot like you. I could have sworn it was you. But I’ve never had to knee you in the balls before.”
The sound of that brought back a sharp wince in my groin, as if my body was suddenly saying “oh yeah, that.” Fuck, she could cut off my balls and I’d find it fitting if I did that to her. I’d deserve it.
I just didn’t understand what happened. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to.
“What happened?”
She gave me a smile that wasn’t all there. “You don’t remember.”
I shook my head, wincing at the pain. “I don’t remember anything. We came back here. I remember pressing you up against the door and that was it. I…have flashes of things but they don’t make any sense. Was I drunk?”
She shook her head. “Or maybe you were.”
No. I wasn’t. Ignoring the pain in my head, I swung my legs out of bed, surprised to find myself in a t-shirt and pajama pants, as if I had gone through the process of dressing for bedtime before I went to bed. Not exactly the actions of a drunk.
I walked toward Perry but she immediately flinched and moved back in her chair. She was trying so hard to hide the fear from her wide blue eyes, but it was clear on her face.
It felt like I’d been stabbed. Not just the fear, the fear of me, but the way she looked. It was very obvious that she’d been strangled. She also had gashes on her neck that were raised and swollen. Bites.
From me.
I remembered the taste of blood.
I fell straight down to my hands and knees, the carpet grinding up into my skin. Fighting for breath, I clenched my eyes and fists, wanting to inflict pain on the man who had done this and realizing that it was me.
“Dex,” Perry said softly and I heard her come off the chair. I didn’t want her near me when I didn’t understand myself.
I could only shake my head and try to take in air. My breaths were ragged, my lungs feeling shallow. As much as I tried, I felt like I was a just above this moment, feeling it but not really in it.
She placed her hand on my shoulder and it seemed to ground me, tether me to the time and place. Perry prevented me from flying away. And what did I do to her?
I heard her sniff, as if taking in tears and she crouched down beside me, not wanting anything from me but trying to bring me comfort. I opened my eyes and stared down at the white carpet, spying flecks of blood that stood out like red graffiti. What was that from? My nosebleed? Her neck? How could so much blood have spilled in such a short amount of time.
“I am so sorry,” I said, but it was barely a whisper. I couldn’t even find my voice. It was such a pale substitute for what I was really feeling. I knew no matter what I did, I could never make it up, never take it back.
“I know,” she said softly. “It wasn’t you, Dex.”
How could she be so good to me? “If it wasn’t me, who was it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I looked into your eyes and you weren’t there. I don’t know who was in your place, but I hope to God I never see them again. You tasted…foreign.” She trembled a bit over those last words. I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms and hold onto her, never let her go.
But now I was afraid. Afraid to see her flinch from my touch. Afraid that I would no longer be me.
But who was I?
“We have to go to the house today,” I said. I raised my head and looked right at her. My beautiful woman. The wife I would spend my life with. She came all the way here for me. I needed to prove it wasn’t for nothing. I needed answers. The answers were in those walls, I swore they were.
“Do you even know if your house is still standing?” she asked gently. She was treading so carefully around me. Each cautious tiptoe was like a dagger to my heart.
I pushed past the pain. “No, but it’s a brownstone. Townhouse. No one tears that shit down in the city, especially not in this neighbourhood.” Besides, I knew it was there. It’s not that I had been there since I was a kid, but for some reason I knew it. I could almost see it, like I’d been inside it recently.
“Are you certain that you need to go there?” she asked. She had settled down into a cross-legged position, her hand still on my shoulder, as if to steady her or steady me. I wanted nothing more than to kiss the fear from her lips and take away everything that happened. But I was as scared of myself as she was.