Chapter Twelve
Megan
“Is that why you killed your father—because he touched you like Joseph did?”
I stop seeking a way to ease the sting of Joseph’s chubby fingers on my thigh by shifting my focus to Dexter. He has been as quiet as me the past twenty minutes. I’m not giving him the cold shoulder; I was merely giving him time to calm the manic tick in his jaw.
He’s mad. Rightfully so. His friend was kind enough to invite us for dinner, but instead of thanking him for the meal, I spent the two hours planning his demise. It is lucky Dexter announced I could leave when he did, or I may have done something very bad.
Joseph is not a nice man. He taunts his daughter, Scarlett, as badly as my father criticized me. No matter what she said or did, he treated her like scum. He even made her sit on the floor instead of joining us at the table. Seeing her degraded like that filled me with horrible memories. Unfortunately not all of them revolve around my father.
Perhaps if I hadn’t skipped my medication, I may have responded differently to Joseph’s overfriendliness. But with my mind the clearest it’s ever been, all I felt was dirty when he continually touched me. The looks he gave me when his pinkie grazed my vagina through my jeans mimicked the ones Dexter used while shaving me, but not once did I get an enjoyable tingle. They made me feel like I am in desperate need of a shower. . . and had me thinking recklessly. That’s why I bolted when Dexter gave me permission to leave. It was either leave or stab my fork in Joseph’s eye.
The crimp of my lips is pushed aside for a frown when Dexter growls, “Megan. . .” The vicious snarl of my name reminds me I failed to answer him.
I shake my head without pause for deliberation. My dad was a terrible man, but overzealous hands weren’t the reason I killed him. He hurt my mom. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was a giant obstacle when it came to my relationship with Nick. He said there was only one way I could return to Nick—over his dead body. I took his threat as literal.
Once it was done, I thought I would be free.
I had no clue there would be multiple challenges for me to face. Nick didn’t want me. No matter what I said or did, he continually pushed me away. I thought he’d look at me with pride when I told him I had taken care of everything so we could be together. All he did was glare at me in disgust. He yelled at me and called me a liar before suggesting I “take care” of our baby.
Although confused earlier, with my veins being weaned off medication, I remember what occurred to the baby I was having with Nick. I never had an abortion. The doctors said I was never pregnant, that I had a neurological psychosis that made me believe I was carrying Nick’s baby when I wasn’t. I mourned our baby even though it never existed. It was the only part of Nick I truly owned, and it wasn’t even real.
Bad memories stop playing havoc with my mind when Dexter asks, “Was it in retaliation for what happened to your mom?”
I peer up at him, surprised by his tone. He seems genuinely interested in discovering why I killed my father, like it is more important than his next breath. Is he shocked I’m a killer? Or worried I’m going to hurt him?
If he’s worried, he doesn’t need to be. I don’t regret what happened to my father. I did what needed to be done. But murder isn’t something I regularly attempt.
Well, it wasn’t.
I didn’t have a choice with Bryce. I either killed him, or he killed Dexter. Dexter is nice to me; Bryce wasn’t. It made my decision so much easier.
When Dexter glares at me, frustrated by my lack of conversation, I half-shrug. His death can be attributed to both my mom and Nick. . . and if I am being honest, me also. As I said, my father was not a kind man.
“Hmm. . .” Dexter murmurs in a long drawl. “That’s understandable. I had considered doing the same thing to my father when he killed my mother.” He returns his eyes to the pitch black sky, his face deadpan. “He loved her. She just wouldn’t conform. First she took me to a local shrink without his permission, then she poisoned our food with medication. At one stage, it felt like I was losing them both, so I guess it is better to lose one parent than be an orphan like you.”
A grunt simpers through my mouth before I can stop it. I love that he is being open and honest with me, but I wish he could do it without the insults. Dexter has a hard, seemingly impenetrable shell, but I know deep down in a tiny crevice in the bottom of his heart is a spot just for me.
Dexter’s snickered amusement at my cranky response furls my lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I like orphans.I like them a lot.” His brows waggle during his last statement, his mood drastically improved from what it was. “It just makes you vulnerable to people like me.”
My brow arches, wordlessly demanding further explanation. I understand orphans don’t have their parents’ guidance, but how does it make them easy prey? If anything, it should make them harder nuts to crack as they grow up fast.
Well, I assume that is the case.
I’ve matured more the past twenty-four hours than I have the past decade. I’m unsure if Dexter’s presence is the source of my newfound wisdom, or if it’s because my veins are being weaned of the medication they’ve been pumping through me the past sixteen years. Whatever it is, I’m the most wired I’ve ever been.
My absentminded hunt for my prescription ends when Dexter says, “Orphans feel unloved, so they seek love in unhealthy ways. Take your relationship with Nick as an example. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and you were always there waiting for him. Am I right?”
I want to shake my head. I want to call him an idiot and tell him to leave me alone, but since his comment is the most honest thing I’ve heard him say, I nod instead.
“See? Vulnerable. Nick is a wanker. He fucked anything that walked before he got a random girl pregnant, then he married her to save face, most likely at the request of his publicist. Stupid. No other words.” Dexter’s eyes stray from the road to me. “You should be glad you didn’t get lumped with his kid. You would have been tied to him for life.”
My brain struggles to absorb the enormity of his reply. He’s not making any sense. Isn’t he taking me back to Nick so I can be with him for eternity? If not, why are we traveling to Ravenshoe in the darkness of the night?
Only yesterday morning, the idea of seeing Nick again filled my stomach with butterflies. Tonight has the same effect, but these butterflies have nasty stingers in their backsides and yellow and black stripes. I love Nick—I always will—but as my mind clears, I’m realizing he has given me nothing but years of pain.
Maybe Dexter is right? Maybe I was vulnerable because I was an orphan? My father was alive when I met Nick, but he may as well have been dead. He never left his favorite recliner which sat in front of the TV—not even to use the bathroom. I practically raised myself after my mother died. It was a very lonely and dark time.
