On the Edge (The Grange Complex Book 1)

Chapter 24

Dexter

As soon those bastards placed me in that small hospital room I was on my feet, banging at the door.

Panic overtook my running thoughts and I wasn’t sure if anyone could hear my screams. It took me ten

minutes to realise that I was alone in this locked room and no one gave a fuck. I was petrified; my

thoughts were racing like hell, speeding faster than ever before. Sasha had left me; she walked away

when my mother showed up. I knew that it was all my fucking fault. I insulted her, pushed her away and

told her to get lost, but couldn't she have stayed?

Suddenly the door swung open revealing a doctor and a nurse standing in the doorway with small

smiles on their faces. It was difficult to read what they were thinking. I didn't think I could cope with a

million questions being thrown at me by Smug One and Smug Two. My eyes roamed the room and

focused on Lady Death, who stood in the back of the room staring at me. She was the only one that

understood what I was going through. I saw her passing me a rope to end this all, like she did with my

father.

The guy in front of me took a seat and opened a file with my name on it. Why did he have a file with my

name on it? He looked young, barely in his twenties, and I kept thinking that he was an actor, not a real

doctor. Someone from the government had found out that I discovered the bugs. Now they were after

me.

"Dexter, my name is Dr. Cole. Why don't you tell me what has been happening to you?" He looked at

me with an easy smile. I didn't trust the fucker. Despite that, I talked, going over and over what

happened in the office, about my phones being bugged, about cockroaches in the bathroom. I talked

until I was exhausted, noting that Cole wrote a few notes now and then. I asked about my family and

was told my mother was outside in the corridor with my brother Connor. I could do this on my own. I

didn’t need them.

"Okay, let's talk about what I think is happening to you, Dexter."

“No!" I shouted, jumping out of the hospital chair. "I haven’t fucking finished yet!” None of these fuckers

knew what was going on.

“Dex, I need you to focus on me. I can help you feel better, but you must try to hear what I am telling

you. From your symptoms and your family history, I think you are in need of some support and we can

provide that." His voice was assertive, but it smoothed my rage ever so slightly. "I believe you have a

mental condition known as bipolar disorder. Do you know what that is?" he asked, looking at me with

dark penetrating eyes. What the fuck was he talking about? I didn’t get why he thought that I was

mentally ill. I was seeing this shit for real.

“I’m not fucking bipolar!” I shouted.

“I understand that this is strange for you, but we need to help balance your medication so you will feel

better and you can go about your normal life without the current levels of stress that your mind is

creating. Your headaches, your lack of a normal sleeping pattern, your anger issues—all of these

symptoms are caused by a chemical imbalance that creates this chaos in your life. Wouldn't you like to

sleep properly without a headache just once?"

I said nothing, only stared at him. How the fuck did he know this about me?

He stood up and nodded to the nurse with him and said, "We'll be right back."

He was gone for about ten minutes, and then my mother came crying and saying that I had to stay in

the hospital for a bit. Soon everything turned into a nightmare. No way was I going to be committed to

some loony bin. I started to get really angry, and more nurses began showing up the louder I became.

The young doctor that interviewed me told me that I needed to be hospitalised to get the methadone

out of my system because it could dangerously destabilise me further, but I knew it was a load of

bullshit. Apparently, someone prescribed me the wrong meds, which caused hallucinations. This wasn’t

fucking possible. Sasha had made contact with that noted neurologist. He couldn’t have prescribed me

some shitty pills that didn’t work.

“Dex, stop fighting them. You need to do this, bro,” Connor shouted after I tried to push away one of the

nurses. The woman wanted to stick a needle into my arm. I tangled my fingers into my hair, pulling it

taut with frustration. I shouted that they were all wrong, that they didn’t know what they were talking

about. My brain felt like it was slowly melting and it was going to blow up within a moment. Sasha had

betrayed me, left me alone, and my mother was sobbing, looking at me like she didn’t know me.

“It’s bullshit. I’m not fucking sick. My phones were bugged. Fuck!”

“Son, please let them help you. Don’t fight. It’s for your own good,” she said.

“Mum, listen to me: talk to Sasha and ask her about the bugs in the bathroom. She will tell you that I’m

not crazy.”

I fought when they tried to escort me to the psychiatric ward. I wasn't going anywhere without a fight.

Everything was moving so fast—my thoughts roiled, shooting through my brain like bullets from a gun.

They put me into a small room with two windows reinforced with wire mesh. It had a bed, a small table,

and a small loo. The doctor wanted to put me to sleep for a few hours to help with the detox and to

relax me, but I refused to take anything. I was furious with myself, with my mother, and fucking Sasha.

My head was banging and anger was seeping out of me, smashing through my body like a tsunami

ready to destroy everything in its path. Everyone had turned against me.

It seemed like hours had passed before anyone turned up. Half an hour later, some guy unlocked the

door to my room and walked in like he owned the fucking place. A large, bulky nurse was standing next

to him.

“Good afternoon, Dexter. My name is John Bishop and I’m going to be your doctor whilst you are in this

ward. Dr. Cole from ER told me that you had several episodes recently that have caused you

distress,” he explained.

“I need to get out of here. There has been some sort of error. Check my files. I’m not crazy,” I insisted.

“I’m not saying that you’re crazy, Dexter. You need help from healthcare professionals who understand

how to treat someone with bipolar disorder; it's a common illness and nothing to be ashamed of. If you

break your leg, a doctor operates to pin it, and a few months later you are healed. The brain isn't like

that. It's a very precise balance of chemicals and hormones that need to be delicately looked after.

Almost like if you forget eggs in a cake recipe. If you leave them out, the cake just isn't right. You could

still eat it and it would taste okay, but it just isn't quite right. People with bipolar disorder are the cake

without eggs. The problem we have is that someone with bipolar isn't supposed to take methadone.

This medication caused your psychosis and hallucinations. Your mother said that this has been going

on for a while.”

“My mother doesn’t know anything about my life, Doc. I’m always in control.”

“Your mother seemed to be convinced that you hadn’t been sleeping much at all. There can be many

symptoms of bipolar disorder. Some of them include psychosis, slurring speech, anger, euphoria and

sometimes even memory loss. I can go on and on, Dexter. I have looked into your medical history

records. No one has ever given you a proper diagnosis, and from what I can understand, during your

teenage years you were treated for various ailments, but that hadn’t improved your well-being. We

aren’t against you, Dex. I am not the enemy. Depression might have been one of the reasons that your

father killed himself, as it can be genetic. He had similar symptoms throughout his life, and he was

never diagnosed either.” Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

I was looking at this smart-ass doctor, hiding my head between my legs, trying to breathe. I wanted him

to stop talking. Fuck, depression. Was I that sad that I developed a mental illness? I needed to speak

to Sasha, find out if this shit was real, but she hated me.

Then Bishop began telling me that I was going to stay in the ward for a couple of weeks. I was under

observation to help me detox and stabilise. What pissed me off the most was the fact that he kept

saying that he wanted to help me, that things were going to get better. I told them straight that I wasn’t

going to take any meds. I was done with this shit. For years weed and my own pills worked, and now all

of a sudden the doctors finally figured out what was wrong with me?

Whatever.

The nurse that was with Bishop tried to convince me that the pills would calm me down, but I told her to

go to hell. She was English, with a double chin and fat chunky fingers. After ten minutes she finally left

me alone. The buzzing sound in my ears eventually went away, but I felt trapped, betrayed. No one

was going to help me. My mother and brother, they fucking locked me in here, and Sasha, she didn’t

mean shit. I had fallen in love with her, but I couldn’t be chained up by some crawling emotion, so I

decided to erase her out of my head forever.

Sasha

I was in the solicitor’s office, finalising what seemed to be more unnecessary paperwork, but I simply

couldn’t focus on the text that was in front of me. It had been a hell of a week. Dexter hadn’t come

home since the day I left him in the hospital with his mother. For days I’d been thinking about what he

said to me. I hadn’t shed any tears for him and I wasn’t planning to, but I felt guilty because I left him

there and walked away.

I bumped into Harry by the concierge downstairs and we had a little chat. It was a shock to find out that

Dexter had been transferred to the psychiatric unit. Harry didn’t know any more details and I didn’t want

to press him. I felt guilty that I hadn’t acted sooner. Extreme mood swings, weed, pills and his strange

behaviour. I didn’t know if they'd managed to diagnose him, but I suspected bipolar or schizophrenia.

My medical knowledge was quite limited in that area. I’d always perceived a person with clinical

depression as someone locked in the house for days, withdrawn and isolated from everyone. In a way,

Dexter was the complete opposite. Maybe I should have called his mother after the incident in the

bathroom. Although I felt for him, he had used me, made me feel like I was one of his brunette whores.

The stuff that he said to me in the hospital was deliberately hurtful. For a moment I thought that he

hadn’t meant any of it, that he had said it all in anger, but as it turned out, he was lucid enough and

determined to push me away. I had been patient with him, tolerated his extreme mood swings for long

enough. I wasn’t responsible for him. I didn’t need another Kirk to fuck up my life.

“And there,” said the secretary, pointing at the paper, pulling me away from my thoughts. I forced a

smile and signed whatever was needed.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“Yes, now we just need to wait for the buyer’s solicitor. The whole process shouldn’t take long. You

probably have another three weeks in the apartment, so enjoy.”

I thanked her and left. Three weeks was not a long time. Even so, I was still planning to move out

sooner. I needed to get out of there before Dexter’s release from the hospital. I was trying to figure out

how I felt about him, but I couldn’t quite reach a conclusive answer.

My rational side was letting me know that I had developed feelings for him. We were with each other for

a short time, but I couldn’t love him. Men like Dexter were far too toxic and too selfish to love. I thought

that after Kirk I was incapable of falling for someone new, but Dexter was something else, and in time

he became something more to me.

I drove back to the complex half an hour later. Every cell, every nerve had been missing his passionate

touch. Despite that, my feelings meant nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to visit him. In the end we both

used each other for sex. Love, as he said often, was for pussies, and I was done with being one. He

wanted nothing to do with me and I had my own life that I had to get on with.

Mum was ecstatic when she heard about the offer, and with the money that was suddenly available she

offered to help me with a deposit for my own flat in the city. My parents were planning to pay off their

mortgage and finance part of their dream holiday in the Caribbean.

When I parked my car next to Dexter’s new Range Rover, tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t know why I

was upset. I had been doing so well this past week. Dexter had lied. He didn’t care about us. I was no

more than a challenge. He only wanted to prove that he could have me. I slapped myself hard and said

loudly that the old Sasha had died. I was a new, confident and strong person, and I didn’t waste tears

on assholes.

I strolled inside the complex and took the lift to my floor. There, the memories slipped in. Even if I had

the opportunity to stay, I couldn’t, because he still owned me.

“Sasha!”

I turned around abruptly, seeing Dexter’s mother standing outside his apartment. I'd only met her once,

but I recognised her instantly. She had the same wicked smile as Dexter. It was slightly inappropriate,

but like him, she probably didn’t care. I started fiddling with my keys to distract myself from troubled

thoughts that suddenly crept into my head. This was going to be awkward. I’d shared the most

passionate moments with her son, and she didn’t even know me. I was just like one of his other

playthings.

“Hi, Mrs. Tyndall. How are you?” I asked in a small voice.

“Oh, you know, it’s been hectic, but mostly good. I was wondering if I could speak with you, Sasha?”

she asked, giving me the same intense look that Dexter usually had when he wanted something.

“Sure,” I replied, knowing that I needed to know if he was all right. “Come on in.”

This was a bad idea, but I had a feeling that the Tyndalls always got their way. Mrs. Tyndall was much

shorter than I; she had silver hair and kind eyes. She asked me a few basic questions about my work

and the apartment, and then thanked me for looking after Dexter. Our conversation was awkward and

stiff, but I couldn’t tell her to leave. She was here for a reason. Finally I couldn’t help myself and asked.

“How is Dexter doing? I mean, is he coping on the ward at all?”

Deep down I was afraid to know or acknowledge that I cared. Dexter was so shut down; he protected

his privacy like a lion. Also, I did miss him like crazy, but no one was supposed to know. There was a

strong possibility that I did love him a little.

“He fought with the nurses and punched the care worker when they escorted him. It was a mess.” She

sighed. “Then he refused to accept what’s happened, refused to take the medication. He didn’t want to

see me at all.”

My heart sped up. Of course he probably thought that it was a sign of weakness. I'd only known him for

a month or so, but I knew that he wasn’t ready to accept that he was mentally ill.

“Oh, no.”

“I don’t know how it happened, but after constant battles something finally changed. Doctor Bishop

called it a breakthrough.”