Chapter 18 #2
When Dexter stepped out onto the stage for the final bows, the audience erupted in the most deafening round of applause Jonah ever heard.
And he couldn’t blame them; Dexter stole the show.
He took a character who was previously played as a villain and turned him into as much of a hero as Achilles.
He gave him warmth, with a history and a future he would never get to see.
The outpouring of admiration from the audience made tears form in Jonah’s eyes, the standing ovation the longest they’d ever received, even longer than the performance after the Olivier wins.
But he knew the tears didn’t come solely from happiness, he knew they also came from the crippling realization that Colbie could see how the audience adored Dexter; they clapped for the company, but the loudest cheers came only for him.
She would realize she’d made a fatal mistake in casting Jonah; she’d witnessed how Dexter commanded the stage, how he entranced hundreds of people and would now do so night after night while Jonah faded into the background.
God, jealously was the most frustrating and unpleasant thing in the world, and Jonah knew just how ugly it made him look.
He needed to shake it off.
Dexter didn’t answer the door. Jonah knocked, once, twice, three times before giving up and going back to his own dressing
room to grab his bag. He let his eyes linger on his headphones, not knowing if he should put them on and escape from the crowds
outside or if he should embrace the love beyond the doors and pretend they wanted to see him as much as they wanted to see
Dexter. By the door, three members of the security team were talking with some of the cast, giving them a warning before finally
letting them pass. Sherrie stood there with Romana, their fingers laced together, light words spoken beneath coy smiles. Jonah
grinned at them and gave Sherrie a thumbs-up behind Romana’s back, which only made his friend’s cheeks turn the same pink
as her hair. As Jonah stepped outside, he was surprised not only to see Dexter already out there but also metal barriers lining
the pathway from the door, holding back the many people standing waiting for them to come out. He signed programs and felt
more than relieved people were pleased to see him. Dexter pushed him to perform better onstage, he made Jonah’s Achilles into
something it wasn’t before; so instead of being jealous he needed to be thankful. But looking over at Dexter and the absurd
amount of roses being handed to him made his eye twitch slightly.
“Need a hand?” he asked, catching up to him as Dexter tried to juggle at least thirty of the flowers while still trying to
sign programs.
“Oh,” Dexter said airily as Jonah took some from him and freed up one of his hands. “You’re great, thanks.”
“Is it true you’re dating?” one girl asked, smirking at them both before laughing and cupping her mouth with her hand. “Oh
my God, I can’t believe I just asked that, sorry.”
“He wishes.” Dexter winked back at her.
“Hey!” Jonah laughed and nudged him with his elbow with a fond smile. He turned from the crowd and leaned in to Dexter to whisper in his ear. “I’m gonna wait over there, I’ll look after your flowers, sir.” He nodded toward the wall where the barriers tapered off.
He fished his headphones from his pocket, managing not to drop a single rose, and placed them over his head before walking
away, smiling at some more fans who were respectful enough to leave him alone as he leaned against the wall. He watched Dexter,
his interactions with the audience effortless. The man was the definition of a social butterfly, a genuine star. The green
monster bubbling away inside his chest calmed down; Dexter needed this, after the heartbreak of losing a role he so clearly
loved. This would help heal him and bring back his shine.
With his eyes on Dexter, Jonah didn’t see the figure approaching from his right until they were practically standing in front
of him. He opened his mouth, ready to ask whoever it was to politely give him some space, but the words died in the back of
his throat as he recognized the man standing before him.
Jet-black hair. Piercing blue eyes. Wes.
“Oh, Wes, hi, I—” The words he managed to find were torn from him. It took Jonah a few seconds to register what happened.
The pain shot through his left cheek then circled his eye socket before going numb for several seconds, before bursting into
tiny specs of electricity that burned his skin.
Wes had hit him.
Jonah braced himself for another punch, Wes’s hand pulling back into a fist again, before movement scurried around them, the
sound of radios buzzing in his ears. The security team. Someone pulled him along the barriers, back toward the stage door
where people gasped and cried out his name before angrily shouting back at Wes as security guards swarmed him. Jonah’s body
trembled as hands touched him. He didn’t know who was there, who the voices belonged to, the ringing in his head louder than
the world swirling beneath his feet. Something hot and wet trickled down his chin, and he raised his fingers to his nose only
to pull them back and see they were covered with blood.
His blood.
“Shit, is my nose broken?” His voice sounded shrill, and a cloud of pink embraced him and ushered him back into his dressing
room. Bubble gum. Glitter. Sherrie.
“Babe,” she said seriously, crouching down in front of him after forcing him to sit in his chair. “Babe, look at me, can you
see me?” Her face blurred as he tried to focus. “The first aiders are on their way.”
“What the fuck happened?” The next voice came from Colbie, her hair burning fire as she screeched in the hallway. “Has someone
called the police? We had royalty here tonight; we can’t have a fucking security issue!” Her voice faded as quickly as it
arrived.
More hands and more faces appeared, Bastien’s face pale, tears tracking his cheeks as he dabbed a tissue carefully at Jonah’s
nose. Omari and Romana hovered in the corner of the room whispering to each other while glancing anxiously over at Jonah’s
face. At some point, he thought he saw Evie’s blunt haircut out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t be sure. Then, of
course, there was Dexter, with his skin flushed red, hair ruffled, shirt unkempt and speckled with drops of blood, typing
something furiously into his phone.
“What a prick!” Dexter paced in the room, rage clearly having taken hold of him, and if Jonah wasn’t in so much pain he might
have found Dexter’s protective side remarkably hot, but his nose hurt and he was pretty sure someone was pressing a million
tiny needles into his cheek.
“Jonah.” This voice he didn’t recognize; the face he knew in passing, but their voice? No. But they sounded kind, and they
pressed something cold against his face, and honestly, he could have made out with the fifty-something-year-old woman because
her cold pack made him feel like he was in heaven. “He should be fine,” she said, talking to the others and not to him. “But
someone should stay with him. Jonah, do you live alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there someone you can stay with? I have a pamphlet about head injuries with signs to look out for, and you need to be
with someone.” She waved a white booklet in front of his face, then placed it in his lap.
“He can come home with me,” Bastien said.
“Or me,” Omari chimed in. “He needs some TLC on that face because it is going to look hideous tomorrow. Don’t worry, Jonah, I have a cooling mask in the freezer. We can pop it on as soon as we get inside.”
“Well, actually.” Dexter looked at them both. “I have a spare room at mine, and we are both in Camden. I can get him home
to get some clothes then take him back to mine. If . . . if that’s okay with you, Jonah?”
He’d never felt so much like a child in all his life. To make matters worse, all he wanted to do was cry and call his mum.
Oh, God, he would have to tell his mum about this; she’d find out some way or other if he didn’t; but not now, he could wait
and worry her in the morning instead. He nodded at Dexter and saw the way Bastien narrowed his eyes at the man, forever his
best friend, forever protective of him.
“It’s fine, Bash,” Jonah said, wrapping his hand around the ice pack and sighing. “I’m fine.”
“What about the cold face mask?” Omari asked. “Seriously, Jonah, you need a face mask.”
“I’m sure I have something he can use,” Dexter said, though he didn’t sound entirely convincing.
“Who even was that who hit you?” Sherrie asked. “Some random?”
“No,” Dexter said with a shake of his head. “Jonah, was it who I think it was?” Jonah nodded, and Dexter’s top lip curled
slightly. “I’m actually gonna step out and just chat to Colbie and Evie about who he is.”
Jonah started to protest, but a sharp pain in his head told him to shut up. Why, oh, why couldn’t whoever planned the trajectory
of his life give him a Goddamned break?