Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
“I’ll kill him, I’ll drive my sword into his flesh and allow the Gods to feast on his blood. My gift to them before I give
myself over to the underworld.”
—“Answer Me,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
The atmosphere backstage at the Persephone could only be described as icy. It reflected the rain pouring outside onto the
pavements as the headlights of cars bounced off the wet asphalt. Bastien stood in the wings, his own body language tense as
he side-eyed Jonah, who gazed intently at Dexter waiting in the opposite wings. Jonah had avoided him from the moment they
signed in, and it seemed Dexter was intent on avoiding him too; they didn’t go to each other’s dressing rooms as usual, they
didn’t stand near each other during warm-up, and Jonah could feel the vacant space by his side where Dexter should have been
in the time leading up to the show growing larger by the second. Bastien clearly picked up on the sour note between them but
didn’t say a word, probably knowing by now that the best thing to do when it came to Dexter and Jonah’s relationship was to
stay well out of it.
As the orchestra played the opening notes of “The Road to Paradise” and the ensemble moved onto the stage, their bodies contorting as they weaved themselves together to the music and raised their voices to sing, Jonah tried to push all thoughts of the meeting earlier that day to one side.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherrie’s bright hair in the wings, contrasting with Romana’s darker features, but they were gesticulating wildly, an argument performed in whispers before Sherrie turned on her heel, wiping her eyes.
Part of him wanted to go after her, to see if she was okay, but he couldn’t, not now.
The stage was calling. He stayed still as he watched the cast, the choreography precise and beautiful, and he could still see Dexter on the other side of the stage, his eyes on him.
It strangely felt like lines were being drawn.
Battle ready. Jonah didn’t want to think of Dexter doing anything behind his back, but seeing him at a meeting with his agent and Colbie shouldn’t have come as any surprise; Melanie warned him this was Colbie’s intention.
But actually seeing it happen left Jonah with a cavernous feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He trusted Dexter. He threw caution to the wind and put his trust in him and waited for Dexter to say something, anything,
even a hint at what he must have known was going to happen. But then again, hadn’t Dexter already told him months ago when
drunk in the back of the Uber? Achilles is mine. The words fell from his mouth loud and clear. Mine. Jonah should have listened, he should have taken those words seriously. But he didn’t; he allowed Dexter to become something
else entirely, and now he loved him and the pain of being basically usurped hurt, like Dexter was driving a dagger directly
between his shoulder blades.
Jonah channeled his warring emotions into his performance, determined to put the previous disastrous week behind him. He could
feel the audience glued to him as he commanded the stage. When act two rolled round and he stepped on to perform “Answer Me”
opposite Dexter, the tension between them reached a boiling point, and the audience witnessed what Jonah could only describe
as a real fight. Their moves may have been rehearsed, the blows against each other planned and meticulously rehearsed, but
Dexter put strength behind his actions, a strength Jonah couldn’t contend with. And it suddenly dawned on Jonah that Dexter
was angry with him. What for, he couldn’t say. Yes, he’d seen him at a meeting with Melanie and Julianna, but meetings happened, and he wasn’t
going behind his back, he wasn’t signing contracts that directly impacted Dexter. So, when they got to the part where Dexter
pulled him closer and he would usually step to the left, the move Dexter messed up so many times back at rehearsals in June,
Jonah moved out of his reach. Dexter faltered for a millisecond and stepped right, tripping over himself before falling to
his knees with a loud thud.
Jonah heard the audience gasp, not knowing if the fall was intentional or part of the scene, and he saw Dexter look up at him, eyes wide, panicked, before he lunged forward and continued their routine seamlessly.
God, Dexter was a professional, even after Jonah just did the most unprofessional thing he’d ever done in his entire career.
As Jonah got him back onto the floor and straddled his hips, he raised the dagger over his head and braced himself for Dexter to stop it from plunging into his neck.
But he didn’t move. Instead, he looked up at Jonah, hands by his side as if in complete surrender.
A tear rolled down his right cheek, away from the audience, the emotion entirely Dexter’s and not part of Hector at all.
Jonah hesitated, his own breaths pulling at his chest, and he wondered how the unspoken words between them could speak such volumes without really saying anything at all.
He didn’t know what Dexter could be thinking, why he felt anger toward him, because Jonah hadn’t gone behind his back to steal a role from him.
Yet, there he was, the perfect image of a man betrayed, and Jonah didn’t understand it.
He brought the dagger down toward Dexter’s neck, hitting the blood pack like usual, and watched as vibrant red spilled out
over Dexter’s skin. The stage revolved as they were plunged into darkness, and Jonah climbed off Dexter’s lap and reached
out to touch him, but Dexter flinched and moved away from the stage as fast as he could. Jonah stayed on his knees for a few
seconds until he knew he couldn’t stay there any longer, and he got up, positioning himself back in the wings, ready for his
next song.
“Why did you do that?” Dexter’s voice bounced off the walls in Jonah’s dressing room. They’d remained professional until the
end of the show, bowing together as usual, smiles plastered on their faces. But as soon as it finished Jonah could feel Dexter
slipping away from him, moving so quickly there could be no words spoken. He watched Dexter slam his dressing room door closed
before going to his own, then several minutes later Dexter appeared, face flushed, stage blood still staining the skin around
his neck and cheeks, making his outburst seem all the more dramatic.
“You deliberately changed your move, knowing I would fall. Why?”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did!” Dexter exclaimed as he threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Why try to embarrass me? What have I done that’s
so wrong, Jonah? You’ve ignored me all night, then you do that, why?”
“Are you going to pretend I didn’t see you today with Stephen and Colbie?” Jonah asked as he scrubbed the fake blood from
his hands in the sink beside his mirror. “Or is this another case of selective amnesia like not knowing me at yoga?”
“You haven’t let me say anything to you about it because you’ve not been near me tonight,” Dexter snapped back, his voice
trembling slightly. “Just like you didn’t tell me about your meeting with fucking Julianna Orwell.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to tell you about every single thing I do, Dexter.”
“Do you realize how hypocritical you sound right now?”
Jonah did, in fact, know how hypocritical he sounded, but he was already digging himself a hole, and he would be damned if
he didn’t finish the job. “You don’t tell me your plans, Dexter. What do you do every Monday, huh?” He continued to scrub at his hands despite the blood
being long gone.
“Is this why you’re being like this? Because I don’t spend every waking second with you? Get over yourself, Jonah.”
Jonah turned then, water dripping from his hands as he looked at the man opposite him. “I don’t want to spend every second
with you. You’re the one who needs to get over himself. The world doesn’t revolve around you, despite what people have made
you think.”
“You’re such an arsehole.”
“I’m an arsehole? You just signed a contract to take my job from me, Dexter.”
Silence filled the room. Outside, in the hallway, Jonah could hear the other cast and crew members leaving the building, and beyond that the sounds of Shaftesbury Avenue bubbling with life, which only made the room feel all the more vacant.
Jonah could see a million things running through Dexter’s mind; his eyes didn’t seem to focus on any one thing, instead he looked down at his feet then finally back at Jonah, his brows furrowed and mouth set in a deep frown.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play that game with me.” Jonah grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and pulled it on, shoving his arms through
the sleeves aggressively. “I know why you were there with Colbie, I know she’s pushing me out so you can take over as Achilles.
I’ve known for ages, actually. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me, but I guess signing the contract is the most important
thing, huh? It doesn’t matter about me at all.” Jonah picked up his bag and rummaged about inside for his headphones. “I thought
you might have the decency to say something rather than going behind my back.”
“Is that why you were meeting with Julianna Orwell?” Dexter asked, his voice steady, remarkably calm in comparison to Jonah’s
shrill outbursts. “Because you’re leaving the show?”
“I’m not leaving, I’m being ousted. And I had to sit there and see you take away something I’ve worked my arse off for. And
then . . . and then you walk out with his hands on you, and I—”
“Stephen’s hands on me?” Dexter asked. “Because the moment I realized he was touching me I told him to get off, but you didn’t
see that, did you? Because you were too busy already running away with the idea I’d do something to . . . what? Hurt you?
Humiliate you?”
“You’ve done things to hurt me before. Intended to humiliate me too. Why not do it again?”
“Because I’m in love with you, Jonah.”