Page 89 of Because of Dylan

Dylan: Sweet dreams.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Once inside my room,I kick off my shoes and drop my jacket and backpack on the floor. Rest my back against the door. Close my eyes. “What an insane day.”

My laptop calls to me, but I stop myself and grab my shower stuff instead. I need to think.

I make my way to the showers, crossing my fingers that no one is there. I’m rewarded with an empty room. My body relaxes by degrees, first by finding myself alone and then by the hot water. The tension in my shoulders washes down the drain with the suds. I’m divided between wanting to stay in the shower and leaving before someone shows up. Exhaustion and the need to avoid people while feeling so exposed wins.

I dry and dress in my cozy unicorn pajamas, wrap my wet hair in a towel and go back to my room, getting into bed. I should go to sleep, but instead grab my laptop. It’s so late that I doubt he’ll be there, but when I browse to the support page, I see his name. My heart picks up speed. I should be over this nervousness by now.

I shake my hair loose, comb with my fingers, get my crappy earbuds. Wrap a blanket around me and lean against the cement wall. Cold seeps through the blanket and my shirt, making me shiver. I click his name to make the call.

He picks up on the third ring. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again today.”

I hoped he was up waiting for me to call again. Idiot. I’m so stupid. Why would he be waiting for me? We talked a few hours ago. He’s not my private therapist, or my best friend.

“I wasn’t planning on calling, but then I saw you were there.” I pick at a loose string on my blanket.

“How was your night?” The sound of light tapping comes through as he speaks. An image of long fingers tapping on a desk fills my mind. It soothes me.

“It was … interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah, just some work stuff,” I deflect. Me and my big mouth.

“And this work stuff was interesting because …” he pushes.

“I met someone.” What the actual fuck. I didn’t mean to tell him this.

The tapping stops. Silence builds like a fortress. Why is he not saying anything?

“You did?”

“Yes. Well … technically I’ve known this person for over a year, but we never really talked before.”

“And now?” The tapping resumes, but it’s not as soothing as before.

“And now we did. Talk that is.” Could I be more evasive?

“What changed?”

“I don't know.”

“Don’t you?”

What changed? He tried to protect me from the shooter. He invited me for Thanksgiving, and he flirted with me. He said he's attracted to me. He came to the bar when he couldn’t sleep. He was ready to fight that asshole to protect me, and then he drove me home. So much happened. I simplify it. “I guess we started talking, and I think I like him. It was …” Nice? Fun?

“It was what?” The tapping speeds up.

“Easy. It was easy talking to him. A little like talking to you. Except he doesn’t ask me all these questions.”

“Can you see yourself having a relationship with this person?” The tapping stops again.

Yes. Yes. Yes. God help me. I can. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Tap. Tap. Tap. Silence.

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