Page 84 of Still Here Without You

He laughs just as a sudden urge to be in my comfortable sweats takes over, and I head off to my bedroom to change. When I’m done, I grab two more beers from the fridge on my way back into the living room, entering just as Dylan changes the song.

“If I Could Turn Back Time,” by Cher plays through the speakers, confusing me slightly. This is not usually our jam, but I’m up for it. It’s better than the other shit he had on. I nod in appreciation, my lips pulling into a small smile.

“This should be your theme song,” Dylan says, biting back a laugh.

I tell him to fuck off, but as I listen to the words, I find myself humming along quietly. I mean, it doesn’t fit perfectly, but he’s not wrong. I change from humming to singing, with my foot tapping to the beat. It starts off pretty tame, but before long, I’m belting out the song, using my beer as a microphone. Dylan laughs from his comfortable position on the sofa as he searches his phone.

“Wait. Ah, this is pure gold,” he says as the music changes.

“You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by Kim Wilde plays next, and I’m totally down for this. Not only do I sing this time, but I’m dancing around the room.Thisshould be my theme song.Why the fuck can’t I move on?

When that song finishes, I feel on top of the world. Dylan’s kicking back with his feet up on the coffee table, yet I’m smiling. I can call him a jackass tomorrow. “Hit me with the next one,” I mumble, pointing my bottle in his direction.

He raises his drink in response and selects the next song on his phone. “The Kill (Bury Me)” by Thirty Seconds to Mars permeates the air. “Yes!Yes! This is why we’re friends.”

Dancing and singing, or perhaps screaming my way into the kitchen, I grab two glasses and mix us something stronger to drink. I walk slowly back to Dylan, trying not to spill a drop, but my efforts are pointless when he takes one sip and practically spits it out.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Old Fashioned,” I say with a triumphant grin.

“Like fuck it is. That’s just whiskey and sugar.”

I take a sip of mine and realize he’s right. This is way too sweet. “My bad,” I say with a shrug and then laugh uncontrollably before knocking it back in one go, sugar and all.Guess we’re sticking with beers.

Giving me the finger, Dylan hits play on the next song, before he raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Dangerous” by Roxette comes on and I pause, trying to concentrate on the words. “I don’t really think she’s dangerous.”

“Does it matter?” he counters, rising to his feet.

“Guess not?” I continue my dancing until a beer appears in my hand.Thank you, Dylan.

We run through a few more classic hits, and even in my drunken state, it doesn’t escape me that Dylan knows a lot of fitting songs. All great choices, but it’s a lot. I snicker at my thoughts while waiting for the next one.

A little while later, we’ve gone past the point of being happy drunk and moved into dangerous territory. The songs have changed direction in mood, but I’m still singing. We’ve just had “Always” by Bon Jovi, a personal favorite, and now I’m swaying to “You Got It Bad” by Usher. At least, I was swaying.How the fuck am I now on the couch?Dylan watches me through half-mast eyes, ready to pass out. Exactly how I feel.

“All ight. Late…last one. Make it gooood.”

“In the End,” by Linkin Park comes on, and I want to curse the fucker. So I fucking curse him.

“You’re a ffffucking asshole. I love this song. In fact,Delloves this song. Now, it’s all sadness, andyouruined it. Jackass.”

“Sorry, not sorry. It fits.”

“It doesn’t fit,” I say, but then belt out the words from my slumped position on the sofa, anyway.

When I wake sometime later, it’s still drunk outside and I still feel dark.Wait, that’s not right.Fuuck! I actually feel worse than I didbeforeI went to sleep. So much worse. I try to sit up and groan as the world starts spinning.Nope. Getting up is not an option. Crashing back down to the bed, my eyes roll in the back of my head and sleep takes me under again.

I must be out for a while because when I wake again, the sun is beaming through my open curtains and my phone’s ringing.Fuck, why does that hurt so fucking bad?

Without checking who’s calling, I answer just to get the thing to shut up.

“What?”

“What?”Oh, shit.

Running my hand down my face, I shake my head. “Hi, Mom.”

“That’s better. Why do you sound like you’re hungover in bed?”She knows all.

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