Page 131 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

August 11, 2019

Ibreathe out a nervousbreath as I stand at the foot of the stairs. The house is quiet, and it doesn’t feel as welcoming as it usually does. Mable very reluctantly let me in, so I’m not sure if I should be here, but I need to make sure he’s okay. Normally, he comes back on a Friday, so the fact that it’s Saturday already and his phone is still off has made my panic levels rise higher than usual.

I creep up the stairs, and his parent's bedroom door is closed. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I sneak down the hallway. The sign on the door makes me rethink if I should go in there. I’m caught between diminishing my concern or respecting his privacy. I start walking back to the staircase, then stop and turn back. I came all this way. I’ll just make sure he’s okay and then I’ll leave.

Cautiously, I open his bedroom door and step in. Harsh, rapid exhales are what I hear first, and he comes into view as I walk in further. I only see the back of him, the muscles on his shoulders tense and bunched up as he furiously pounds away at the bag.

“Dylan,” I say softly to announce my presence. He doesn’t hear me over the sound of his fists, so I try again, a little louder this time. “Dylan.”

He still doesn’t hear me, so I approach him slowly and lightly tap his shoulder. He spins around. Catching me by the throat, he shoves me up against his closet door, fist up and ready to punch me.

I quickly put my hands up to stop him. “Dylan, don’t!”

His eyes are distant and unfocused, and it takes a good couple seconds for him to recognize me. Something switches on inside him and he immediately drops his hands. His eyes widen in awareness, and he stares at me with a mixture of disbelief and panic.

“Fuck! Bella, I’m sorry. Shit, did I hurt you?”

Too stunned, I can only manage a small shake of my head. He doesn’t look like him, and it’s not just because of the cut on this eyebrow and the purplish bruise that encircles his right eye. He just looks...empty, drained. Sweat trickles down his face, his chest glistening with moisture. Still in shock, he takes in a few shaky breaths before he turns away from me, running his hands through his hair before he covers his face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says unsteadily. “You can’t...you can’t just come over. You can’t just...Who let you in? Did Oscar let you in? And Mable? They know better than that...Fuck, what if I had hurt you?” Guilt and remorse flash in his eyes before he pulls me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I shift back slightly and lift my hand to the bruise on his eye. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He jerks away from the contact and drops his arms so he can take a step back. He becomes cold almost instantly. “You need to leave.”

He marches up the stairs to the loft, and I follow close behind him.

“Dylan, you disappear for days at a time, and you refuse to tell me where you go or what happens in that time.”

“I’m asking you to please leave.”

“You usually come back on a Friday. It’s Saturday and your phone is still off. I was worried sick about you, so I came over to check.”

He’s becoming more irritable, moving away from me every time I get too close. “I didn’t mean to worry you, but I’m fine, okay? I’ll see you on Monday, but right now I want you to go.”

“You’re not fine!” I yell. “Look at you. You’re not fine.”

“I will be on Monday.”

“Dylan, I can’t keep doing this with you. You disappear and you come back with these bruises, and you want me to just accept it without asking any questions.”

He grits his teeth, thumping his fist on the side of the display cabinet. “You don’t need to know. It’s not your concern.”

My eyes widen. “Not my concern? Look. At. You!”

“Please, just go. You’re in my space, and I really want to be alone. You can’t just come over. When I’m ready to see you, I’ll come see you.”

“Why does it always have to work on your terms? Why is it always whatyouwant and when you want it? You just leave me in the dark and expect me to be okay with it. I’m not! You want me to be understanding, but you give me nothing to work with. Now, I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened.”

“Fuck, Bella!” His fist slams into the wall and his eyes darken to the point where I don’t recognize him at all. “Just leave! Nowhere in the terms of engagement did I ever agree to share any personal details of my life with you. You come in here demanding to know these things like you’re my girlfriend. You’re not. This is an arrangement, pure and simple. It does not entitle you to any explanations, so stop asking for them.”

I stare at him for a long time, utterly speechless that he could say something like that to me. Ten months and he’s still calling this an arrangement. We sayI love youto each other every day and he’s still calling this an arrangement. I shouldn’t be surprised because not once has he ever referred to me as his girlfriend, but wow, does it hurt to have that thrown back in my face like that. This confirms that he intentionally didn’t give us a label, that he doesn’t see me that way. So, what the fuck are we?

“Okay.” I swallow to take the tightness out of my voice. “Sorry about that. I’ll stick to the rules going forward. See you on Monday, De Lorenzo.”

---