by David Horne
Carly hummed thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the counter. “This is a shitty relationship,” she said frankly.
“Oh, thanks, Carly.”
“Seriously. You’d be better off far, far away from each other.”
“Okay, but since that’s not gonna happen—”
“It might happen,” Carly pointed out.
“Whatever,” Dylan dismissed.
“And,” Carly continued, “you have been avoiding him. ‘Since that’s not gonna happen’ my ass, Dylan. Here’s my number one suggestion for you: make up your fuckin’ mind.”
Dylan reclined in his seat. “Do you have any better advice?”
“How can I help you if you don’t know what you want?”
It was a fair point, and the corners of Dylan’s lips turned down to form his all right, not bad, I’m impressed face. “I want…him.”
Carly shook her head disapprovingly.
“Hey, don’t tell me to decide what I want and then be like that about it,” Dylan told her. “Be supportive, Carly.”
Carly sighed. “I am supportive. Asshat.”
And just as any other mature adult would’ve done, Dylan stuck out his tongue. Carly, the eye-rolling champion, rolled her eyes again.
“Look, I’m as confused as you are. The guy dumps you then proceeds to invite you over for sex multiple times and kinda acts like nothing ever happened. Really mixed signals there, I get it.”
“And?”
“And maybe you should just let him go?”
Dylan glared at her. “Is this what you call being supportive?”
“Think about it though. Look at all this time you’re spending pining and scrutinizing his actions and intentions? I bet you’re losing sleep over it, too.”
She wasn’t wrong, but Dylan wasn’t about to admit that. “So?” he pouted.
“So, just let him go.” The way she said it made Dylan feel like a moron, like he had missed a whole math class and had suddenly found himself with way less knowledge than all the other kids. “This isn’t healthy, dude.”
She made it sound so simple. Just let it go. Dylan couldn’t let Evan go even if he had no fingers or opposable thumbs. It did sound a little unhealthy, and it did look bad that he was losing actual sleep over it, but he had known Evan since he was four years old and had been in love with him for a couple of years short of a decade. That wasn’t something he could just let go of.
By the look on Carly’s face, she knew it. She knew that Dylan wouldn’t just be giving Evan up. She knew he wouldn’t be letting him up and leave the country without a little bit of a fight.
“So,” Carly implored, almost like the fight had gone out of her. “You don’t want him to leave, right?”
“’Course not,” Dylan admitted.
“I think you need to figure out what went wrong.”
“Nothing went wrong.”
She looked at him sympathetically, like he was a poor, stupid, naïve child. Maybe he was. “Of course something went wrong, or you’d still be together.”
That was true. But then why were they still fucking so much?
“I told you what happened, didn’t I?” Dylan asked her. Carly nodded, but Dylan kept talking anyway. “So, it’s, like, the last week of classes, I come home, and the place is dead quiet. So, I’m like, ‘Oh, okay, Ev’s probably not home right now. That’s cool.’ But I’m dead wrong. Because when I go into the bedroom to change out of my nasty fuckin’ clothes that I’d been sweating in all day because there was no air conditioning for some reason in the lecture hall—”
“Jesus,” Carly interrupted. “I know you’re nervous but do try and keep the babbling to a minimum.”
“So, I go into the bedroom, and the dude has a duffel and a suitcase on the bed, his shit’s kind of all over the place, and I don’t really have any doubts as to what he’s doing.”
“Yes, I know,” Carly said impatiently. “Keep going.”
“So, I ask him anyway: ‘What are you doing?’ He says he’s leaving. Oh, and get this—the guy must’ve been planning this for weeks because you can’t just get an apartment like it’s in the grocery store. That shit takes planning. Anyway, he says he’s leaving, I ask how come, and he goes, ‘We were better off as friends.’ Like, really?”
Dylan’s being comedic and a little over the top, playing it off as some wild story, a big joke, because the truth was, his chest felt tight just talking about it, and he’d already be crying if it weren’t for the fact that he was trying to be funny about it.
“But then,” Dylan pushes on, “Evan shows up a couple of weeks later, looking fresh and happy as fuck, pretending like nothing ever happened. He asks me to the movies, and you know my dumb ass went with him. And then after that, we went to his new apartment and fucked. Like, who does that? Who fucks someone they’ve just broken up with?”
“You, I guess,” Carly supplied helpfully.
“I don’t know what went wrong. It looks to me like he’s afraid of a damn label. Maybe he didn’t wanna be tied down, or something.”
“Maybe.”
“Because you don’t tell someone you’d be better off as friends, and then do more than friend things with them. Right?”
“Yeah,” Carly conceded. “I’ll give you that.”
***
Dylan had decided, with Carly’s help, that there was no way in hell that Evan was going off to Europe or wherever without at least clearing the air between them. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.
Dylan felt lighter than he had in a long time. And, though he was loath to admit it, the space away from Evan had done him some good. It was nice not having one person take up all his space and time. He found himself arriving to class and work early and not in a foul mood, something that Carly never failed to comment on.
With Dylan acting less guarded and shifty, it was only a matter of time before Evan finally caught up with him.
It was on Dylan’s walk to work on a chilly Thursday afternoon in October that Evan grabbed him by the shoulder and Dylan spun around, ready to punch his unknown assailant.
Dylan sighed and dropped his fists. “I could’ve killed you,” he almost whined.
“Please,” Evan dismissed. “We both know you wouldn’t have done shit.”
Dylan didn’t bother arguing. “What do you want?” he asked instead.
Evan gave him a look. “Well, now that you’ve finally stopped avoiding me—don’t deny it, you know it’s true—I figured we could hang out.”
“What, like, fuck?”
“No,” Evan clarified. “Just chill.”
“Look, that sounds great and all but I’m trying not to be late for work here.”
“So that’s a yes, right?”
“Yes.” Dylan paused. “Get lost, now, Ev.”
Evan’s eyes widened marginally at the nickname; Dylan hadn’t called him that in many months. “Okay,” he said.
Later that week, Dylan found himself side by side with Evan, leisurely strolling down a cobblestone path in a park. The trees looked lovely; the green leaves were late in their transformations into yellow and orange and red. They added vibrancy and color to the dull, gray sky.
Evan looked like he fit right into their surroundings. He wore a bright red sweater and khakis, much like some of the leaves, and he smelled vaguely of pumpkins, which Dylan would attribute to some fancy lotion or something.
Their knuckles brushed as they walked.
Beyond Evan’s outfit and scent, he looked spectacular. He wore large, thick-framed glasses, which Evan had explained was because one of his contacts had fallen out the other day and he didn’t have a replacement for it on hand. His golden hair was still messy as ever. His skin seemed to be almost glowing. Perhaps he had finally taken up Dylan’s advice on self-care.
The wind was gentle and the sun was out. It had been rather cold these past few weeks as summer had transitioned into autumn. The chill had finally let up and Evan had taken it as a
n opportunity to drag Dylan into the wilderness. Well, not wilderness. More like a small wooded area with a shallow stream.
They delved deeper into the trees. There were a few birds somewhere, tweeting pretty, high whistles. Dylan could hear the trickle of water.
The stream, of course, was one he’d visited many times over the years, both with Evan and in solitary. There was a particular tree down the bank that was perfect for sitting on, its branches low and bark smooth.
Dylan found the tree in no time at all, distinguishing it from all the other trees. He climbed up it with practiced limbs and settled onto his favorite branch, reclining against the trunk. Evan sat down on the branch below him.
“I think it’s colder where the water is,” Evan piped up.
Dylan dragged his eyes from the water to Evan’s thoughtful face. “Give the man an award,” he said dryly.
Evan raised his hands. “Take it easy, man.”
It was easy to fall into this sort of thing with Evan. The years of knowing him had built up a sense of security and familiarity whenever he was in Evan’s presence. Of course, recently, that feeling had been disrupted, what with their relationship changing and falling apart and resuming anew as it had. But still, Dylan, sitting by a riverside with Evan, even though he didn’t know where they stood, felt completely at ease.
It was so easy to forget everything.
When Dylan dismounted the tree, he should’ve been more on guard and recalled the events of every other time he had come to the stream with Evan.
So, when Dylan’s feet hit the ground, only seconds after, he heard another pair hitting the ground behind him, and then only seconds after that, he was flying to his doom, straight into the creek.
Normally, Dylan wouldn’t have minded. However, the water was cold despite the warm weather, and his clothes were absolutely drenched. When he got his head up, he glared in Evan’s general direction, though he couldn’t see if he’d missed his mark or not because his hair had flattened into his eyes.
Upon hearing Evan’s laugh, Dylan stumbled forward, only to trip himself back into the water. Evan’s laughter grew louder and more obnoxious, and if there wasn’t water up Dylan’s nose, he might’ve laughed, too.
“Okay, asshole,” Dylan grumbled, and Evan’s cackling subsided, although only a little. Dylan carded his fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes.
Evan grinned at him as they left the stream.
***
“So, you found out nothing,” Carly guessed when Dylan came into work next. Dylan offered her a pathetic shrug, and Carly gave him her disappointed mother look. “Dude, are you even trying? Honestly, it’s like you don’t even want to keep him around.”
“I do too,” Dylan argued. He sighed. “Look, he took me out to the park, down to the stream we used to go to all the time and…I didn’t wanna ruin the mood or anything, right? I’d have gone home pissed off; he’d have gone home pissed off—it was just generally a bad idea.”
“Okay, but what about after that? Call? Text? Coffee shop?”
“Look, I’m—”
“A chicken?” Carly said. “Yeah. You sure are. You’re running out of time and you’re not doing shit about it.”
“I am too doing shit about it—”
“Oh, like what?”
“Well, I went out with him—”
“And came back with nothing,” Carly countered. “Weren’t you supposed to find out the bane of your relationship or whatever?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You didn’t,” Carly finished for him.
“I didn’t,” Dylan agreed miserably.
“I get the feeling this is the result of some huge miscommunication. In fact, it screams miscommunication.” She looked at him. “Oh, chin up, Dill Pickle.”
“Hey, fuck off,” Dylan complained.
Carly smiled. “Be not afraid.” And though it was a joke, it did make Dylan feel marginally better.
***
It had been a long time since Dylan had had a full-blown nightmare.
When he had gone to bed, rain was beating hard against his window, claps of thunder were shaking the world like a rock concert, and lightning was illuminating the sky like atom bombs. Dylan hated it. He was surprised he had fallen asleep at all, though the fact that he’d squeezed his hands to his ears and covered his head with a pillow might have had something to do with that.
For as long as Dylan could remember, he had hated the rain. Well, no, he didn’t hate the rain, he just hated what sometimes accompanied the rain. The hated the cacophony of thunderstorms, the way the rain sounded like it was pounding down his door and stomping up the stairs, coming to his bedroom. He hated the way that thunder sounded. Thunder was like roar of a wild animal, the shout of an old man. Lightning was like flashes of an explosion, bolts of hot, white energy. Dylan’s hair stood on end whenever he thought about it.
There had been so many times that Evan had sat up with him during a sleep over—back when they were young enough to actually sleep during sleep overs—and rub his back, assure him that lightning was the result of charged particles in the clouds and that thunder was the noise that came with.
Dylan didn’t even know what Evan was afraid of. It seemed like he wasn’t afraid of a damn thing. Not monsters under his bed, not shadows in the dark, not even losing his mother in the supermarket. The one time that had happened, Evan had, according to himself, calmly gone up to a cash register and had asked the clerk to call for his mother on the intercom. Seriously, the kid was fearless.
Dylan had many fears. They haunted him at night.
That night in particular, the thunder chased him into his dreams, drumming so loudly Dylan could feel it reverberate in the spaces between his ribs.
He was a bystander in his own dream, watching over his own shoulder, powerless, as his dream-self ran. He didn’t know where he was running from or running to, only that he had to get away. He had to get somewhere safe.
His clothes were drenched, and if this were real, they would most definitely cause a cold. The buildings were unfamiliar to him, worn and decrepit, rainwater leaking in through the holes and cracks in their facades.
Thunder followed him like the footsteps of a great beast.
Then, one thought became clear to him, standing out, clear and stark from all the other ones jumbled in his mind.
It was Evan. Blonde, beautiful Evan. Evan was safety. He needed to find Evan, go to him, hide in his arms. Evan would guard him from the thunder beast.
But Dylan didn’t know where he was. His surroundings were foreign, alien to him. He didn’t know the way to where Evan was, and the claps of thunder were catching up with him. He knew that the shorter the interval between the lightning bolt and the thunder, the closer it was. And oh, the intervals were short, which meant that whatever was terrorizing him was very close indeed.
The path at his feet was glowing. It was concrete. It wound around the corner and disappeared. Instinctively, Dylan knew. Evan was that way.
He followed the path. It was long and winding, and it led him far from where he had started. It didn’t feel safe, but he followed it, determined to get away from what was behind him and closer to Evan. Evan meant safety, so he had to find Evan.
The path eventually led him to a lone figure standing in the center of a courtyard. Their hair was dark gold and straight, plastered to their forehead. But Dylan would know that face anywhere.
“Evan!” he cried out. He was so, so relieved. Evan could keep him safe.
Evan looked up at him. His face was cold. “I don’t want you here,” he said cruelly.
Dylan felt his face fall.
Something pulled him backward—it was the thunder.
Dylan woke with a start. It was still raining outside.
Chapter Five
The next time Dylan saw Evan, they were sitting on the tiled floor of Evan’s kitchen. It was around two in the morning, and they were both drunk, Evan more so than Dylan.
> Evan was babbling, but Dylan had long since tuned him out. He’d noticed recently that the moral compass in his mind, the voice in his head, was not his own but Carly’s. Funny that she seemed to be his voice of reason because he never did seem to listen to her.
Right now, she was repeatedly calling him a moron. If she had actually, physically been there, she’d have shoved him and Evan in a closet and told them to have a damn heart-to-heart because she was damn tired of Dylan being too much of a coward to speak up.
Right now, Dylan was trying very hard not to listen.
Unfortunately, though he was miles more sober than Evan, Dylan’s tongue was loose and his bravery was at an all-time high.
“Hey,” Dylan said, cutting off whatever nonsense Evan had been spouting. “How come—how come you left me.” Evan started laughing, and Dylan, in his inebriated condition, was almost brought to tears. “It’s not funny!”
Between laughter, Evan spoke. “You’re stupid.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” Evan said defiantly. His words were slurred. “You haven’t—” hiccup “—figured it out?” Hiccup.
Dylan shook his head again.
Evan’s laughter was gone, and his voice was soft. “Stupid.” He didn’t look at Dylan. “Had to leave you,” he mumbled. “You weren’t happy.”
I get the feeling this is the result of some huge miscommunication, Carly said confidently in Dylan’s head. Dylan was sobering quickly, hanging on to Evan’s words.
“What makes you say that?” Dylan managed.
Evan shook his head sadly. “I just knew it—” hiccup “It was my fault. Better off without me.”
“I wasn’t unhappy.” It all seemed like a bad joke. Their time together had been some of the happiest months of Dylan’s life. It seemed like an anticlimactic answer compared to the ones Dylan had been imagining. Like, maybe Evan had broken up with him under duress, but even with his own safety threatened, he couldn’t stay away from Dylan. Or maybe, Evan had been going through something difficult and couldn’t bear to burden Dylan with it, but he still couldn’t stay away.