He Looked Back

by Hollandaise, Melissa

  Sad. That’s one word for it.

  “I just want to sit here for a while,” I answer at last and Courtney nods quickly, turning her attention back to the park.

  I remember clearly the night I flew in. It was the day after the party, and I spent the entire flight convincing myself it couldn’t be true. But when I tried calling Dylan’s cell phone and I got no answer, I knew it was.

  My mother and Courtney were overjoyed to see I had come home, engulfing me in their arms and gushing about me. I know I looked like hell and they noticed something was wrong right off the bat—they always have.

  I wouldn’t tell them at first, I just went straight to bed. Sleep, that’s what I had needed—just sleep.

  The first nightmare came that night, and I woke up drenched in sweat and tears as my mother and Courtney rushed into my room, worry on their faces.

  I told them everything.

  Every single detail from the moment I met Dylan passed my lips. At some points we laughed when I told them about his sarcasm-enriched humor and the small things he would do for me, like buying me pens on my birthday or taking me to the zoo. I told them everything I knew and loved about Dylan, not missing a single detail.

  We all fell asleep in my room after that—it was three in the morning and we were all cried out. I remember staring at the ceiling as I lay between them, thinking of Dylan’s green eyes and charming smile that I would never see again.

  “So...there’s a party tonight.”

  Courtney speaks again and I look back at her.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “I was hoping you’d like to come with me?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “No, thanks.”

  “Come on, you could use some fun, Katie.”

  I flinch at the name, reminded of how Dylan used to say it. The nickname is no longer a reminder of my haunting past with Jason, it’s a reminder of how desirable Dylan’s rough voice sounded when he would tease me with it. I feel my heart ache for the millionth time today.

  “I’d rather not,” I finally reply.

  “Mom and I are worried about you,” Courtney says. “You’re so...dull now.”

  “Dull?”

  “You’re just so muted and sad, and it worries us a bit.”

  “Well, the person I cared most about was shot, so...”

  I can tell Courtney is shocked by my response, but she quickly hides it. “All I’m saying, Katie, is I want you to be happy.”“A party isn’t going to do that.”

  “Fine.”

  Silence.

  “I’d like to go home,” I say and Courtney nods, rising from the bench next to me.

  We don’t talk on the walk out of the park, or the car ride home. I smell my mother’s cooking from the living room when we enter our home, shedding our handbags by the door as we stand in the foyer.

  “I’m going to my room,” I tell Courtney and don’t wait for a response as I push open my bedroom door and walk in.

  I sit on my bed, sighing.

  My mind is my worst enemy at these times. All it seems to do is think and think about Dylan and nothing else. I always think of the way he would roll his eyes at me when I made a sarcastic remark, or how gently he would hold me at night. How he memorized my lunch order at Panera and always insisted on paying. When he swore he could juggle and ended up bruising two apples and a pear. Or how he would kiss me until my lips felt numb and my skin was littered with love bites, his forehead leaning against mine as he caught his breath only to lean in and kiss me again.

  I wish for time travel every day, or, at least, a way out of my mind. It seems I do nothing but sleep, eat, work, and think of Dylan. It’s an endless, vicious cycle that I’d do anything to break.

  I hear my mother call me for dinner and I hoist myself off of my bed, dragging myself out to the kitchen.

  My eyes fall on the dish my mother is serving and I push the plate away from me as I sit down.

  Both Courtney and my mother notice and stop eating.

  “Katherine, what’s wrong?” My mother inquires.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have barely eaten anything all day, of course you’re hungry.”

  “Well, I’m not.” I feel like a child.

  “But I made spaghetti. Spaghetti’s your favorite.”

  “I hate spaghetti.”

  I see hurt flash behind her eyes and she continues eating. I feel slightly guilty, but I push it away.

  I stare at the wall while Courtney and my mother finish eating, clearing their plates when they’re done.

  “Katie, go get ready. You’re going with Courtney to a party.”

  I snap up. “What? No.”

  “That wasn’t an offer, you’re going,” my mother says.

  “I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

  “And I’m your mother, I can make you go.”

  I clench my jaw. “You know what? Fine. I’ll go to this stupid party. I could use a drink, anyway.”I turn on my heel and walk back to my room, filing through my closet until I find a decent dress to wear. It’s black, with a strap on one shoulder and sequins covering it. It’s simple and not too glamorous. I think Dylan would have liked it.

  Courtney tells me that she’s happy I’m coming with her in the car and I wave her off. I hold my phone in my lap that is still cracked from when it was knocked from my hand at the party, my thumb moving across the blemishes in the screen. Yet another thing that reminds me of Dylan.

  “What was he like?”

  I look at Courtney as she breaks the silence in the car.

  I don’t ask who she’s talking about. “He was...rude.”

  Courtney laughs lightly and so do I, a foreign feeling on my lips from the genuine smile.

  “God, he was so rude. But at the same time he was funny, and really caring. He had such a great memory, like, he remembered this random shit about me that half the time I forgot about myself.” I ramble on as city lights pass by the car. “And whenever I was around him I was either seething mad or laughing my ass off but I was okay with that because I loved him.”Courtney doesn’t interrupt me, she just lets me talk.

  “And we shared so much in common, you wouldn’t believe it. We’d argue over characters from the Office and he had an actual stash of Snickers at his apartment. A stash! Can you believe it? He had like three hundred.”She laughs and I do too, remembering Dylan’s remarks about it.

  “Working with him was a nightmare, too. He’d throw paper at me and click his pen until I had a migraine, but I think work without him there would have been even worse.”My smile fades slowly and I turn to look out the window.

  “Katie,” Courtney says and I look at her. She takes a breath. “I think...from what you’ve told me...that he would want you to...move on with your life.”I stare at her.

  “Maybe not romantically, but just in general. It would probably hurt him to see you so glum all the time, you know?”I look out the window. “You didn’t know him.”

  “Do you honestly disagree?”

  I pause.

  I want you to run, okay?

  I want you to go back to London, to forget about me.

  Promise me you’ll stay hidden.

  I bite my lip as Dylan’s words replay through my mind.

  “We’re here,” Courtney says flatly as the car stops. I unbuckle and get out, following her into a sleek building.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “An art gallery, one of my friends is an artist and invited me to the show tonight.”I absentmindedly follow her inside, my thoughts somewhere else, as usual. The polished floors remind me of the ones at Crane in the lobby, my shoes echoing through the large room. The walls are white and covered in art. It’s everything you’d expect an art gallery to look like.

  Courtney greets her friends and introduces me as her sister, but I don’t talk much. I mostly follow her around and snack on hor d’oeuvres, trying to think of excuses to leave.

  It’s past eight when I feel a light
tap on my shoulder and I turn slowly to see who it is.

  “Oliver?”

  “Nice to see you, Katie.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. He doesn’t look any different, except for maybe some light stubble on his cheeks and chin. He holds a glass of water and smiles slightly at me.

  I know I probably look different. My hair is longer and I’ve stopped putting effort into straightening and curling it, leaving it to fall in its natural waves. The only makeup I’ve schlepped on is a thin line of black eyeliner and mascara, forgetting lipstick all together. There are dark rings under my eyes from my lack of sleep and my lips are dry and slightly chapped.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say.

  “I’m featuring in the show,” he informs me, pointing to a large canvas covered in colorful lettering and other objects.

  “Very nice,” I comment. “I liked that one.”

  “Thanks.” He smiles.

  “So...how are you?”

  “I’m alright. Sarah and I are engaged, you know.”

  “Engaged! Wow!” I break into a smile. “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you. We were actually planning on having it in Central Park later this month—”“Is she here?”

  “No, she’s back in PDX, but she definitely wanted you to be in the wedding party.”“I’ll have to call her.”

  I admit, it’s nice to see a familiar face, especially Oliver’s. However, it’s not easy for me to look him in the eye knowing he was the boundary that stopped me from taking that bullet for Dylan.

  “How are you doing?” He asks, his tone shifting to serious.

  “Fine, I guess,” I sigh.

  “Yeah.” He nods, frowning.

  We fall silent, Oliver tapping the side of his drink with his fingertips.

  “So...you’re really whipped, huh?”

  Oliver looks back up, half smiling. “Whipped enough to fly out here to see how much renting a space in Central Park is for a wedding in June.”I chuckle lightly. “The price is high, I assume.”

  “It’s skyscraper high. Damn.” Oliver laughs along, shaking his head. “But our parents are chipping in, so it shouldn’t end up so bad.”“Hey, as long as the ’rents are paying.”

  We laugh lightly.

  “You’re invited, if you’d like to come,” Oliver says. “It’s June third, at a venue yet to be determined.”“I’ll save the date,” I reply. “I’d love to come.”

  “I know Sarah’d love to have you. She even talked about wanting you as a bridesmaid.”“Bridesmaid, wow. That’s a huge responsibility.”

  We laugh again and Courtney turns to me from her friend she was chatting with.

  “Hey,” she says and looks over at Oliver.

  “Hi,” I say. “Oliver, this is my sister, Courtney. Courtney, this is my friend Oliver.”They shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” Oliver says.

  “Likewise,” Elizbaeth replies.

  “Well, I’d better get going, I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning. It was nice to see you, Katie, and nice meeting you, Courtney.” He nods to Courtney and gives me a short hug before walking away.

  “How do you know him?” Courtney asks.

  “He is...he was...one of my coworkers in Edinburgh.”

  “Oh.” Courtney nods. “He seems nice.”

  I know she recognizes his name from when I told her and my mother about the night of the party, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

  We go back home around nine. I won’t admit it to Courtney, but the party was a bit refreshing. It felt good to get out of the house and a bit farther from my thoughts, but it was short lived as my mind wanders yet again.

  “How are you feeling?” Courtney asks as we take the elevator up in our building.

  “Good, actually,” I tell her honestly. “Thanks for taking me.”

  She smiles and squeezes my shoulder as we walk back into our apartment, the door shutting behind us.

  “Mom, we’re home,” Courtney yells.

  “How was it?” My mother walks into the foyer from the kitchen.

  “Nice,” I answer.

  “Good,” she says, smiling.

  I nod. “I’m going to—”

  “Wait, Katie, before you go to your room, something came in the mail for you.”

  I furrow my brow. I haven’t changed my mailing address yet, even after five months, so how could any mail reach me here?

  My mother hands me a small package, my name written neatly on the front.

  They watch as I open it, pulling out the square object.

  I recognize it instantly and do a double take. This is impossible.

  It’s a tattered, brown journal.

  Dylan’s journal.

  Chapter Seventy Three

  My entire body begins to shake and the journal nearly slips from my fingers.

  No, this is impossible. This can’t be real, it’s another nightmare, right?

  “What is it?” Courtney asks.

  I find it hard to speak. Here, in my very hands, rests an in depth account of Dylan’s thoughts and feelings. It’s the same journal he caught be reading the first page of, the same journal he spent hours scribbling away in.

  As I stare at it, another thought dawns on me.

  Who sent it?

  Leah? Perhaps. I haven’t spoken to her since the night of the party, but would she send the journal?

  I flip the package over and search for a return address.

  It’s been scratched out.

  Thinking how Dylan has opened, shut, and touched this tattered journal thousands of times makes me tremble and I try to hold back tears.

  I feel my mother’s and Courtney’s eyes on me and the temperature in the room seems to rise rapidly.

  This is too soon. Even though it’s been five months, this is too soon for me and I’m not emotionally ready to read Dylan’s thoughts if I don’t know if he’s even living.

  I hastily set the book on the small table in the foyer, taking a few steps back.

  “I-I need air,” I stammer and turn to walk out, my lungs fighting for fresh air and my heart beating loudly in my chest.

  I race down the stairs and out into the night, taking long, deep breaths. My vision is blurred and my chest feels like it’s collapsing on itself. I’ve never felt like this, not since the night of the party and it’s the worst feeling I’ve ever felt.