by Scott, S. L.
“You must be a commitment-phobe, Dylan. I’m not. That’s why my business is as successful as it is. I see something good and I act. Why sit around and wait for someone else to steal your idea or worse, steal your girl? Know what I mean?”
Irritated, I ask, “Women are like acquisitions to you?”
“No.” Austin laughs loudly. “Just why sit around when you know it’s right.” I grab my beer as he continues, “I’m thinking of asking her to marry me, which is why I’m wondering if she’d rather do the whole move-in thing first.”
I spew my beer all over the table, droplets flying, my heart leaving my chest.
“What the fuck, Somers?” Austin jumps from his stool.
Brandon practically rolls off his barstool he’s laughing so hard. Easy for him to laugh. He has no shot in hell with Jules.
“I, I… I, fuck, sorry,” I say, standing while waving the waitress over to bring towels to wipe up the mess.
“Dude, it’s fine. Settle down,” Brandon adds, snickering.
Another minute or two and a wipe down of the table and we’re sitting around again like nothing happened. But my heart is still racing as my mind goes into overdrive. “I think she’s more of a traditional girl,” I speak up though I wasn’t asked. “I don’t see Jules wanting to skip a step.” I need to say something to discourage this marriage idea. “You should take things slow.”
“Maybe I should since I don’t know if she even wants to get married,” Austin says, looking at me.
“Maybe you’re not ready for the next step then,” Brandon speaks up.
Austin looks down, turning his mug around on the table. “I need to talk to her. I think if we lived together the travel thing wouldn’t be such a big deal. We’d see each other more when I’m home.”
The waitress sets down three more shots. “These are from the ladies in the corner booth.”
We all lean back and see four women waving at us. We laugh, send a wave their way, then take the shots. Austin makes a face, then says, “Fuck that’ll put hair on your ass.” Amateur.
Brandon cracks up before correcting him. “I think the saying is it will put hair on your chest.”
“I’m a real man,” Austin says, sitting up. “I already have hair on my chest.”
Brandon looks around, Austin and I realizing he’s the kind of guy who shaves his chest by his reaction. “Oh shit, man,” I joke, pointing at him.
“The girls love it, so suck it.” He’s defensive, but still laughing.
Austin looks for the waitress. “Do they serve food here?”
I respond, “I’ll go see if they have anything.” The more I drink, the more devious I become. With just a few drinks in him, he’s sharing so much. Wondering how much he can handle, I decide to put him to the test. With another round of shots in hand, I return to the table. “Drink up, ladies. There’s no food. Liquid dinner tonight.”
Brandon elbows him. “I’ll bet ya twenty that I finish first.”
“You’re on,” Austin replies before grabbing his shot glass and downing it.
I laugh as he sways on his stool. The man definitely cannot handle his liquor. Thirty minutes later, Austin is practically asleep on the table while Brandon and I argue over the game again.
Texas took the lead in the third quarter and he just can’t come to terms that the home field advantage makes no difference when you’re heart is in it. Much like life.
“We should probably get him back to Jules,” Brandon says, poking Austin and only receiving a groan in return.
Shaking my head at the sad sight before me, I say, “She’s gonna be pissed.”
“Yeah, at him,” he laughs.
Standing up, I laugh too, even if I do sway a bit myself.
Austin’s heavy, about my size, but dense with muscle. The dude works out and it’s a bitch to get him back to Jules’ building. When we do, we bang on the door. Jules answers dressed only in a skimpy top and sleep shorts. She used to dress like that when we were together, when she was mine. She covers her mouth, gasping at the site of Austin, lagging, hanging between me and Brandon.
“You got him drunk!” She looks between me and Brandon, equally angry at us both.
“He got himself drunk, Jules,” Brandon pipes up, slurring.
“You’re gonna pay for this, Brandon. No banana bread for you.”
“You promised,” he complains as we drag Austin inside and dump him on the couch per Jules’ request.
She crosses her arms in defiance. “He can sleep out here since he got drunk on what was supposed to be our night together.”
The prisms catch my eye and I walk to the window. With a gentle tap to the prisms, I watch as they swing back and forth. Jules is behind me griping at Brandon, holding him responsible. She has expectations of him, of their friendship, but none of me. The door clicks closed, but I don’t look back. Brandon’s gone and the apartment is quiet.
I gulp, not able to hide in the silence that fills the air behind me. Her fingers slide over my shoulder, her palm coming to rest there as she whispers, “Dylan.” When I turn my head, she’s standing close, her body pressing lightly against the back of my arm. “We should talk.”
I’m buzzed, but attempt to pretend I’m not. “Yes, we should.” When she doesn’t continue, I add, “But not tonight. Maybe next week.” I’m thinking it would be best not to have this conversation in the state I’m in.
Jules’ hand slides down to my forearm. I love her touch and it makes me want to kiss her. My eyes drop quickly to her pert nipples, teasing me under the thin cotton of her top. I let my gaze linger before tracing up her body until I see the beauty of her face again. Her lips, wanting, waiting. Her eyes, urging me to kiss her.
I made the mistake of kissing her when she didn’t want me to before and paid the price by not seeing her for six months. Am I willing to risk it again?
She makes the decision for us both and kisses me. Grabbing me by the neck and pulling me down to meet her in the middle of the space previously dividing us. My hands hold her waist and our tongues meet.
Heaven.
I pull her closer, but then she pulls away. Tears fill her eyes and she whispers, “No.” When she looks back up at me, she adds, “Go.”
“No,” I respond, not willing to give her up. Not now. Not ever. Instead, I step forward.
She stumbles backwards. The word ‘No’ escaping from her mouth over and over again. “You need to go, Dylan.”
Protesting, I say, “You can feel what this is—”
Her leg is grabbed from behind. From the couch, Austin mumbles, “Babe, lay with me.” His eyes focused on her, then following her glare to me. “What are you doing here, Somers?” He sits up, tries to, but he’s wasted, sloppy.
“I got you here. I brought you back.” I refuse to call this place his home, so I stay with the safe word of ‘here.’ “You’re drunk.”
“Oh, yeah.” He grabs his head. “I need to go to bed.”
Jules steps away from him, his hand dropping to the floor. Her voice is clear and concise. “Lay back down because you’re not sleeping with me. You can earn your way back into the bedroom.” Firm, hands on hips, and completely sexy. She glances at me, then back to him.
He grabs her hand pulling her down onto his lap. “Live with me, Jules.”
What? He’s drunk. He’s talking crazy shit. She’ll never accept a drunken offer like that. He kisses her quickly before she can speak. Sneaky. Leaning back away from him, she looks into his eyes, and asks, “You’re serious, aren’t you? No, Austin. Don’t ask me like this. Not when you’re drunk.”
He pulls her down on top of him as he lays back, his strength evident over her small frame. “I love you, Jules. I want to come home to you every night, every business trip, to you.”
I’m forgotten as she leans toward him, listening. I become a spy in the middle of a most intimate moment. My mind is blank, shocked, so I stare, horrified with no valid argument other than I love her more than him.
<
br /> He kisses her again and she starts to relax. I see her body caving into his.
“No!” Oh shit, did I say that out loud? They both turn and look at me surprised by the outburst. I break the bubble, the moment that seemed to be turning in Austin’s favor.
His tone is harsh when he says, “Dylan, leave.”
I’m an intruder to him. What am I to Jules? She looks at me, then her gaze drops quickly with a slight nod of her head.
Without knowing what else I can do, I walk. I’m losing her. I can feel it. I can see it, but why? He’s the one who got drunk. He chose to go out tonight instead of staying here with her. He even chose Asia over her. Is it not obvious? I would never do that to her.
“I’ll give you the world, Jules,” I hear him whisper as my hand goes to the doorknob.
I leave. Staying will only make me look bad in her eyes. I have time. He’s leaving. He’s stupidly leaving her alone for three weeks. I can do a lot in three weeks.
“Dylan?”
I spin around to her voice calling my name. She shuts the door behind her and we’re alone in the hall.
“Dylan, we still need to talk—”
“Another time.”
“It can’t be another time. I thought it could wait, but it can’t. We don’t have that kind of time.” When she walks closer, her steps are tentative. “I know you thought there could be more, but there can’t. We’ve had our time and that time has passed.”
My head is shaking as I try to stop her words before they come out. “No, we can talk later. Please. Please let’s talk on Monday at the park.”
“It won’t change on Monday. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“No.” I grab her hand. “Don’t close the door on us, Jules. Please, just give us—”
“Dylan, you closed the door on us. I was there. I remember. I lived through the pain while you did whatever it was you needed to do for you. I can’t help that you now regret that decision. But I’m not angry anymore. I finally found someone good. Austin is a good for me.”
“You just kissed me in there?” My voice is deep, hard, threatening.
“I kissed you to see. I thought it would give me answers. It didn’t. It made things fuzzier, dirtier. I made a mistake.”
I tighten my mouth, the words much grittier. “You felt it. I know you did. That spark that always existed between us is still there.”
She steps back, pressing her hands against the door as if she’s scared, as if she needs the solid wood for support. “I said yes.” Her body is calm, watching for my reaction to the bombshell. “I’m going to move in with him.”
“No! Dammit! No.”
Slipping from my reach, she’s too far, so I stretch further to grab hold of her, but she eludes me. “It’s over, Dylan. For good. Final. Please leave me alone. You need to move on with your life.”
“Please Jules,” I feel the warm wetness hit my eyes. “Don’t rush into a decision that could ruin—”
“I’ve been ruined for years. Austin is an incredible and patient man that wants me even with all my baggage and damaged insides.”
“I want you!”
“Well, you can’t have me! You had me and threw me away and for what?” Her voice rises loudly, too loud for the hall. “For what? Why did you leave me? Or should I ask who did you leave me for?” She crosses her arms over her chest, fury surging. “Tell me. Tell me you didn’t leave me for someone. Lie to me just like you did back then.”
I can’t speak. I’ll lose her for good if I confess, but I know I’ve lost her already. I can see it in her eyes.
“Tell me, Dylan,” she demands, stomping her foot while her hands fist by her sides. “You owe me this. Tell me why you left. The reasons you gave me are bullshit and you know it.” Rushing forward, her fists are flying. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”
My chest takes each hit, knowing I deserve this. My feet stumble back, but I catch my balance against the railing. “I left you for Hillary.” It needed to come out. Shit! Why? I want to puke.
She stops immediately. Her face contorts with pain. Horrified and confused, as if I’m the one who hit her. I did. I hit her in the heart.
Rocking back on her heels, her voice is low, possessed. “You left me for that whore?”
I’m already pleading before she finishes, “It was nothing. Please believe me, Jules. She meant nothing to me—”
Her face turns cold, her eyes shut down, any doorway into her heart I had managed to open now slams closed. “You left me for someone who meant nothing to you. What does that make me then? It makes me less than nothing. After three years of giving you everything I had, everything I was, all my love was less than nothing to you.” Swatting my hands off of her, she says, “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come see me anymore. Don’t. Just don’t ever again.” She slips quietly back into our apartment, her apartment, and slams the door closed.
I should have groveled. Dropping to my knees, the harsh hit of reality has finally come full circle, taking me down with it. My flaws. My weaknesses. Exposed and out for her to judge, to hate me. I want to forget them, change them, erase them, but I can’t. Honesty is a tricky thing. I could’ve lied. I should have lied.
Stumbling down the stairs, I shove the door to the street wide open. The chill of the October night air covers my face, sobering me.
Reality sucks.
I should’ve lied.
I couldn’t though.
Not to her.
Not ever again.
The secret I protected Jules from all this time is now the same reason she hates me.
I know I’ve lost her.
Forever.
TWELVE DAYS.
Twelve nights.
Some restless. Some spent crying. Sometimes no sleeping at all.
Twelve long days since I saw Dylan, since I told him not to come see me anymore, not to talk to me, not to do anything regarding me.
I’m glad Austin’s gone. He’s gone for three weeks while I pack. The time apart gives me time to think, to sort through my stuff, sort through my thoughts, my desires, my visions of my future. Sort through Dylan’s words, his actions in the past, and in the present.
Sitting at the bottom of my closet, I throw stuff carelessly into boxes labeled: donate, keep, and trash. After hours of cleaning, the trash box only holds three things—two prisms and a coffeemaker—the three things that tie me to Dylan.
At least I thought that was what tied me to him. They’re not.
My heart does. My feelings. My memories—good and bad anchor me to him like a weight. I wish I could trash those. I wish I could toss my heart out or donate it to someone who deserves to live a happily ever after.
I started to believe I deserved to again. Austin made me believe I did. But I was telling myself lies, trying to convince myself of an alternate reality. The problem is that no matter what happens or how many years pass, I can’t seem to rid myself of Dylan whether I have those three things in my possession or not.
I unfurl my body from the ball I’ve been in, wipe the tears away, and go to the trash box. Despite my shaking hand and ravaged heart, I can’t throw the stuff away. My logical side thinks it will make life easier if I do, but the truth is it won’t.
For the sake of my sanity, I compromise. I leave the coffeemaker and take the prisms, dropping them into the keep box.
IT’S LATE. I lay in bed in the dark with the phone pressed to my ear. The curtains are still open allowing light from the outside in. Austin’s voice is deep, tired as he speaks. “The deal is going better than expected. The clients have been reassured. I hope you understand why I had to come.”
“You needed to fly to China and meet them face-to-face. You’re very charming and a skilled businessman. I had no doubt you would repair relations.”
“Thank you,” he whispers. “How are you, love?”
I smile from the sweet nickname. “I’m okay. Tired from packing.”
Speaking of repairing relatio
ns… “Do you have any regrets, Jules… about saying yes?”
He must sense my distance tonight. He’d be right. I am distant, for all intents and purposes, but something deep inside is holding me back when all I want to do is move forward.
“Moving in together is a big step.” I haven’t lived with anyone since Dylan, not officially. “I don’t have regret saying yes to you, Austin. I’m just nervous to be leaving here. I’ve called it home for six years.” And I’m nervous to leave the last remaining piece of Dylan and Juliette. When I move, I should try to leave the memories here as well.
MOVING SUCKS. MOVING sucks even when you’ve paid people to move your stuff. I’ve already done the hard part, the emotional part of packing and figuring out what part of this life I’m moving into the new one. These guys are lifting, carrying, doing the physical part, but the psychological aspect is far more trying.
Just when I think I’ve got this, that I’ve made the right decision, doubts inevitably seep into my psyche, making me question everything all over again. The last four weeks have been torture. I’m ready to just be done with it all: all the doubts, all the debate, all the second guessing, all of it. I’m ready to just move in and start moving forward.
I’m paid up for the apartment through the end of the month. The landlord hasn’t rented it out yet and our deposit from six years ago holds it through November. For some reason, I like having the safety net.
I don’t supervise the movers. I spend every last second I can in the now empty place, trusting them to handle it all. Sitting atop a suitcase, the only thing left here, I look around. The painting also remains hanging on the wall. I’m undecided what I should do with it.
Maybe it should go. Maybe it should stay. It feels so a part of this place, of me, of who I am and what my life has been for almost four years now.
Austin doesn’t know its history—its true meaning in my life. It represents our downfall. Morbid, but I was grasping for that connection back then. All I had left of him was a coffeemaker. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I brought the discarded painting home so I had a memory from when he left me. Unbeknownst to me, it also kept the pain alive, the destruction of something that was everything in my world, everything that was my world. Dylan was my world, so I held onto it.