I glared at him, furious. “Are you insane?”
“Renee, please…”
“There is nothing to talk about,” I said through clenched teeth. “It’s over. We’re over. We’ve been over for a long time. You need to leave. Now.”
He stood up and walked into my kitchen, reappearing with a ginger ale. “Here,” he said, placing it on the table. “I figured you’d need this.” My demands had completely eluded him. I wondered if he was really this dense when we dated.
Then his words came back to me in a flash: Dylan? Is that the angry guy who lives upstairs?
“David,” I asked, trying to refrain from panicking. “What did you mean when you mentioned the angry guy upstairs?”
“Oh, when I came back from Starbucks this morning, some guy was coming down the stairs. When he saw me walking into your place, he demanded to know who I was, like he was your fucking boyfriend or something.”
“He is my boyfriend!” I screamed, throwing my hands over my eyes. “Dylan lives upstairs! Oh my God. Oh my God.” My heart was racing in my chest. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing, really. I just introduced myself and said I was a friend of yours. Dylan, yeah, that was his name. He didn’t say he was your boyfriend, though. He just looked really pissed and took off.”
“Jesus Christ.” I flung myself off my couch, threw on a pair of shoes and bolted out the door. I had to find Dylan. I could only imagine what was going through his head.
“Renee, where are you going?” I could hear David’s footsteps trailing behind me.
“To my boyfriend’s apartment!” I screamed, barreling up the stairs. I reached Dylan apartment and pounded on the door. The knob was locked. I pressed my ear to the door and listened but all I heard was silence.
“He left this morning!” David yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
I ran back down the stairs, past David and out to the parking lot. Dylan’s van was nowhere to be found. I turned around and saw David hovering in the doorway, staring at the ground uncomfortably.
“David,” I said to him. “I’m sorry that you came all the way here. The truth is: I love Dylan. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. Maybe the same way you think that you love me, I don’t know. But I do know that right now, he’s probably under the assumption that you and I slept together, so I need to find him.”
David’s face fell, but he forced a pitiful smile and nodded like he understood. As angry as I was, for some ludicrous reason I still felt bad for him.
I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer to me. “Look at me,” I said, lowering my gaze to meet his, which was still focused on the ground. “You’re going to meet someone someday, someone that you care about as much as me, probably even more than me. And when you do, don’t cheat on them and don’t do anything to screw it up. Okay?”
He nodded but remained silent.
“I have to go.” I turned around and walked back towards my apartment. As much as I pitied him, David had made his own bed and he could drown in it for all I cared. I had my own problems to deal with.
I ran into the kitchen and grabbed my cell phone out of my purse. There were two missed calls and two messages from Dylan. I immediately dialed his number without even listening to the messages.
His voicemail picked right up. He’d shut his phone off.
“Damn it!” I yelled.
I left him a frantic message, trying to piece together the combustion of words that were falling out of my mouth into some sort of logical explanation that nothing had happened between David and me. With my heart pounding rapidly in my chest, I dialed my voicemail and listened to his messages.
The first message was from the night before. Dylan apologized for the whole episode with Christina, told me he loved me and asked me to call him first thing in the morning. I smiled for a split second before moving on to the second message.
The second message, as predicted, was left after his encounter with David. In it, he took back his apology from the night before and called me a lying, cheating whore. I deleted it without listening to the rest.
I racked my brain trying to figure out where he would have gone. I called Justin to see if he’d heard from him but he said he hadn’t. I explained the whole situation and begged him to relay that information to Dylan if he ended up speaking to him. He promised he would.
I spent the majority of the day perched at my window like a psycho stalker. Every time I heard a car pull into the parking lot, I’d bolt to the window to see if it was him. And every time I looked, it wasn’t.
By the time night fell, I’d given up. I must’ve called his cell phone about a hundred times but all I got was the same voicemail greeting on the first ring. I did everything I could to try to get my mind off him - read a book, surfed the internet, watched a movie. None of them helped.
I managed to catch a little bit of sleep that night, but every hour, I’d wake up and look out the window for his car. And every hour, his car was nowhere to be found.
He never came home that night.
Chapter 21
I hated the train. Even though I rode it to and from work every day, I could never get used to it. At least when I drove my car, I had distractions - speed limits, stop signs, traffic lights, pedestrians - there was always something that kept my mind active. The train left me alone with nothing but my thoughts. There was no radio to fidget with, no heat or air conditioner vent to toy with, nothing. So, needless to say, the mornings were the worst part of my day.
When I was at work, I had all sorts of distractions. Answering phones, sending out emails, editing resumes, participating in vacant half-conscious conversations with my coworkers. It was great. It limited my thoughts of Dylan to occur every other second as opposed to every second.
Four days had officially passed with no word from him. His cell was still shut off, my messages continued to escalate to higher levels of desperation, and my nerves made it barely possible to even function.
Every day that went by without him was like a blur. It was as if reality had finally set in. I was lost. I had become completely accustomed to spending every waking, non-working hour with someone, and then one day, he was gone. Work helped distract me temporarily, even though it was hard to concentrate on resume writing when he was all I could think about. But I knew that if I stayed home, I’d be permanently glued to my window, dying a slow and painful torturous death. I tried my hardest not to stress and told myself that Dylan just needed some time to cool off and when he was ready to talk, he’d come home.
The truth was, every day spent without Dylan felt like a part of me died.
***
In addition to the mental exhaustion building inside my brain, my bladder had decided to join the party as well. For the past week, my body had been completely out of whack, and I’d convinced myself it was strictly stress related. But about three days in, it started to feel like a sumo wrestler was stepping on my abdomen.
I relayed this information to the nurse who was seated across from me at the doctor’s office, at which point she documented my symptoms and handed me a cup to pee in.
After returning from the bathroom, I handed her the cup and she proceeded to plug some more information into her computer.
“Do you have any allergies to medication?”
“No.”
“Are you on any medication?”
“No.”
“What was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”
I paused, trying to recap on the past month. Between the apartment hunting, band management and my boyfriend skipping town, I couldn’t remember yesterday, let alone the date of my last period.
“I think it was right around a month ago,” I lied, at which point she typed up a few more notes, then left the room.
I skimmed through the latest copy of Prevention Magazine until I was greeted by Doctor Bailey’s mile-wide goofy grin. He was a tall, lanky guy with gray hair, a red bulbous nose and a handlebar mustache. He
reminded me of Luigi from Super Mario Brothers. I’d been going to him ever since I was a teenager and I loved him, not only because he was super nice, but because he handed out Percocet like candy.
He rambled on for a few minutes about my bladder infection symptoms, asking me if I felt uncomfortable pressure, etc. Then his normally buoyant expression dimmed as he asked me the same question that the nurse already had. “Renee, when was your last menstrual cycle?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. About a month ago. Why?”
His lips pursed together as he glanced down at his clipboard. “Well, because we ran your urine for pregnancy and the test came back positive, so that’s most likely the cause of your infection. A lot of pregnant women tend to be more prone to infections. So I have to be careful about what type of medicine I prescribe to you because…”
“Wait, I’m sorry, what?” I shrieked. My heart felt like it was being attacked with a hammer. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “The tests are about ninety-nine percent accurate. So, I have to be careful of what type of medication I prescribe you because I can’t give you anything that might harm the baby. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to prescribe you a weak antibiotic like Amoxicillin because that won’t cause any side effects.”
I had stopped listening as soon as I heard the word positive. The rest of the words that came out of the doctor’s mouth sounded like a muffled humming noise, up until I heard him say that might harm the baby. The baby? I was going to have a baby?
This isn’t happening, I thought to myself. Dylan and I aren’t even on speaking terms right now. And even worse, he’d probably think David was the father.
I cupped my hands over my mouth and lowered my head in between my knees. When I sat upright again, Doctor Bailey was staring at the floor like he wanted to evaporate through the cracks.
“Do you need a minute?” he asked with a concerned expression. “Do you want to call the father?”
The father. Oh my God. Dylan was going to be a father.
I shook my head as the room started to spin. I had to get out of there as fast as I could. I felt like the walls were closing in on me.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just give me the prescription so I can go. I have some phone calls to make.”
***
“Beth, what the hell am I going to do?” I yelled, pacing around my room in circles.
“Wait, how did this happen? Aren’t you on the pill?”
“I was,” I said hesitantly. “But I’ve been so preoccupied with apartment hunting and Dylan’s gigs that I haven’t renewed it in…” I considered. A month? Two months? It was hard to remember.
“And you still haven’t heard from him?” she asked.
I sighed, withholding an eye roll. Beth always asked obvious questions. She was one of those people that would see you wearing a red shirt and say, “Oh, you’re wearing red tonight?”
“Beth, don’t you think I would’ve told you if I’d heard from him?”
“Sorry. Stupid question.” A pause. “But maybe… this will bring the two of you of you closer. I mean, once he cools off and you can explain to him the truth about David, he might be psyched.”
“Or not,” I mumbled. “What if he doesn’t want to have it? Or what if he doesn’t believe me and he thinks its David’s?”
“Renee, he knows you better than that. Just give him time. He’ll come around.”
I shut my eyes tight. “Christ, even if he did want to have it, I’m not ready for a kid.”
“Oh come on, isn’t that what every girl wants?” Beth asked. “A nice guy to settle down with… a family…”
“Not me! I never wanted that!” It was true. I was the only creature with a vagina who would duck if someone ever tried to hand me a baby. I was too selfish to be responsible for someone else’s life. And plus, I didn’t know the first thing about being a parent. What do you feed it? How often do you feed it? What if I dropped it? I threw myself down on my bed and buried my head in the pillow.
“Listen, before you give yourself a heart attack, you need to talk to Dylan. Think, Renee. You know Dylan better than anyone. If you were him in this situation, where would you go?”
And in that instant, I knew exactly where to go.
***
The jetty was much harder to walk on in the dark. At least during the day, you could differentiate the sharp rocks from the flat ones. I stepped slowly and steadily onto each one, struggling to keep my balance, until I reached the bridge.
As predicted, perched on the edge, was Dylan. His feet dangled over the side as he took a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water, one by one, as if he had all the time in the world. Even though I’d had my suspicions that he’d be here, the actual sight of him froze my heart in place. I found myself at a loss of words, not knowing where to begin or how to gauge his reaction to what I was about to lay on him.
“So you found me.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke, stonefaced, his voice a monotone. It was as if he’d just sensed my presence. “I figured you would sooner or later.”
“Dylan, we have to talk.” I inched slowly toward him, not knowing whether or not to sit next to him or remain standing. But as soon as he turned to face me, I knew my only option was the latter. The cold, distant look in his eyes told me I wasn’t going to have much time.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, in a voice that sounded detached from his body. Each syllable was spoken in the same solemn pitch that matched his eyes, lifeless, almost cruel. Hurt and anger combined with emotional exhaustion.
“Please,” I begged. “I know what you think happened, but the truth is, it’s nothing even close to what’s going through your head right now.”
He laughed, a patronizing laugh. “You don’t have a fucking clue what’s going through my head right now,” he said. “But since you came here to talk, I’ll gladly explain it to you.” He stood up, his face inches from mine. I could smell whiskey on his breath.
“You want to know what’s going through my head?” he continued. “You want to know how I felt when I saw that fucking guy coming out of your apartment?” His eyes narrowed into slits. “I felt like my fucking heart had been ripped out of my chest. I can’t even close my eyes for a split second without seeing that image of you two together in my head and wondering how the fuck I ever could’ve let this happen.”
“Nothing happened!” My voice was rising, and I could feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes. “You have to believe me, I swear to you…”
“Believe you?” He attempted to laugh again, but it came off as more of a half-sob. “Let me ask you something. If I insisted on sleeping at my place without you, and you saw my ex-girlfriend strolling out of my apartment at the crack of dawn, would you believe me? Because I’d have to be a fucking idiot to listen to anything coming out of your mouth right now.”
“Dylan, he just showed up there. I had no idea…”
“And you let him in? You let him spend the night?”
“Yes… no.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes I let him in, but I passed out before…”
“I can’t.” His head hung down, shoulders slumped, eyes trained on the floor. “I can’t do this.”
“Why can’t you just let me explain?”
“Because I don’t know what to believe.”
I paused, debating on whether or not to continue. “Dylan, there’s something else. Something I need to tell you.”
Before I could continue, his back was already facing me, his outline growing smaller as he stepped down from the bridge. “Renee, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I’ll have your stuff to you by the end of the week.”
And with that, he was gone.
Chapter 22
Beth’s apartment looked like the studio set for a Fleetwood Mac documentary. There was an overabundance of moon shaped candles, opium scented incense, trippy tapestries, and a collection of vintage concert posters covering the walls. But even with all the zen a
ura surrounding me, I still felt like I’d had the life sucked out of me.
Note to self: all the voodoo tricks in the world can’t heal the brokenhearted.
I moved out of my apartment building immediately after Dylan returned, unable to handle the constant daily reminders of him. Even the little things made me ache, the sight of his van in the driveway, the songs flowing from his apartment through my vents. The constant urge to watch out my window or show up at his door, just to catch a glimpse of him. It was too much weight on my heart.
However, I did have one permanent reminder of him that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
I was officially six weeks pregnant, and the roller coaster hormones did absolutely nothing for my heartache. I barely ate or slept. I just went through the daily motions like a walking zombie. Even small daily tasks seemed impossible. All I wanted was to curl up in Beth’s hippie-covered futon and cry for something that was once my life.
Beth was trying. She came home from work every day with something new to cheer me up, baby books, ice cream, prenatal yoga videos. Today it was a “Pure Moods” CD that she thought would be soothing.
“All this negative energy can’t be good for the baby,” she insisted, lighting the end of a Nag Champa stick. “I know breakups are hard, but he’s just upset right now. Give him some time, and then talk to him once he’s calmed down.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” I mumbled bitterly. “I tried, remember?”
“Yeah, but he’s still angry and hurt. You’ve got to give it a few weeks so he has time to process everything and isn’t acting out of emotion.”
I knew she was right, I just didn’t know how much longer I could take this empty feeling inside. I could feel myself drifting further from reality the longer I was without Dylan. A part of me was missing and I needed it back.
***
When eight weeks pregnant hit, I had officially eaten all the canned food in Beth’s house, ran out of sick days and was forced to go back to work. I found out my due date was February 10th, an Aquarius baby, Beth informed me with a pleased smile, handing me her astrology book. We had also gone through baby names for each sex, even though I felt cheated because this was something I should’ve been doing with Dylan and not Beth. I opted for Evan and Olivia, and Beth threw out some wacked out bohemian names like Lola and Ziggy. I sometimes wondered if I had met Beth at a non-prepubescent age if we would’ve still been friends.
Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Page 14