Dylan: Crystal Bch 1 hr.
It’s been an hour. We’re both here.
I’m missing my exams for this. I take a deep breath, gather my nerves, and leave the safe, ignorant confines of my car. It isn’t hard to find Dylan. He’s the only one sitting on the beach with his toes in the sand. The hood on his sweatshirt is pulled up, blocking who it is. But I know it’s him by the contours of his back and by the way he pulls apart a piece of seaweed with his long strong fingers.
I pause in the sand and watch him. I only have a short time before I know the truth. I want a few more seconds to love Dylan the way I do now. I have a feeling once I sit down and he looks at me he will be gone. My Dylan, the one man who broke me out of my shell, is going to decimate it once and for good. I warned him when we met not to do this to me. I’d lost one man already and didn’t want to lose another.
“Don’t hurt me Dylan.”
He looked me in the eye and promised me, “I won’t, Harley. I’ve been a shithead in the past, but I’m done with it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” And then he said it, after we’d been going back and forth for months with my fears. “I love you, Harley.”
As if sensing my heartache he looks over then looks down immediately when our eyes connect. That’s it. Just like that it’s over. My year of bliss, of finally finding a man I can trust and love, of sex that leaves me breathless and laughs that left me aching, is gone.
“Come sit down.” He pats the sand next to him, staring at the waves rolling in slowly.
I do. Normally he’d grab my hand or I’d grab his and I’d put my head on his shoulder. Then he would kiss my hair or the space below my ear. Instead, he doesn’t even look at me. Touching me is out of the question.
“I enlisted before we met.”
I hold my chest. My heart isn’t literally breaking. It only feels that way. “Why didn’t you say anything when we got together?”
“I know how you feel about war because of what happened to your dad. I didn’t know how to tell you I was going to do the same thing.”
“So you lied to me?”
“I didn’t have a choice. You don’t get it. I don’t have any skills. I’m not smart. I can’t make money off of parties my whole life like Bach. No one’s going to be proud of that. I don’t have money for college. No one’s going to love me because I sold weed to a bunch of college kids.”
“Are you kidding? I’m so proud of you. You’re smart. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You help me study all the time. You can go to college too. You’re only twenty-one. You don’t have to settle for this.”
“It’s too late, Harley. I have to go.” He finally looks at me. “I want to.”
There are many worse things Dylan could’ve said. I guess if I was a different girl with a different past then his words would be an unpleasant decision to get through as a couple. But I’m not, and his words are quite possibly the worst words he ever could’ve said to me. They’re knives, sharp painful instruments meant to gut me.
“You want to go to war? You want to kill people and get killed?”
He flinches. “I want to be a part of something bigger. And not just for myself,” he adds quietly, staring at the water again. Who else would he want to be better for than the woman he loves? “This is a great opportunity for me. The war’s almost over anyway. We’re just going to do some cleanup work in the cities, make sure everything’s calming down, keep order, and then I’ll be home in two years. My officer said it was easy work.”
“This isn’t making any sense.” I don’t get it. Who is this man? “Dylan, this doesn’t just come out of the blue. You’ve felt this way for a long time. Why didn’t you tell me?” I keep going, growing angrier. “And this is the army, you idiot. There is no easy work. Look at my dad. His mission was supposed to be easy too. Now where is he? In a fucking box!”
“Harley … ”
“Don’t Harley me.” Tears stream down my face. I’ve already lost him. Just like Dad. “You’re a selfish bastard. You’ve always been. You know how I know?” I wait for him to look me in the eye. “Because you knew every time you said ‘I love you’ that you were leaving me. Sneaking to meet your officer for physical training.” I gasp. “Is that where you were during Thanksgiving break last year?” I count back the weeks in my head. It added up perfectly. “You asshole! You knew even then?”
“I knew the whole time we were together.” His dark blue eyes plead with me, yet at the same time there’s an unchanging shadow in them. He’s made his decision. He just wants me to agree. “I knew weeks before I met you on the beach. But I couldn’t tell you then. Every time I tried, something stopped me. I was too busy trying to be enough for you, for—” He stops suddenly and swallows what he was going to say. “I have to do this. It’s only two years. I can even get some leave after six months. It isn’t going to be forever.”
He doesn’t even know me. How can he, making a decision like this? “I can’t be with you anymore. Are you out of your mind?”
“Why not?” he explodes. “If you love me as much as you say you do why can’t you wait two measly years for me?”
“One, it’s never two years. Trust me. It’s a lifetime commitment. My dad moved us from town to town. But he was never there with us. He went to Germany, Guam, Hawaii, and Kuwait. He never left Kuwait. And the real reason, the only reason, is that I refuse to wait for that phone call. I refuse to live my life knowing the man I love could leave this planet forever. I think the women who choose that are strong, amazing women. But I’m not. I’m strong enough to admit that I’m not strong all of the time. I can’t be with a man who might leave me with his love. I can’t!” I cry.
Moisture shines in his eyes. He’s just as desperate for me to see it his way. I can tell he’s been planning this conversation for a long time. He knew he was going to break my heart when he told me he was in the army. He knew I was going to lose it when I found out he was going to Afghanistan. But I can tell he didn’t think I’d break up with him.
“Harley,” he whispers. “It’s two years.”
I shake my head. “It’s not and it’s a promise I’m not willing to honor.”
He opens his mouth to argue. Nothing comes out. His gears are turning, trying to come up with an argument, an excuse, any reason for me to stay with him.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I tell him, knowing the sight of me isn’t helping him. This pain in my chest throbs as hot as the bonfire I can see miles down the beach. I’ve lost it and I don’t think anything he says will help. Unless he takes it back. “Don’t go. Stay.”
“I have to do this. You don’t understand. No one does. I’ll tell you when I get home. It’ll make more sense then.”
A second wave of heartache washes ashore for me. “You’re not going to stay for me? But you’ll go to the army for me?” Bettering himself was supposed to benefit both of us. Why do it if he wasn’t going to stick around?
“I’m not going for you. I’m not even going for myself.”
“Then who are you going for?”
He looks way again. At the sand. At the waves. At the sun setting on the horizon. “I’m not leaving for a week. You have time to think about it. Work it over. You’ll see it’s not really that bad.”
He isn’t hearing me. We aren’t hearing each other. “You have to listen to me, Dylan. I love you. You’re the first man after my dad that I thought I could trust. I let you in for a reason. You’re in here.” I pat my chest. “Why are you trying so hard to make me rip you out now?”
“I’m better because of you, Harley. You’re the first girl I’ve ever really loved. Maybe even the first person who’s ever really loved me back. You showed me I wasn’t some scumbag, some loser with nothing and no one. I want to thank you for that.” He lifts my chin when I can’t look at him anymore. Clearly we’re not going to work through this. Tears redden his eyes. “Thank you for showing me I was worth it. You saved my life.”
I press
my forehead to his and kiss his lips. Our tears are salty and mix on our faces, exchanging our sadness. “I love you, Dylan. Don’t do this.”
He grabs my face between his strong, patient fingers and crushes his lips to mine. The thought of him leaving tears me apart. I picture this being our last kiss. Not because he’s leaving, but because he might not come back.
I’m done. I can’t breathe, move, or see.
Dylan kisses my lips once more, looks deep into my eyes, and then gets up and walks away.
Dylan Meyer is gone.
Just like my dad.
Chapter Three
Bach
I’m high.
So high.
The birds envy me.
The green lights affixed to the ceiling blur in and out of focus, almost caressing my eyes. There’s a girl in front of me, a girl behind me, and a girl on each side. They’re high too. The clouds can’t touch us. My hands are in the air, in her hair, on her ass. Who it is doesn’t matter. Tangy beer slides down my throat, down my chin, soaking into my shirt. My thoughts are disjointed, brief flashes of what’s going on around me. I can’t focus on much else. My brain feels like a soaked sponge. It’s so full that the suds ooze out of my ears. That song feels more alive than the naked girl beneath me. My sense of touch connects with my sense of hearing, making what I hear what I want to touch.
I am in that space where thoughts don’t make sense and memories never happen.
I take another pill.
Two more shots.
Just one more pill.
I’m going hard. No, hard passed me by four shots ago. I’m going crazy. Insanity never made more sense. The party rages on so I do too. I dance even though I’m way too fucking cool to dance. The girls do all the work anyway. They grind, slide, and groan against me. They all feel so damn good. Everything feels do damn good.
That’s what Ecstasy does. I figure it’s easier to understand a song than my memories. Focusing on the way hands feel sliding over my abs makes way more sense than my emotions. My emotions aren’t better than tonight. They control me even when I run, because running from them makes them that much stronger.
So I take another pill.
“How many have you had?” someone shouts, trying to keep me from falling over.
I shove them off and keep walking. “Get the fuck off me!” I growl, itching suddenly for a fight. But there’s no one there anymore.
My heart’s pounding. It’s never pounded this hard. I hold my chest and lean against the wall as the green lights start to beat with my heart. Boom boom boom boom. My ass hits the floor. Hands on my chest. My zipper slides down. Again? I think as my back slides down against something cold and hard and pleasure twists around my high.
“Bach?” someone says. “Come on, dickhead. Let’s go home.”
My mind blacks out …
I pop one eye open. Close it. Pop the other one open. Close it. I’m in my bedroom. How the hell did I get in my bedroom?
I don’t move. Don’t even blink. I’m going to puke. There’s no use in preventing it. The second I sit up I see the carpet rushing toward me. Or I’m rushing toward it. I quickly lay back down before I try it again and crawl on my hands and knees to my door. Once I manage to get it open I enter into the hall.
“You’re pathetic.”
I ignore Dylan, barely making it to the toilet in time. The toilet bowl and I have had a long committed relationship. She lets me lean on her and I promise to lift the seat up when I piss. This morning I spend a long time with her. My ribs hurt. My back hurts. My head hurts. I hurt.
“Here, you idiot.” Dylan hands me a glass of water and two pills which I examine. “It’s just ibuprofen, you druggy.”
I push down my disappointment, swallow the pills, and drink down the cold water. “Thanks,” I manage. “Ugh, I sound feel shit.”
“What did you take? It wasn’t coke or you’d still be partying. It wasn’t weed or you’d be eating all of my frozen waffles. Considering the fact that I found you half naked in the bathroom I guess it was Ecstasy.”
“I was naked?” I’m wearing only my boxers. What happened to my clothes? “I don’t remember that.”
“I took your clothes off,” he explains, reading my thoughts. “At least what was left of them. I’ve never seen so many orgies happening at once before. I can’t believe your dick hasn’t fallen off.”
“Orgy?” Shit … I pull on the waistband on my boxers and look down at my dick. “Way to go.” It hadn’t started out that way. The E had muted my thought process early on and the schematics of partying and rules went out the window right where I want them.
“Jona called me when he found you. He said you weren’t breathing right but he didn’t want to risk calling an ambulance. These are the people you hang out with. People who would rather risk your life than their own ass.”
I lift my head and glare. “One, he didn’t tell me to get high. Or drink that much. I did that on my own. Two, you used to be right there with me. Stop pretending you’re so much better.”
He doesn’t answer. Answering would acknowledge his wrongs and he’s not going to do that.
He gives me a hand, pulling me to my feet. “You have to get your shit together, Bach.”
I ignore him. My whole body hurts. What did I do last night? Who did I do last night? I shuffle into the living room and fall onto the sofa. I pull a jacket off the back and bundle it up, using it as a pillow. “Hand me the remote,” I groan. My throat is raw.
He sits down in the gaming chair. “Get it yourself.”
“Dick.” I stretch painfully to reach the remote. When I do I turn the TV on and scroll through the channels until I spot a thick stack of money on the coffee table. “That mine?”
“Mhm. I took a few bills. Figured you owed me after puking in my jeep.”
“No way.” I laugh, groan at the pain it causes me, and then give up. “I puked in your jeep?” I rip off a couple fifty’s. “Here. Consider it a going away present.”
He takes them and stuffs them in his back pocket. “It’s fifteen hundred. I counted it.”
Good. I toss it back on the coffee table causing a few bills to fall over the edge and onto the floor.
I close my eyes, throwing my arm over my face. There’s a pinching ache in the back of my skull, radiating throughout my body. We’re quiet for a few minutes as the TV fills the space. It can’t fill the whole space though, only Dylan can. I have a feeling that space will get bigger before it gets smaller.
“I talked to Harley last night,” he announces.
It must not have gone well if he’s telling me. I look at him over my arm. “She as perfect as you think?”
“She broke up with me. Or I broke up with her. I think we both broke up with each other.”
I had many breakups, but they never hurt me. The title of “girlfriend” was more for the women’s sake than for my own. It’s one more lie to get what I wanted. But Harley genuinely loves him, and it admittedly probably doesn’t feel good to leave her behind. “You okay?”
He looks at the TV. “No.”
“Then don’t go.”
“I have to.”
I shrug. Whatever. “It’s your ass. You know those video games we play are fake, right? We’re playing against nerds in their underwear. That shit in Afghanistan is real. There’s no pause button. You can’t take a break and get a beer or take a piss. They don’t stop until you’re cold, man.”
He nods, still not looking at me. “I know.”
No, he didn’t know. “Are you scared?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“We’ve known each other since we were what, three? I know you, Dylan. Even if you want to pretend I don’t exist anymore, I know you.”
He swallows hard. “I don’t pretend you don’t exist. You pretend you don’t exist.”
“I fucking exist. I’m here aren’t I?”
“You’re not here. You’re either high. Or drunk. Or both. You’re either wit
h that chick. This chick. Thinking about a chick. You’ve never been here. You ever stop and wonder why you do that shit? What makes you do these things? It’s not normal.”
“I would but I hear that beer in the fridge calling my name.”
“I’m serious, Bach.” He finally looks at me. “You’re going to end up stuck in this shitty life forever if you don’t get out now.”
I want to defend my shitty life, but when I open my mouth, I stop myself. What am I defending exactly? I know it’s my hangover. I always feel low after I drink and get high like this. My endorphins are drained. I feel as shitty as Dylan wants me to feel. “Don’t turn this around on me. If you’re scared why are you going?”
“I have to go. I—” He groans in frustration. “I just have to, all right? Why does everyone want a reason? I’m going. I’m leaving. It’s going to be better for everyone.”
“How’s Whitney?”
His head whips to me, our eyes lock, and his chest moves faster than it did a second ago. He thinks I know. I don’t of course, but I’d be an idiot if I told him that.
“Who told you? No one’s supposed to know.”
My mouth begs me to ask, Know what? Instead, I shrug. “Crystal Gulf is a small town.”
“Then you know I have to do this for her, Bach. She deserves better than us.”
Whitney? Slutty little Whitney deserves better than us? Better than Harley? Are we talking about the same Whitney? I can’t even come up with a response. “Whatever, bro.”
He gapes at me for a full minute, waiting for me to understand where he’s coming from. I don’t. I won’t. I don’t like Harley, she’s a stuck up princess, but that doesn’t mean I agree with Dylan’s actions. Harley loves him. There’s no way Whitney can love him like that. Whitney’s a Justine. They don’t love. They use. Girls like Harley love hard and forever. And men like Dylan and I destroy them because of it.
Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) Page 3