by Dylan Heart
We pull into the driveway and I rest my head against the seat. The clicking of his seat belt draws my attention to him.
“I had a real good night,” he says.
“Me, too.” I rub my thumbs against my eyes. “I don’t want to walk inside. Can I just stay here in the Jeep?”
He smiles. “You can do whatever you want.”
“I should probably go inside. My mom’s probably worried.”
He brushes my cheek and pushes my hair behind my ears. “Call me crazy, but I think I’m going to love you someday.”
“Someday?” I ask with half a smile, almost tired of hearing that word.
“Someday soon.”
Releasing my seat belt, I lean across the gear shift. “I think I love you today.”
“Like, right now?”
I just nod, unable to pull my eyes away from him.
“I’m cool with that.” He leans closer to the point where our noses glide past each other. The only thing that separates us is a thick slice of a breeze. It flows between us like the colors of the wind. “It seems like a good day to fall in love.”
“Where did you come from?”
“A carnival. I’m a carnie, remember?”
“I remember.”
We both move closer still. His lips brush against mine and I feel as high as when I was on Molly. Excitement. Bliss. Loved. He caresses my lips, taking his time. His lips become softer with every lap. He presses his tongue against my lip and slips into my mouth as he pushes me backward and climbs atop me.
I’m not even worried what the neighbors might think. I’m not worried about anything, because there’s nothing left to worry about. My hand slides up his back, running along his smooth skin.
In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve discovered something with Blue—the elusive thread of truth that we seem so privy to while the rest of the world looks on in utter disbelief that anybody could be this happy living within their own rules.
The front door is unlocked, which is very unusual. From the time I was very young, my parents have harped on the dangers of unlocked doors, and I spent many hours as a child learning how to properly lock them. Seriously, hours.
I push the door open and quietly shut it behind me. It almost feels like I’m sixteen again, sneaking into the house after an all-night drinking binge. It’s a little past noon, so there’s probably no reason to be too quiet.
I make my way to the kitchen, ignoring the girl who’s sitting on the couch. I pull the door of the refrigerator open and grab a carton of orange juice. As the door closes, I realize there was someone in the living room. I sit the carton on the counter and leave the kitchen.
I backtrack into the living room to see that it’s Summer, dressed in jeans and an Ohio State jersey. The game was the previous day, so I’m not sure if she’s being a skank or has simply lost track of her days.
“Hey,” I say.
“Your mom got called into work. She said it was an emergency or something.”
“Okay...” I say confused, about why she’s talking about my mom.
“Are you okay?”
“I was up all night, so I’m a little tired.”
She stands up, her feet grinding into the floor. “It’s okay not to be okay.” She steps closer to me. “God knows that I’ve been through the wringer.”
Something’s wrong. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Wha— how can you even ask me that? Of course I’m not okay.”
I rush to her, embracing her tightly. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at college?”
“I’m talking about Dillon.”
I step back. “What about him?”
She pinches her face with her palm. “Oh my God,” she says, and turns around. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?” I grab her and turn her around to face me. Her eyes water and for the first time, I notice how incredibly red they are. “Summer! You’re scaring me.”
Her throat tightens. The color of her skin drains to a pale white. “Dillon died last night.”
I shake my head, laughing gently. “He’s fine. I saw him at the carnival.”
“He was leaving and he was hit by a truck.”
“You’re wrong.” I bite hard into my lip and reach for my phone. I look at a black screen for a good thirty seconds before I remember it was dead all night. I throw it on the couch where it bounces off and rolls onto the ground. I rush into the kitchen and rip the home phone off the counter, and dial Dillon’s number from memory. It begins to ring and some stupid country song begins playing.
Summer steps into the kitchen. “Charlie—”
I push a hand up to her. “Stop talking.”
“What’s up?” Dillon asks through the phone.
“Thank God,” I say, running my hand through my hair and glaring at Summer.
“Hold on, I can’t hear you.”
“Dillon, people think you’re dead.”
“What?”
“People think yo—”
“Psych!” he yells through the phone. “You’ve reached the voicemail of Dillon Parker. Leave a message, but I probably won’t get back to you.”
I hang up and dial again, putting the phone to my ear.
“Charlie...” Summer says and moves closer.
“Stop,” I command.
That damn country song drives me insane. There’s nothing I need more than to hear Dillon’s voice, but it’s becoming clear that that’s not going to happen.
“The caller you are trying to reach has a full inbox. Please hang up and try again at a later time.”
The line goes dead. I hold the phone to my ear, still waiting for him to talk. Staring at nothing, even though I’m not the one who died, I see his entire life flash before my eyes. Everything I ever felt for him, every time we made love, every time we fought... it all comes pouring back to me.
“Charlie, you need to sit down,” I hear Summer say. It sounds like she’s all the way on the other side of the world. And she might as well be there, because in these seconds of paralyzing sobriety, walls heaven-high spike up around me.
“I’m going to be sick.” My voice barely registers a decibel. I feel the weight of Summer push past me, presumably to get a trash can. She’s not quick enough. I hunch over, choking on my throat as I vomit on the floor.
With my back to the wall, I slide down and rest on my heels. I dial Dillon’s number and weakly put the phone to my ear. I’m waiting for a miracle. Waiting for a change of fate that will never come. “The caller you are trying to reach has a full inbox. Please hang up and try again at a later time.”
All I want, all I need is to hear his voice. I guess many others feel the same way, filling his inbox with goodbyes or worried messages. Guilt sweeps over me. What if he tried to call me? How many calls have I received from family and friends? Everyone was hurting while I was on top of the world. I should have been hurting.
Then there’s Blue. I had just told him that I loved him. But Dillon wanted me back. He got in his car and drove away last night because of Blue and me. I know it’s not right to blame myself, and it’s definitely not right blaming Blue. But in these moments, when you find your world burning, it’s the only thing that makes any sense.
It takes a while to register Summer’s arm wrapped around me. A little longer to realize that she’s crying.
“What are we going to do?” I ask behind dry sobs.
“I don’t know, but we should probably get you away from this mess.”
The balcony off my bedroom has been my safe place since I was a child. Beautiful French doors stand between it and me. The sunlight taunts me, streaming through the glass. It warms me, emotionally and physically. I’m cold and I need the sun.
Summer’s somewhere else, in the kitchen maybe. Or the living room? Maybe she went home. I’m not really sure. I hold the phone tightly clutched in my hand. It rings and my mind jumps, while every part of my body besides my arm holds still. I raise the phone to my ear. “Hello
,” I say weakly.
“Hello, Mrs. Scott.”
“She’s not home.” My hand drops to my side. From across the world, I hear the front door slam shut.
“Charlie?” Blue yells.
Up here. The words never come out. I figure he’ll eventually find me. What difference does it make when?
My bedroom door creaks open and that’s when the first tear comes.
“Charlie,” he says softly from behind me.
I blink my eyes. A few more tears. I turn to him.
“Are you okay?”
“Everybody asks that.” My voice is monotone. “But everybody already knows.”
He wants to comfort me—I can sense it. I put my hand up to stop him from moving closer but my hand folds into a fist. My nails dig into the palm of my hand. I can’t tell if my hand is damp from the cold sweat or blood. It doesn’t matter either way. “I just want to lie down,” I say and move toward the bed.
“Do you want me to wait downstairs?”
“No.” I sink onto the bed. “Stay.”
“Are you sure?”
My shoulders rise and fall. He walks to the bed and the bed sinks down beside me. I push him onto his back and crawl up next to him, resting my head on his chest. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his body. I feel a solitary moment of peace before I begin to drift off.
My hair blows in the wind and my legs cut through tall blades of grass in a meadow. The field bleeds into a sea of trees in the distance and another tree sits alone in the middle. I want to run into the forest but something tells me I should walk to the tree instead.
I stand at the base of the tree. It’s short but round and it only takes a moment for me to climb to the top. I lean against the center, my arm grabbing a branch for balance.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dillon says from behind me.
“It’s familiar.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“Come on,” he says. “Jump.”
I turn to look at him but he’s not there. Rather, he’s on the ground holding out his arms as if he’s about to catch me.
“No,” I say. “It’s too far.”
“Come on. What are you afraid of?”
“Falling.”
“Too late for that.” He picks me up off the ground. I cling to his red plaid shirt for a moment. Then he’s running through the field, away from me and laughing, but it’s not his voice. It’s a child’s voice.
I give chase to him, running through the field. His unbuttoned shirt waves like a flag in the wind. The grass gets taller, soon too tall and I lose track of him.
“Dillon?” I wait for a reply and grow anxious. “Dillon!?”
He comes from behind me and knocks me to the ground. Brushing my hair back, his eyes duel with mine. “You were always beautiful.” Then he rolls off me and onto his back. “Just like the sky.”
My attention shoots to the sky.
“That beautiful blue sky.”
“Do you have to go?” I ask him.
His face crinkles and he pauses. “That’s what everybody says.”
“Who’s everybody?”
Paying no attention to me, “Do you see that?”
“See what?”
Dillon points to clouds gathering in the sky. “It’s a carnival ride.”
It takes a beat for me to see the ride floating in the sky. “A Ferris wheel...”
“Your favorite.” He laughs.
He’s walking away from me now. A deep sadness chills through my bones. “Wait!” I yell. “Will I ever see you again?”
He turns back to me, and I’ve never seen him more handsome.
“Someday.”
My eyes jolt open and I’m cold. Still wrapped up in my snoring lover’s arms. I gently lift Blue’s arm off me, trying not to wake him. Rolling over, I give him the softest kiss I’ve ever given on his forehead. I slide across the wrinkled sheets and gently place my feet on the cushioned floor.
Quietly, I make my way to the balcony doors and pull them open. The sun, now setting, blinds me. Strangely, I’m okay with it. I just want to feel something, whether it’s heat, or peace, or pain. And it’s a little bit of all three. Collapsing to the ground is a legitimate option but peace seems more appropriate.
It felt like a dream but it haunts me like a nightmare. Maybe those two are closer than they first appear. The town below and around me is quiet. Kids in the distance cackle and laugh. God, if I could be a kid again, but last night was the point of no return. I would never be a kid again. I would never fall asleep ignorant to the cruel grasp of this world again. There are too many things I know now that I couldn’t have known then.
Kids love but they don’t fall in love. Kids take baby Tylenol, but we’ve graduated to party drugs. Would I even want to be a kid again? Knowing what I know now? No. Being able to forget it all? Sprinkle me with angel dust.
I peer inside to make sure Blue’s still asleep. Even he looks innocent. Then I catch my reflection in the glass on the door. The dying sun reflects across my face and illuminates the two gates to my hollow soul.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m still not ready when Blue comes to pick me up for the funeral. How could I ever be ready? I set my priorities and rush into the bathroom to gargle mouthwash. The last thing I want is for everybody to know I’ve been drinking. My hands clench the edge of the sink as I peer into the mirror.
Who the hell are you?
I’m sure my reflection is asking the same thing. At least we’re both on the same page as we spit out recycled Listerine.
I pull my top off and throw it on my bed, atop numerous other outfits that weren’t making the cut. I need to look how he’d want me to look. I eye a plaid shirt hanging on my bathroom door. Everybody says you can’t wear plaid to a funeral. Yeah, well, nobody’s supposed to die when they’re eighteen. Rules are fucking broken. I think my infraction is more forgivable than the cruel hand of death.
Blue doesn’t knock. He just walks in. He looks gorgeous dressed up and here I am standing in a bra and skirt unable to pick a fucking shirt. Maybe that’s the problem. I rush to my closet and grab the nearest dress. It’s gray, not black, but I’m pretty fed up with the rules. I press it against my body and turn to Blue.
“How does it look?”
“It looks good.”
“Good?” That dress gets thrown on the bed.
He steps close to me. “It doesn’t matter what you wear.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you sure you wanna go?”
I throw my hands up. “No. I don’t want to go. I shouldn’t have to. This whole thing is stupid. It’s not fair and it’s stupid. He’s dead and he can’t come back. I want to curl up in bed with a bottle of whiskey but I can’t do that. I’m not allowed. I have to mourn, get over it, and move on because that’s how it works. But that’s not how the world works. He was too young to die. I’m too young to lose him and it hurts. It fucking hurts.”
Blue guides me to the bed and sits me down. I feel the bed push down beside me as he joins me, embracing me. His rough lips kiss the side of my head. “I love you, baby.”
I push him to his back and climb on top of him. With force, I go in for a kiss, separating his lips with my tongue. My hands grab his shirt and push it over his abs as I go down south. I unbuckle his belt and his rough hands grab me. “What are you doing?”
I glance at him and hold my gaze as I pull the belt apart and pull his slacks down just enough so his cock springs free.
He runs his hands over his eyes, through his hair and takes a drawn-out breath. He’s apprehensive and I need something to cling to, so I lift my legs up and straddle him. Without care or condom, I lower myself onto him. He sinks away from me, a pained look on his face. This isn’t about making love. It’s about me needing something and I’m taking it from him.
I maneuver him, bobbing up and down. My han
ds dig through his shirt, into his chest. His hands find my hips, his knees rise, and he starts driving into me, filling me with the only thing that can make me feel alive.
Without pulling out, he flips me over onto my back. The belt on his slacks clatters against the bed as he fucks me deep into the mattress. There’s an animal inside of him with the instinct of a lion. He knows this is exactly what I want even as a tinge of guilt creeps over his face.
His palms clench the sheets, his arms pulling tense as he comes inside me.
And the release was only temporary. I eye the plaid shirt hanging from my closet door.
Believing in a higher power is often difficult. On days like this, believing in God is especially a chore. Does God cry? My mother used to tell me when I was young that raindrops were the tears of God. If that’s true, he doesn’t care about Dillon.
My faith was shaken a long time ago but I’m still not ready to commit to a life as a nonbeliever, even if the last thing I want to hear today is that God has a plan. I want nothing to do with His plan. I want Dillon back.
A part of me wishes my mom could be here today, instead of away on a business trip. The other part of me is relieved that she can’t be here. I’ve always been strong—some would argue I’ve been too strong. Showing weakness isn’t a flaw, but there are some people I couldn’t stand to see me break.
Our car pulls up to the church and there is already a small crowd gathering. An army of plaid clashes with a sea of suits. Was I the only one worried it would be inappropriate? It doesn’t matter, and for the first time since we left the house, I feel a hint of relief.
Blue doesn’t pull the Jeep around back with the rest of the cars. Instead, we park on the opposite side of the street. There are only a few reasons a girl would go running out of a church. A bride running from her groom... and me, running anywhere else. It’s not like I plan to have a nervous breakdown in between the eulogy and the prayer, but it’s a definite possibility. If I need to leave, we can get out without a fuss, and if we stay, we can pull behind the procession of sedans and pick-up trucks.