Page 24 of Obedience

‘Can I see you up? I won’t come in. I just want to make sure you’re okay.’ Greta scanned her face. Dylan’s long lashes fluttered under the weight of the lingering look, as though Greta was allowing herself to trace every inch of her young complexion illuminated by the evening light. ‘Please, Greta. I promise. Just let me get you to your door.’

‘Sorry, girls, I’m going to have to rush you,’ the driver said sharply.

‘Girls? Really?!’ Dylan started to bite back but allowed a beat to pass before huffing out some air through a half smile. ‘He’s kicking us out, Greta. You sort of have no choice.’

Dylan got out, rounding the car quickly to open Greta’s door just as it began to swing wide. She held out her hand. Greta hesitated, looking so overcome and so weak, before she relented and took it. Dylan tossed both their bags over her shoulder and, to her shock and delight, felt Greta squeeze her hand as they walked into the building. Biting her lip, Dylan managed to refrain from gushing over the building’s opulence or the no-doubt prohibitively expensive price tag, as Greta smiled at the concierge.

‘Hello, Michael,’ Greta said softly.

The white-haired old man nodded as they approached the lift. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor Vincent. Hello, Miss.’

Greta turned to Dylan who was smiling at Michael. ‘I’m okay now. You should go,’ she said, her voice thready.

‘Let me just take you up. I absolutely will not ask to come in, I promise.’

Greta nodded. They both entered the lift, and Greta thumbed the button for the top floor. Dylan bit back a comment about penthouse territory, her need to fill awkward situations with jokes almost winning. As they began to move, the silence stretched between them, becoming almost deafening. Dylan desperately wanted to fill it, but the words—words that weren’t deflective puns or pointless—wouldn't come.

‘Dylan, I’m so sorry about—’

‘Don’t,’ Dylan shook her head. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

The lift stopped with a ping and the doors slid open.

‘This is me,’ Greta said softly, stepping out onto the corridor after taking her bag from Dylan.

‘Can I...’ Dylan started, but the door began to close. She threw her hand out to catch it. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘No, I’m fine. Thank you.’

The words Dylan wanted to say were lost amongst the screams in her own head. What she wanted to do was drag Greta into her arms, but she refused to put any more pressure on her by invading her space. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get through the invisible wall Greta had thrown up since leaving the bookshop.

The doors attempted to close again.

‘For fuck’s—’ Dylan mumbled.

‘You’d better go. Michael will arrange a taxi for you.’

‘I’ll get an Uber, it’s fine.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Greta nodded. Dylan desperately pleaded with every part of her face. ‘Goodbye then,’ Greta said, turning to walk away.

‘Greta, wait!’ The lift door pushed into Dylan’s hand again. ‘Will you fuck off!’ she snapped, stepping forward to wedge a foot against the base of the door. Greta smiled weakly. Dylan’s chest warmed at the sight; she’d been desperate to see her smile, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Can I call you? Text you? Email you?’ Dylan canted her head, a half smile pushing into one cheek. ‘Perhaps I could page you? Carrier pigeon? Telegram maybe? I’ve got some semaphore flags and a Morse Code machine somewhere.’ She smiled as she patted down her pockets and chest.

A quiet chuckle left Greta’s throat. Dylan's warmth and charm had exactly the desired effect, though she knew it wasn't enough.

‘I don’t think so, Dylan. Margot and Remi are done. Therefore, we are done.’

‘But how can you—’ Dropping her head, Dylan forced out a slow breath as the door banged against the side of her foot. ‘Is it because of my work?’ A beat. ‘My Scortare work?’

When she looked up again, her gaze didn’t waver. She stared, steady and unflinching, determined to catch every flicker of Greta’s reaction.

‘There is a list as long as—’

‘Fuck the list.’ Another beat. ‘Please, Gret—’

‘Go home, Dylan.’

The insistent door banged against her shoe again. Stepping back, Dylan reluctantly removed her foot, allowing the doors to slide shut. She kept her eyes trained on Greta’s face until the grey steel occluded her view.