Page 35 of Obedience

Priya’s face broke into a slow grin as Dylan laughed.

‘Besides, it’s probably for the best. I need to write my frigging dissertation. Mum keeps me busy. I’ve got too much on as it is.’

‘Too much on to fall in love?’ Priya asked softly.

The word love jarred Dylan. She pulled her chin to her chest and frowned. ‘Steady on, Pri, bloody hell.’

‘Dylan St John. I have sat here two and a half hours after the end of my shift and listened to you tell me that you’re falling in love, but now you’re not prepared to fight for it. I’m just glad your mum can’t hear us.’

‘Ouch!’ Dylan splayed her hand over her heart, as if covering a haemorrhaging chest wound. ‘That’s a bit unfair, Pri.’

‘What’s unfair, Dylan…’ She picked up her coaster and playfully threw it across the table. Dylan chuckled, catching it with both hands as it rolled towards her, before sliding it back towards Priya, who placed her cup on it and sighed. ‘It’s unfair that you are choosing to let her go.’

‘It’s not really my choice, though… She doesn’t bloody want me! I’m used goods. Scrap heap material.’

‘You are neither of those things so stop!’ Priya chided, forcing her back into the chair. ‘You will make me angry with talk like that. You are one of the kindest, most gentle human beings I have ever met and you deserve some happiness. Some real happiness. Just for you. You have a choice here, Dylan and you are choosing not to call her.’ She stood, leaning over the table to press her hand over Dylan’s and squeezed gently. ‘I’m going home now, hen. When I get back, you’d better have rethought your decision.’

Chapter eleven

Flapped

‘You’re on the right track, Dylan, but you need to think more critically.’ Dr Holland peered over her rimless glasses from across the mahogany desk before taking them off and allowing them to hang on her chest from their chain of plastic pearls. Dylan nodded politely. ‘This is Masters level writing. While I appreciate the challenge, you must make the leap to post-grad. You have to question absolutely everything and think—’

‘Critically. Yeah, you said,’ Dylan interrupted with a half-smile and a slow nod, her tone both soft and polite but with a subtle edge of exasperation.

Dr Holland was Dylan’s new mentor, and so far, she hadn’t been particularly helpful. Or maybe that was unfair. Maybe the woman’s only fault was that she wasn't Greta, but either way her dissertation remained unwritten.

After her meeting, she headed to the library to return some books, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of the woman using one of the printers. Dylan’s heart rammed into her rib cage over and over as it attempted a bid for freedom via the muscle and bone. Greta hadn’t seen her, giving Dylan time to feast her starved eyes on her.

Dylan allowed her eyes to rove over her glossy dark waves and the dark blue V-neck dress, flaring into a skirt that sat at the level of her calves. The thin brown belt cinching her waist held her gaze. She wanted so desperately to say hello, to ask how she was—but once again, it wasn’t allowed. A quiet, dull-ache pulled at her as she watched Greta collect her printing, holding back her free-flowing hair behind her ear as she dipped her head. Suddenly feeling bold, and with nothing to lose, she walked over, announcing herself by clearing her throat.

‘Hi, Doctor Vincent,’ she said in a voice befitting a library.

‘Dylan!’ Greta exclaimed, in a voice far too loud for a library. She lowered her volume, scanned the room, and tried again. ‘What are you doing here?’

Dylan rolled out her hand that was holding two textbooks pressing into her forearm. ‘It’s my library. Well, it’s not mine… It doesn’t belong to me. Like, I-I didn’t buy it—I don’t own it,’ she explained, as if she needed to. She stepped toward Greta and continued to speak before Greta had a chance to. ‘You look amazing.’

‘Thank you,’ Greta replied without missing a beat. ‘It was nice to see you. I have to go.’

Greta moved to walk past Dylan, who was too fast for her, gently grabbing her wrist, stopping Greta in her tracks. Without drawing attention to herself, Dylan closed the distance between them even more. She glanced around the quiet corner of the library; it was empty.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Greta,’ Dylan confessed barely above a whisper, her fingers lightly dropping onto Greta’s, interlacing them gently.

As Greta’s eyes drifted shut and she drew in a long breath, Dylan felt the weight of the silent admission. Had Greta missed her just as deeply? Had she thought about her non-stop? Dreamed about her? Why couldn’t she admit the same stubborn longing was undoing her too? Dylan felt a sudden shift and the potential answer to her questions as Greta’s fingers gently moved around hers, breathing deeply through her nose, as if their closeness and the scent of them together was unpicking the new stitching of Greta’s resolve.

‘Dylan,’ Greta started, her tone softer than the one Dylan was expecting. She had thought Greta would immediately admonish her for daring to approach her. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘I miss you, Greta,’ Dylan repeated emphatically. She snagged Greta’s gaze, pleading with her eyes.

‘Move on,’ Greta said coldly, as she tried to retract her hand and walk away.

Greta’s head fell forward as Dylan tightened the grip on her fingers.

‘I can’t,’ Dylan confessed. ‘I’ve tried. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s killing me.’ Greta didn’t respond, seemingly using every fibre of her being to simply breathe. ‘Have you moved on?’

Raising her chin, Greta met Dylan’s gaze. She inhaled through flared nostrils, giving her all to an apparent air of resoluteness. ‘Yes,’ she replied bluntly.

‘A new escort?’ Dylan said, dipping her voice on the word.