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As soon as the door closed and the driver took off towards our apar
tment, Clara finally broke the silence.
“Did I see you talking to Dylan before we left?” she asked.
“Yep, that was him,” I confirmed, still looking straight ahead but not focusing on anything in particular.
“How did that go?” she said as she shifted in her seat, angling to face me.
“Awkward. Humiliating. What was I thinking, Clara? I saw this whole thing going differently in my mind.” I shook my head in disbelief, now looking back at her, and wondered how many soap opera stories cab drivers got to witness first-hand on a daily basis like the one happening now.
“What did he say?” Clara asked, defensively.
“He told me to watch out for Becker, basically. That he knows Becker, and that he doesn’t want to see me get hurt,” I explained.
“That’s it?” Clara asked.
“That’s it. After that, Becker came up and put his arms around me like he was trying to make a point or something. At that point it was just so awkward that I wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.”
“But didn’t you want Dylan to see you moving on? Wasn’t that the point?” Clara made a valid argument.
“You’re right. That was the point. I guess it just didn’t feel as fulfilling and relieving as I’d hoped it would,” I admitted. “Instead, it felt like I was trying too hard to prove a lie.”
Clara just nodded her head and then moved closer to hug me from the side. She knew when to just be quiet and leave me to my thoughts, and I had to admit, I loved that about her.
* * *
That night, after taking a long, hot shower, I lay in my bed and wondered how my life had gotten so complicated; albeit, I had seen it creeping up on me slowly until it had suddenly hit me like a freight train.
What was I really thinking, getting myself in over my head like that?
I finally let myself take in everything and actually let myself feel it for once, there in the dark, quiet solitude of my room. Everything that had transpired with Dylan over the past week had even overshadowed the near-rape experience with Cason.
It had taken hold of me, consumed me, as much as I tried not to let it. Even as much as I tried to deny it, it had still managed to catch up to me, and now I finally understood what Anna in Fifty Shades had meant, alluding to herself as Icarus flying too close to the sun.
I decided to get up and pour myself a glass of wine, just to help myself relax enough to be able to fall asleep, since my brain didn’t seem to want to shut off tonight. I sounded like some kind of alcoholic, I thought to myself, needing a drink to be able to fall asleep, to take the edge off. Oh well, it was one night, one glass of wine. I would afford myself this tonight.
I got back into my bed with my glass of wine in hand, and for the first time in a long time, I got out my journal and began writing, which always helped me put things into perspective.
At about midnight, my phone sounded the soft ringing to indicate an incoming text.
Dylan: You awake?
Me: I am.
Dylan: Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to come across as a jerk.
Me: Don’t think that way. You weren’t a jerk.
Dylan: When is my last session?
Me: You’re still interested?
Dylan: Yes
Me: I guess we can try tomorrow night if you aren’t busy.
Dylan: Tomorrow night it is. Meet me at the Book Shelf at 7?
