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33
Sky
Downingseveral drinks in quick succession at the party has disarmed me, and I allow Dylan to take me by the hand and lead me away from the house. Dylan dragging me across a country estate after the kiss he gave me is euphoric, and his words in the kitchen intoxicated me as much as the alcohol. The buried Sky who wants Dylan has pushed her way through, and I doubt I’ll she’ll ever leave again now. The fight is over and the Sky whose heart and soul belongs to Dylan won.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Somewhere no one else is allowed but me."
The summer breeze is warm as we cross the lawn, the moon casting a blue light across the perfect summer’s evening. I inhale the scent of jasmine and woody earth, enjoying the natural freshness after the artificial scents in the house.
"Come on," Dylan tugs my hand and we leave the lawn for a path running into the trees.
"Where?"
Dylan halts. A square, brick building stands before us. Disconnected from the main part of the house, the place was once a barn or stables because the building isn’t large enough to be a cottage. "Here."
Pulling a key from his back pocket, Dylan unlocks the heavy wooden door and pushes it open. I hesitate outside as he walks in and flicks a switch. When I adjust my eyes to the light, I step inside a teenage rock star wannabe’s basement.
A beaten up sofa rests against one side of the room; a rough patchwork of mismatching green and brown cushions. Posters paper the walls like in a teen bedroom, although most teens wouldn't have their own band up there. Dark veneer shelving lines one wall and holds a bizarre assortment of items—hats, empty drinks cans, and the kind of souvenirs you buy in tacky tourist shops. I smile as the weird shell creature from Sandchurch catches my eye. The place is an eclectic time capsule of the last seven years of Dylan's life.
A laptop is connected to the mixing desk that takes up half the room, and an acoustic guitar rests on the carpet-tiled floor. Pages, ripped from an A4 pad, are strewn around, with words scrawled and crossed out covering the paper.
This place is more Dylan than the pile of overpriced bricks we walked away from.
"Your cave?" I ask.
"Kind of."
He removes his jacket, throwing it over a chair, and then pushes stray papers from the sofa and sits, holding the two glasses out. I take them while he pops the cork on the champagne and fills the glasses. Bubbles spill over the edge and I shake them from my hand.
"So I'm honoured you allow me in here?" I ask as I sit.
"Nobody comes in here, seriously."
"Thank you, then."
With his spare hand, Dylan tucks my hair behind my ear and I shiver at his touch. "You're somebody to me, and I can share everything with you."
Desperate to shift the conversation, I search the room. "Oh, look. A lava lamp." I hand him his glass and turn on the red and blue lamp. The hypnotic liquid movement always fascinated me.
"Sky?"
I rub my not entirely sober head. "Can we not get all talky?"
Dylan's mouth tips in amusement. "Talky?"
"Rebound girl here." I indicate myself with the wine glass.
"I don't think so."
"I spilt from my boyfriend two days before we met. How is that not rebound?"
Dylan drinks, the curious expression in his eyes indicating he's considering his answer. "Because you stopped loving the guy months before you split."
His words slap me, and I'm as shocked as if he actually had. "How could you know?"
"Sorry, presumptuous of me." He takes my glass and shifts closer.
