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The pull to Sky is stronger than the memories that keep me away.
* * *
Sky
My interestin a relationship with Ryan falls away the moment Dylan’s name re-enters my life. I can’t decide whether to let Ryan down gently or break things off all together. In the end, I decide to take the coward’s way out; we’re apart over Christmas so I’ll ensure things stay that way. If I’m lucky, he might hook up with someone when he’s in his hometown.
Delusional Sky, envisaging Dylan in her life again. A couple of days have passed since I saw Myf and no contact from Dylan. I didn’t factor that he might not want to see me either, forgetting Myf chose to come to me and he didn’t ask her to. Maybe he’s annoyed she did. The sleepless nights and reawakening hope that the rape never happened could be a waste of time and energy. Myf could’ve dredged my emotions back to the surface for nothing.
I check my emails for the tenth time in an hour. No more messages from Myf. I gave permission for her to give Dylan my email and mobile number in case he lost them. The fear he might show up unannounced as he once did follows too, but I don’t think that’s likely.
This time the inbox contains what I’ve waited for.
An email from Dylan.
Myf told me she spoke to you. Can we meet to talk? D
The words float across my vision as I attempt to read between the one line. He signed D — what does that mean? And didn't address me. Is the tone distant? Pissed off?
Several attempts at writing an answer, and an hour of typing and deleting later, I come up with a response.
I did speak to her. If you want to talk, I will. Sky
I stare at my inbox, but nothing happens apart from a sick and giddy sensation in my stomach. When there's no immediate reply, I make lunch instead of obsessing and return to a new Dylan message.
But do you want to see me? Dylan
My heart thumps unsure of the answer. Part of me screams yes, but she's hidden down in the Broadbeach memories. Over the past couple of days, I've debated where I'd meet him if we both agreed. Due to his dislike of the general public, our options would be limited.
This emailing is stupid and increases the possibility of miscommunication.
Call me instead so we can arrange something. Do you still have my number? Sky
I wait.
Of course I do, Sky. Dylan
Then use it, I mutter at the laptop and slam the lid shut. Setting my phone on the kitchen counter, I stare at it and wait. After ten minutes, there’s no call, so I give up and distract myself by cleaning the kitchen. Jeez, I must be mentally disturbed to attempt such a crazy act.
When the phone rings, I drop the spray bottle of cleaner into the sink in surprise. The number is unknown.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sky.”
The familiar yet unfamiliar sound of Dylan’s voice triggers tears I’ve held at bay for weeks, which takes me by complete surprise. Crap, what will I be like if I do see him? I shake as if I’m a teenage girl talking to her first boyfriend, and attempt to speak without letting Dylan know I’m crying.
“Sky?”
