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43
Sky
The morning lightshines through the bedroom curtains. The air in the room is cold, but cocooned with Dylan in bed the temperature doesn’t matter. He’s asleep, arm wrapped tightly around my waist as always. I shift to watch him and the softness of his features more pronounced in the peacefulness of sleep. A few months without a haircut, create curls touching his forehead and ears. I wind my fingers around one and soak in the tranquility of our seaside world.
Dylan doesn’t stir. I shift, moulding myself against the hard muscles of his chest and burying my face into his neck. The after-sex muskiness fills the bed and I can smell myself on him. Dylan wraps me closer, murmuring something and I can’t tell if he’s fully awake. I debate whether to wake him or not, and then my stomach rumbles.
“Is that a hint?” he asks sleepily.
“Is what a hint?” I’m unaware I’m touching him anywhere that could hint at anything.
“Now I’ve performed my duties in the bedroom, you want me to get back to the kitchen and make you something to eat?” He pokes a finger into my stomach. “You’re hungry.”
I pull a face at him and he pushes the tip of my nose with a finger. “I know what you want,” he says, sitting. “See you downstairs.”
* * *
One mean bacon sandwich later—unfortunately,not cooked by a semi-naked Dylan, which I excuse as the house is too cool, I stack the breakfast plates in the sink and gaze out at the grey sky. Dylan brings over the empty cups and leans on the edge of the sink next to me. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“We haven’t spoken about the future. I hoped we could make some plans while we’re down here,” he says.
“My future is a bit hazy at the moment, Dylan,” I say as I run water into the sink.
“Will you take time out to travel with me? I’ve travelled all over the world but never visited, if that makes sense. I’d like to share that experience with you.”
I consider how I haven’t travelled outside Europe. “I’d like to travel…”
“Then we can go together? I can organise everything, and you don’t need to worry about money.” He catches my warning look. “Sorry, but this time I’m paying. If you refuse, then your obstinacy will piss me off. I don’t want to sit in your flat in Bristol waiting for you to save up money from a series of crappy jobs.”
I blink at the strength of his tone. Slowly, I’ve edged away from my discomfort at spending his money. After all, we’re a couple now and I’d be doing somethingwithDylan, not asking him for something. The excitement over seeing parts of the world I could only dream of, and in the luxury Dylan could afford, bubbles excitement inside.
“Okay,” I say.
“You’ll come with me?”
“Once Tara’s better, yes.”
“Yes!” Dylan grabs my cheeks and kisses me hard on the mouth. “This is going to be awesome…”
His childish excitement is infectious, and I laugh as I wash the plates. “And then afterwards? Are you going to stay in the States or England?”
“Wherever you are,” he says as if I’m asking the stupidest question in the world. “But not that flat, Sky. You have to leave.”
“I have to leave Bristol altogether,” I say, focusing on scrubbing a mug.
“That’s a big deal for you.”
“Leaving Blue Phoenix for a year is a big deal for you. Maybe we can see how things go on Dylan and Sky’s World Tour, and then make some decisions?”
As Dylan listens, his eyes shine with the happiness he deserves, and this time, we reflect the good in each other’s lives. Does it matter this time if we want to escape? We’re not running; we’re enjoying our life and taking control of what we can. I’m not fighting against the strange fate that brought me to Dylan anymore—what point is there? If he’s happy and I am too, what does the rest of the world’s opinion matter?
Dylan insists we wrap up in our warmest clothes and go for a walk. I pull a disgusted face but am unable to complain about the weather because the rain has stopped.
Dressing and considering the outside temperature, I toy with the idea of persuading Dylan to stay in the house using all the ways I know he likes. When I attempt to drag him back upstairs, Dylan informs me that even if I strip naked in front of him, we are still going. Unsure whether this means he’s had enough sex for now, and highly doubting he has from what I know of Dylan, I decide he has a different agenda.
Beach walks in June are okay. Beach walks in March, not so much. Despite being completely wrapped up, the exposed skin on my face smarts from the wind. Dylan strides across the beach, weaving in and out of the waves as he inspects the sand for shells. I stop and tuck my gloved hands beneath my arms.
“Dylan, how long are we doing this for? Much as I love the beach, I hate this weather.”
