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Sky shakes her head slightly and she looks at the floor. In a way, I’m glad, because if I see tears in her eyes it’ll kill me. “Just give me your explanation, Dylan. If telling me helps you move on, that’s a good thing for you.”
Move on? The gnawing pain creeps into my chest again.
Okay.
“Do you think I did what Lily says?” I ask.
“Did you?” she shoots back.
Four months. Four months for us to have a frank conversation about something, I couldn’t explain because the truth seemed worse.
Sky’s eyes remain fixed on the threadbare brown carpet and the sound of a car passes outside. The words. They have to come; I have to vocalise and get this shit out of my head.
“I had sex with Lily, yes. But it wasn’t rape. What sort of man do you think I am? I’m not sure how you could think that of me?”
Sky’s head snaps back and teary eyes meet mine. “I knew you three weeks, Dylan. So, I hardly knew you. I imagine date rape is a risk in your… industry.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and rub my hands through my hair, through curls that weren’t there last time I saw Sky.
Telling Sky the story doesn’t matter, whatever she thinks will make no difference; I lost her months ago.
* * *
Sky
Dylan’s appearanceshatters one layer of defences. His pale face accentuates the dark circles beneath his ocean blue eyes, and there’s no Dylan spark or colour around him—even his tattoos are hidden beneath his leather jacket and shirt. In the summer, I wanted to help him. Now I fight the desire to wrap my arms around his tall figure and to be held against the lines of the muscles still apparent under his clothes. I can clearly see why Myf worries about him.
A muscle twitches in his gaunter cheek as I say the word rape, and I’m annoyed with Dylan’s vulnerability drawing me to him.
“What happened wasn’t date rape,” he says holding my gaze.
Dylan looks to my hands and when I realise they’re trembling I sit on them. “What happened then?”
He deflects the question in his Dylan way. “One of the reasons I didn’t try to explain in July is because I feel as if I am responsible, and deserve the blame. I couldn’t bear for you to look at me with the same disgust I have for myself. I wanted to keep the memory of the Sky who looked at me as if I meant something.”
“Why tell me now?”
“Because I thought walking away would make things easier. But for the first time in my life, leaving didn’t help. Walking away from you isn’t an option, Sky. Instead of hiding, I need to tell you the truth. If there’s the smallest chance you’ll listen and forgive me, then the risk is worth trying.”
With each word, the anxiety over what he’s about to tell me increases. I’ve been through a million scenarios in my head the last few months, and the one I settled on was Dylan not accepting ‘no’ from a groupie.
“Tell me the story, Dylan.”
Dylan flicks his fingers against his teeth and inhales, closing his eyes. “I’ll tell you. Believe what you want, but this is the truth. And I don’t think I’ll come out of the story a much better person than if I had assaulted Lily.”
“I doubt that,” I say coldly.
Dylan gulps half of his wine and sets the glass carefully on the table. “Three years ago Blue Phoenix made it big and we thought we were fucking gods. We came back from Europe after we’d toured the world non-stop for a year and lived the rock lifestyle to its fullest. Still high on life, alcohol, and drugs, we retreated to my place in Berkshire.
“For a few days, a stream of girls came in and out of the house and the craziness continued. Eventually, Bryn and Liam left. I wanted to chill out; Jem wanted to keep going. When I wouldn’t play his game, Jem looked for other opportunities. The village near the house is pretty quiet; most people ignore or put up with us, and we’d occasionally go into the village. When I backed off drinking for a couple of days, Jem started visiting the local pub.” Dylan laughs. “The villagers hated the scrutiny our living nearby brought to their village, and they had no time for the media either. So, only the people who frequented the pub knew about their famous customers, no one was tipped off.
“Jem befriended a group of girls—or rather they came across him and fell for his star status which of course he lapped up. For a few nights, he’d head to the pub and talk to them. I didn’t understand why he was risking publicity. Jem was bored of groupies, said everything was too easy with them and had a bright idea about inviting some local girls over. One night, he returned home high and told me he was throwing a party.
“About half a dozen of them showed up early evening. A couple of them heavily made up in revealing clothes, hoping to catch themselves a rock star. They knew our reputation and I doubt any of their parents knew they were there. One girl stood out, partly because she looked uncomfortable and as though she didn’t want to be there, and because she was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt. The fact the T-shirt had a different band name on it amused me, as if she was telling us to back off. This was Lily.
“Jem wanted Lily; I discovered later that she was the reason for the party. Lily also attracted me because she was the opposite of any girl I’d met recently.
“Sounds familiar,” I mumble.
