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The connection severed the moment I discovered he’d raped someone.
Every time I see or hear the word, I’m dragged back to the moment in the cafe where Lily told me. Part of me can’t reconcile the man I fell in love with to a man who assaults women. Is this a gut feeling or wishful thinking? I’m not sure.
His half-hearted denial on the phone the day I found out didn’t make sense. The stilted conversation we had a few days later was weird. He denied the rape but said he understood why I didn’t want to see him again. And that was the last we spoke. I wanted to see him, but I knew if I did, he’d drag me into his Dylan orbit and I’d be confused by lies. The ease with which he backed off, when after Broadbeach he pursued me so hard, implies guilt as far as I was concerned.
But on the cusp of asking Dylan to see me again, to explain, he left for the States and I never heard any more from him.
He forgot about me, as I always said he would.
I never saw Lily again, or any of the rest of the Blue Phoenix entourage. Swept under the carpet, and hidden from the public eye, there wasn’t anything to cover up. Dylan and I hadn’t gone public so everything tied up nicely and life went on.
But through the anger toward Dylan is concern, which confuses the hell out of me. I remember the Dylan from the sea who desperately struggled to get away from the life that has a firm grip on him now. The pictures of him in the media show the trapped Dylan I met in Broadbeach, but now magnified. He looks ill. Conflicted over caring about a rapist, I push the Dylan I thought belonged to me out of my mind. What’s the use of obsessing about who and what never really was?
“So for Christmas, what are you doing?” asks Tara when she returns from ordering our desserts.
I drag my gaze from Dylan to her. “I’m not sure; I might go to Spain to visit Mum.”
I plan to spend Christmas alone, and don’t want a pity party where Tara feels the need to drag me to her family Christmas. She thinks I can’t possibly want to be alone at Christmas and drops hints about me joining her every time we meet. Okay, I don’twantto be alone, but that’s beside the point.
“You booked tickets yet? Christmas is only a couple of weeks away.”
“I might drive,” I lie.
Tara eyes me doubtfully. “Well, you’re welcome to join me and Tom if you like?”
“I’m okay, Tara, but thanks for asking.”
Tara wrinkles her nose and the concerned look reappears. I shift my gaze to my drink.
“I’m worried about you on your own at Christmas,” she says quietly.
“I said I was going to Spain.”
“You said maybe, and I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not worried about Christmas, Tara. At least I don’t have to spend another Christmas with Grant’s parents and extended family listening to them fighting and getting drunk. I can do my own thing.”
“Alone?”
“Alone. So stop making me feel like there’s something wrong with that.”
She rubs her forehead. “I worry about you; you don’t seem to be… right, still.”
I reach across the table and close my hand over hers. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Well, we leave on the 13th; if you change your mind, let me know.”
“Thank you.”
I look back to the plasma screen behind, hoping Blue Phoenix is still up there. They’ve gone.
