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3
Dylan
I groanas I open the door to the flat. Tinsel hangs from every available place, covering the walls. A huge-ass Christmas tree sits in front of the panoramic window, blocking the view of the Mayfair skyline. I fucking hate Christmas; shit always happens in my life — Dad leaving, Mum’s death.
The aromatic smell of curry fills the air. Myf springs out from the kitchen and wraps her tiny figure around me.
“Dylan! Welcome home! I’m cooking and Miles is going to be late home—want something?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She touches my face. “You look like shit, Dylan.”
I stare back into her chocolate brown eyes. She never ages. She’s never cut her long dark brown hair, and still wears it in the same style as at school. Or maybe because my lifestyle aged me so much, she looks younger to me. “Thanks, Myfanwy. Nice of you to say.”
She scowls at me using her full name. “Do you want towearyour dinner?”
I’m too tired for banter, and her smart mouth reminds me of Sky. Sky, who hasn’t left my head or heart in four months and probably never will. Landing back on English soil magnified my awareness of the part missing from my soul, and edged me toward contacting her again.
“I’m going to shower,” I say and her face pulls into concern. I haul my bag into the bedroom before she can say anything else.
Half an hour later, freshly showered in clean jeans and shirt but not feeling any less zombie-like, I head barefoot into my flat. The smell of spices whets an appetite I didn’t think I still had. There are two plates on the table and a bottle of water. I pass Myf in the kitchen and pull a bottle of red wine from the rack in the corner. Then I remember Sky likes red wine and put the bottle back. I wander into the dining area and pull a bottle of whisky out of the huge black cabinet, before tipping myself a generous glass.
“I’ll get my own drink, should I?” Myf asks, placing the bowls on the long, glass table that fills the majority of the room.
“Oh. Sorry.” I look around for a second glass.
“You’re always a self-centred bastard when you come back from touring.”
Smirking at her admonishment, it strikes me again how similar Myf and Sky are in personality. Was that the attraction when I first met Sky? That she reminded me of my best friend from my teen years? I never wanted anything more than friendship with Myf—despite a brief teen hook-up, we’ve stayed firm friends. She’s kept me in my place over the years, but in a different way to Steve. She kept in my mind where I came from by being the girl from that past.
We eat and Myf chats about her latest role; she’s singing in a West End show and has the opportunity to head to Broadway next month. Her relationship with Miles appears serious, which is great. I’ve unwittingly scared off a few of her past guys that I haven’t liked, but I approve of him. Myf doesn’t agree with me vetting her prospective partners and I often get a mouthful from her if I interfere.
“You never told me what happened?” she asks cautiously after we finish the meal.
“When?” Like I don’t know what she means.
“I never had a chance to meet Sky; you guys imploded before I did, and then you ran off to America.”
I turn my head toward the darkened skyline, the orange glow of the city illuminating buildings like a panoramic painting. “I had to go. Tour.”
Myf pushes a strand of her long, dark hair from her face. “You never explained what was happening. I only saw the two of you at the party that night Sky was there, and you were cut up then. What happened?”
Am I ready to open the gate I’ve trapped all the emotion behind? I take Myf’s plate and stack it on mine.
“It’s over with, Myf.”
“I hope you’re not going to disappear again? You scared the hell out of us.”
“I don’t know. I’m living day to day.” She’s pushing at the gate like I knew she would. I’ve skirted around answers to the questions in her demanding emails, but there’s no hiding anything from Myf now we’re face to face.
As I carry the plates to the kitchen, Myf follows me. “Are you on medication?”
I freeze. “What?”
“You left some in the bathroom.”
“What the fuck were you doing in my bathroom? There’re two at the other end of the apartment where you’re staying!”
