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37
Sky
Dylan’s hospitalis more like a hotel, completely different to Tara’s NHS surroundings. The huge room has thick brown carpet, and coordinating curtains covering a window overlooking a garden where patients sit on wooden benches.
When I arrive, Dylan is lying across a cushioned blue sofa, facing away from the door with his feet on the sofa arm, watching the huge TV in the corner. I hover in the doorway where relief and love mingle with my exhaustion. Taking a breath, I step into the room and walk around to see him properly.
Dylan pulls himself up to sit as he turns his pale face toward mine. The dark smudges beneath his eyes are more pronounced than when I left and he’s pale, right down to his full lips. Dylan looks at me warily through tired eyes.
“What the hell happened?” I ask hoarsely. Of all the things I’d planned on saying when I first saw him, this wasn’t one of them.
He blinks in surprise. “The overdose was an accident. I had a drink and didn’t think about what I’d taken earlier that night.”
“You could’ve died! Mixing prescription drugs and alcohol, you idiot!” I half-yell and hug my arms around myself, frustrated by my reaction.
“Sky.” Dylan pulls himself to his feet. “I’m okay; come here.”
He attempts to wrap his arms around me and I push him in the chest. “ You said you’d stopped! You could’ve died!” I repeat.
Dylan grabs my arms and I fight against him, pulling away to continue pushing into his chest. He fights my half-hearted assault as I fight the tears. There’s nothing wrong with his strength as he catches my arms and grips them tight. I give up and sink into him, letting go of the tears I’ve held in.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about what I was doing—had no idea this would happen. I wanted to forget everything.” He strokes my hair, rubbing his cheek against the top of my head. “Fuck, I needed you. I didn’t realise how much.”
Pulling away, I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Don’t blame me, please.”
“I’m not. I’m saying I lost some of my strength to cope without you. I love you.”
Dylan cups my face with a cool hand and I tremble with the relief we’re touching, existing, and are pulled back together.
“I love you, Dylan. You scared me. I thought I’d lost you; that they were lying about what happened and you were really sick and–” Dylan interrupts my pouring emotions by placing his lips softly on mine to hush me.
A week without Dylan’s touch and I’m ready to lose myself in him again. But I’m scared. I pull back and search his dull eyes for the answer to my biggest fear. “Dylan, this was an accident, wasn’t it?”
“Of course, the overdose was an accident! Shit, Sky. Why would I want to die when my life is starting again? When I have you? My mirror, the girl who gave me life and let me breathe again?” He seizes my face in both hands, fingers digging into my cheeks. “You are my whole world—my breath, my warmth, my strength. Everything. I wouldn’t want to leave that world.”
I want to reply, my heart and mind are fit to burst with words and feelings I struggle to express, and in Dylan’s face is a pained need to hear them.
“The idea I’d lost you tore my heart into pieces. I’m never leaving you alone.”
“You won’t leave after the tour?” he asks, brows tugging together.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be your today. I don’t want to wait for a tomorrow that will never exist.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
Dylan breaks into the smile I remember he gave me the first evening at the beach house, as if the darkness around lifted. My tears ruin the moment and he wipes them with his thumb before placing his mouth gently on mine. The familiar, natural moulding of our bodies and mouths fuses us again, as if when we let go the world might fall apart. The gentle kisses become fierce, a mixture of frustration and desire coming out in the hardness of my mouth on his. A week away from him and with everything that’s happened, it feels like a year.
When Dylan withdraws, there’s something is in his expression I can’t fathom, as if he’s worrying about something. “Sky—”
The door to the room slams open and Steve walks in with Bryn. “Good news, mate,” says Bryn.
Steve, as usual, barely registers me. He’s aware how I feel, and a couple of weeks ago, I heard him mutter about how I wanted his job, which I find hilarious. I’m not keen on having kids, especially not four big kids like Blue Phoenix.
Dylan huffs, drops his hand from my face and sits back on the sofa. I place myself next to him and he wraps his arm around, pulling me close. “Good news? That’s a first,” he says.
“Well, you’re alive for a start. I’d say that’s fucking good news,” says Bryn.
