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5
Dylan
I standin the floor to ceiling window and stare at the city skyscrapers defined against the leaden grey sky. The thick winter clouds threaten snow, and England is in the perpetual dull of winter. I count to ten in my head, so I don’t lose my temper with Myf.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” I ask through gritted teeth, keeping my back to her.
“I want to help you,” she says quietly.
“When? When did you see her?”
“Yesterday.”
Cars crawl along the spider webs of roads, and standing in the penthouse of the huge tower of apartments, I’m looking down on them the way I feel I’m looking down on myself sometimes. The spaced out times when I’m someone looking in on Dylan Morgan.
“Did she tell you to fuck off?” I ask.
“No.”
Hope. An emotion I’ve not experienced for months pushes away some of the grey and I turn to Myf. Her pale face betrays her fear she’s done the wrong thing.
“What did you say to her?” I ask more gently.
“That you’re not a rapist and she needs to hear the truth.”
I flinch at the word. “Even the truth would be enough to make her hate me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know Sky.” She never appeared the forgiving kind; the way she spoke about Grant was scathing. I don’t think Sky is someone who has time for men who treat women the way I treated Lily.
“You’re right, but maybe you’re underestimating her?”
The Christmas tree sparkles with stupid fucking lights and I’m ready to tear the monstrosity down. Myf knows I don’t cope with Christmas and she forced that on me. Now she’s pushing me to see Sky.
“So she wants to talk to me?” I ask.
Myf picks up her phone. “She gave me her number and said I was okay to pass this to you. But she warned you not to turn up on her doorstep at 3am.”
I smile at the Sky comment. “Yeah, I get that. I already have her number.” Myf gives me a disparaging look. “What?”
“Why didn’t you call her when you got back?”
“Because it’s easier to forget about things.”
“You big fat liar! You never forgot. I know you.”
“And I know you and I should’ve expected you to interfere,” I say with a mock pout.
She crosses her arms. “I don’t want to see you in the same mess as last time you couldn’t cope, Dylan.”
My lips thin. Nobody gets to dig into what’s going on in my head, apart from Sky, who doesn’t need to because she’s always uncannily seen right into my thoughts.
“I think you want to talk to each other. You need to give this a chance.”
“Fine.” I cut the conversation dead.
As Myf wanders away, seemingly happy with her actions, I turn back to the grey London outlook. There were many other places I could’ve chosen to go for Christmas; this is the first time I’ve been in England at this time of year since Mum died.
