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I look down at my feet kicking back and forth on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped on my lap and my heart in my stomach. I listen to the sounds of my quiet cries echo off the walls of the tiny room and I go through the hundred questions rattling in my head. The same ones which have been there every minute, every hour, slowly stealing every ounce of sense and strength he’d once given me.
Riley: I love you. I miss you. I’m here. I hope you’re okay, baby.
I spend the next morning doing exactly the same thing I did the night before. Sitting on the bed, missing the boy I love. Multiple voices from outside my room have my ears perking and my mind racing. My phone beeps with a text and I rush toward it, my hands shaking as I read it.
Dylan: Room?
Riley: 208.
I open the door and pop my head out, moving side to side. The voices get louder. And then I see him walking toward me, his hand around the straps of an overnight bag with Leroy and Conway behind him. I step out completely, leaning against the door to keep it open. I swear, for a second, I see him smile. But then he murmurs a “hey” as he walks past me and into the room and I know I imagine it. I had to have.
Conway and Leroy nod, say my name in greeting, and continue their walk down the hallway. I take a breath, my gaze on my feet and I try to prepare myself for the unknown. As slow as possible, I step back in the room and close the door behind me. Dylan’s in bed, his back turned. “Hi,” I say, my lips trembling.
He rolls onto his back, his eyes on the ceiling.
I stand on the other side of the bed, one foot on top of the other, forcing myself to stay, and not run away like I really want to. Four and half hours and I can be home. Home. I don’t even know what home is anymore. I thought it was him. I thought I was his. But now…
“Ry,” he says, his voice low. He places his hand out toward me as he closes his eyes. “Thank you.”
I stand. Still. Not knowing what to do.
“Please, Ry,” he begs, his hand raised and his sad, tired eyes on mine. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles. “Just let me hold you.”
I take his hand, my knees on the bed as he sits up, his arms going around my waist. He kisses my neck. “I missed you, baby,” and just like that—those simple words—my defenses drop, my fear fades, and I give myself over to him.
Because I love him.
And I miss him.
Even when he’s right in front of me.
For hours I lay with him while he sleeps peacefully next to me, until someone bangs on the door, and he sits up quickly, reaching first to his ankle then to the nightstand.
“Banks!” Bang bang bang.
Dylan sucks in a breath, his feet thumping on the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed. His hands go to his head, pressing tight against his ears. With my heart racing, I come up behind him and place my hand gently on his shoulders. He flinches, moving away from me.
“Banks!” Bang bang bang.
“Fuck off!” Dylan yells.
“Ten minutes. Let’s go,” Conway shouts on the other side of the door.
Dylan stands quickly, moving to the bathroom. Over his shoulder, he says, “Get ready.”
“Okay.” I shuffle out of bed and follow him to the bathroom where he’s splashing water on his face. I stand next to him, reaching for my hair brush. When he’s done, he wipes his face on a towel, then just stands in front of the mirror, his hand gripping the sink, his head dipped, causing the muscles in his shoulder to flex against his shirt.
“Sorry,” he says, his gaze shifting to me. His body seems to relax as he turns slightly, his hand going to the small of my back. “Thanks for lying with me just now.”
I smile. I can’t help it. “It’s okay.”
After taking my hair out from its knot, I start to brush it. Through the mirror, I see him smile. Real. For the first time in so long.
He moves behind me, his hands going to my waist as his lips press against my neck. “You smell so good,” he says.
“Your friends said we had ten minutes.”
He groans, his forehead on my shoulder and he wraps his arms around me.
“What’s in ten minutes, babe?”
Sighing, he releases me and moves back to the room to slip on his shoes. “We’re meeting the guys in the unit.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, tying my hair back up and applying some lip gloss.
“Yep. We’re all saying goodbye to Dave.”
I step out of the bathroom and go through my bag for something to change into. “Is he going home? His contract’s not up yet, is it?”
For a while, he doesn’t speak. When I look over at him, he’s looking right at me, as if he’d been waiting for me to make eye contact.
“Dylan?”
“Ry. Davey killed himself.”
I freeze mid-movement, my breath caught in my chest.
Dylan grabs his phone and wallet from the nightstand, kissing my forehead as he walks past. “I’ll meet you by the pool.”
He exits the room, leaving me standing there, my feet glued to the floor and my heart right next to it.
My vision clears—not of sight—but of mind. And everything makes sense. Everything.
How did I not see it?
Me? Of all people.
How could I not see grief standing right in front of me?
The anger and the hurt and the continuous emotional back and forth.
I’ve experienced it all… the constant spiral of heartbreak and despair and guilt and bargaining and hurt—the fucking hurt that leads you to the unexplainable. The never-ending thoughts tormenting your mind, bringing you to your knees and kicking you while you’re down.
