From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (14 page)

“Fine. I’ll be your Harry.”

SATURDAY MORNINGS SHOULD
be lazier. I wish I could sleep in like I could in college, but my body is too programmed. Rolling over, I try to go back to sleep, but twenty minutes later, I’m up and showered. I throw on my yoga pants and a T-shirt, grab some money, and my keys.

The coffee shop is empty on Saturday mornings, especially at this early hour. It’s only me and two other people, who obviously can’t sleep in either. I decide today is about change. I’ll try new things, so I order a frou-frou coffee just to see if I like it any better these days. When I taste it, I quickly decide it’s not my favorite. It’s overly sweet and doesn’t seem to give me the same kick that my usual black coffee does.

I sit and drink it anyway over the next fifteen minutes, watching customers come and go. Then I see Dylan—and he sees me.

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

I should leave but that would seem rude.
Whoa! Since when did I start caring how I seem to him?

The debate warring in his head is obvious by the way he shifts as he glances between me and the coffee counter. Surprisingly, I win this round, but I wonder by how much.

“Hi,” Dylan says tentatively, no smile, testing the waters.

“Hi.” I look down and he walks away.

The barista flirts with him. That brings back so many memories, so many naïve dreams of us that I once held onto so tightly. I’m free of such frivolous notions now.
Wiser
.

Completely distracted by him, I watch his exchange with the barista. He’s friendly to her, smiling.
I wonder if he’s flirting?
We didn’t flirt much, we didn’t have to. We were a couple the minute we met. I don’t tell the story that way because it felt like it evolved over those first few months, but it didn’t. There was no other—just me, just him, us, a couple.

I determine he’s not flirting, just being polite, not overly, but appropriately so. When he turns back to me, his expression is more controlled and he slowly walks over. He sits down at a table near mine, but we don’t talk.

As he plays on his phone, I can hear the Words with Friends bubbly sounds projected, his move accepted. Makes me wonder who his friends are these days.
Do I know them?

Turning to the window, I notice how empty the street is. Empty—a lot like the feeling between us now. I steal a glimpse back at him and then look down at the untouched scone in front of me. I thought I wanted it, but I don’t.

“Do you play?” he asks, drawing my attention.

I glance at his phone displaying the game on the screen, then up to his eyes. “Are you trying to make casual conversation, Dylan?”

Leaning forward, he puts his elbows down on the table and scrubs his hands over his face, frustrated. “How about I’m trying, period?” He snaps.

“If it’s for my benefit, you don’t need to.”

“Why not?”

I don’t face him, not feeling strong enough to do that just yet. I sip my coffee, hoping to find some strength in the weak brew, but reply, “Because we’re both here at the same time doesn’t mean we need to talk.”

“What if I want to talk to you?”

“I don’t owe you anything.” I stand up, taking the scone and my mug with me. I put the mug in the dish bin and toss the scone in the trash on my way out the door.

“Jules?”

Here we go again.
“You don’t take a hint, do you?”

He laughs, catching up and walking beside me like he has the right to do so. “Hints aren’t needed. You’ve been more than obvious about how you feel about me. But I have things that I want to say.”

I stop, crossing my arms and look at him. “You have some nerve showing up here. You think because we ran into each other at a restaurant that suddenly what? We need to be best friends? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? What are you doing? Why are you here? Did you come to the coffee shop because you knew I would be here? I don’t understand this sudden interest in me? What are you doing, Dylan?”

He looks deep into my eyes, exactly where I’ve tried so hard to keep him from going. No one is allowed to that place inside me anymore, especially not him. I instantly drop my gaze to his shoes. They’re casual sneakers, but nice.

“Jules, I’ve said before. I don’t know why I’m here. I just want to be near you. You’re on my mind, fucking with me.”

“I’m fucking with you?” I walk away too annoyed to stay and listen to any of this bullshit.

“Jules.”

“No. Don’t!” I yell over my shoulder.

He doesn’t… and when he doesn’t I start questioning his motives, sincerity, everything he’s been trying to tell me. His words are hard to believe when his actions mean the opposite. I stop on the corner and look back. He still stands there watching me. I throw my arms in the air and scream not caring that it’s still early in the morning. “What? What do you want, Dylan?”

He runs as if I called him to me. I didn’t. I just want answers, but he seems to want answers to questions we don’t even have yet. Confusing. And fucked up. He’s messing with my mind, too. I wonder if he realizes or if he’s doing it on purpose. He grabs my wrists as if we know each other these days. His thumbs graze over the underside of my wrists, my lifeline pulsing beneath his touch. I want to pull away, but I can’t. I like his touch too much.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper scared to see what he’s feeling but dare to look into his eyes anyway.

He doesn’t waste the opportunity. “I want us to start over.”

“Start
what
over?” My tone is harsh, incredulous.

“Friends. We can start as friends.”

Glancing to the street, then back, I state, “We were never friends, Dylan.”

“We were. You were my best friend, Jules.”

The tears start coming, building in my chest, and seeping into my eyes. “You were my best friend too,” I admit, weakened by the moment, by the feel of his skin on mine.

Tears fall between us. When I look down, I attempt to close my eyes before another falls, but one falls too quick. But that one isn’t mine.
It’s his.

I look up, needing to see that he feels something, that maybe I meant something to him or even mean something now. Maybe I’m beyond repair, my emotions permanently damaged, but when I look up, I don’t see the person I hated for years. I see the person I once knew standing before me, caressing my wrists and my heart starts to race, so I drop a confession of my own, “I have a boyfriend, Dylan.”

My wrists are dropped. The last of his tears are wiped away onto the back of his sleeve. “Since when?”

After wiping away my own weakness, I stand strong once again, my heart and emotions closed off just as fast as his. “Since none of your business.”

“You’re impossible,
Juliette
!” His voice and words sickened with hate as he uses my full
name.

I strike back not willing to let him hurt me again. “I hate you, Dylan. I hate you so much.” Anger causes tears to fill my eyes again and my face heats.

“You’re so far removed from the person you once were that I don’t even recognize you anymore,” he says, “you’ve lost your soul—”

“I didn’t lose it! You stole it just like everything else you stole from me. You took it with you that day. And if I’m such a horrible person, then why do you keep coming around? I mean, who does that? Who keeps going where they’re unwanted? It’s insane.”

“Call me what you want, but at least I feel.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, Juliette, fuck you.” He turns his back and leaves.

I scream in fury at the frustrating man. “You’re a bastard, Dylan Somers.”

He laughs. “Yes, baby. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know already.”

“Don’t you ever call me baby again and stop calling me Juliette! You have no right—”

He’s suddenly in front of me, towering over me. “I have rights. I used to make love to you. I have a lot of fucking rights that come along with that.”

“No, you don—”

He grabs me and kisses me. Hard on the lips. Holding my face between his hands, so I can’t escape. The kiss is a surprise, but the feelings we’re sharing so familiar… and wanted… welcomed. Then I remember Austin. Dylan is not him. Dylan is not
mine to kiss any longer. I shove him on the chest, our lips separating from the abrupt interruption.

My arm flies through the air, but is caught before my hand makes contact with his cheek.

Toe-to-toe, his eyes narrow on me. “You will not slap me for something that I could feel you wanted just as much.”

I give him one last hard look before I yank my arm from his tight grip. No words. No words can capture how I truly feel about him right now. And hate and anger have been overused, so I turn and walk away. By the time I reach the corner, I’m running and this time, I hear nothing behind me except a car backfiring in the distance.

Seeking comfort from my bed, I snuggle on my side, squeezing a pillow as my mind reels. Despite how restless I am, I don’t give up on trying to sleep until ten o’clock at night. By midnight, I’m wandering the apartment because my brain is in overdrive. This place holds so many memories—good and bad.

A small circular crystal prism hangs from the window. During the day it catches the light and sends a rainbow of color across the nearby wall and the painting above the couch.

Dylan gave this to me.

At first, I thought he only left me the coffeepot. But a month later, in the back of the closet on the floor, I found it. The string was broken. He didn’t see it or choose not to take it. I don’t know which, but I’m glad I have it some days, others not so much because it carries a heavier weight than its own with it. Most nights it’s just a clear ball of glass and it’s more bearable to be around. Tonight it means more.

After retrieving my phone from the nightstand, I discover I missed Austin’s call while I paced in the living room. He left a message that makes me smile and feel warm inside. Those are the feelings I want. They come with certainty and I like knowing what to expect. I like him. I call him because regardless of the time. He said, anytime—day or night.

My relationship with him is good. We’re healthy together. There’s a comfort in Austin I desperately need.

Dylan only causes heartache.

TIME PASSED QUICKER
than usual. Summer was a blur of work and romance, art and Austin. We spent five days in Paris back in June. It was amazing. I’d been once before a few years ago, but I was in no state to appreciate it back then. It was a work trip that I extended by a few days to enjoy the museums, the history, the art.

But I didn’t.
My head was there, but the cavern in my chest still held empty heartbeats. The real ones only beating for a lost love.

The trip with Austin was different, incredible in so many ways. He would give me the world if he could. He’s that sweet and kind, loving and generous. But he’s worldly too, smart, and charming. He talks of taking the next step. I’m not sure if he means moving in together or getting engaged. And I’m not sure how I feel about either of those yet.