From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (25 page)

I must’ve dozed off. When I wake, I sit up, my body sore and my heart still broken, but I think of Dylan and a small smile involuntarily appears.

“So, what’s the deal?” Brandon asks. “What’s really going on?”

Looking over at him, I sigh and decide to tell the truth because it would take too much energy to lie, energy I don’t have. “Austin and I broke up.” I wait for the comment—a reprimand, or scolding. A judgment even.

But nothing like that comes. Instead, he says, “I figured as much when he returned your stuff and gave me the key to give back.”

“And I slept with Dylan.”

Once again, I wait for him to comment, a voiced disappointment. But that doesn’t come either. He looks at me and asks, “Are you back together?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

His brow furrows and I can see the judgment caught in the lines of his forehead. “What are you doing, Jules?”

“Everything is moving too fast. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, my life is spinning out of control.”

“Then get off the merry-go-round. This all started when Dylan came back into your life. What if he hadn’t? Would you be living with Austin right now?”

“Brandon, please.”

“I’m not gonna pressure you one way or the other. But here’s what I know. I don’t like to see you hurt, but this time, I think you need to figure this one out on your own.”

With a heavy exhale, I reply, “Yeah, I’m coming to that same conclusion.”

He stands, adjusting his shorts at the waist. “You know you’re never really alone though, right?”

I stand to walk him out. “Thanks for being my friend when I need it most.” I hug him, throwing myself into his arms and trying to show how important he is in my life through the embrace.

Brandon kisses my head and holds me, then turns and goes. He looks back when I say, “Hey Brandon, thank you and… and… I love you.”

“I love you too, girl.”

He’s the closest thing to family I have in the city and even though I’d love for him to come take charge and tell me what I should do, he’s right, he can’t rescue me this time. I’m going to have to save myself.

I KEEP CALLING
, but she won’t answer. I know she’s probably sleeping because she sure as damn didn’t get much sleep last night.

My mind is still fucked sideways over the fact that we had sex. When I woke up, Jules was gone. Her clothes and her… gone, her absence felt before I opened my eyes. She might as well have stabbed me because it felt the same at that point.

I lay there, thinking. That’s when I smell her all over—the pillow, the sheets, my skin. The air in my room altered to accommodate her presence. Now, lack thereof. I don’t regret what we did. Not at all, but hell if I don’t feel like I took advantage of the situation.
Did I screw up the potential for a second chance?
I hope not.

I should have been here to listen, to answer her questions, but I couldn’t. She was so tempting, like she always was, always
will
be to me—my weakness. Seeing her last night was like the first time I ever saw her, but the need was different. Back then, I was determined to talk to her, to know her, to kiss her. Last night I was desperate for her forgiveness or forgetfulness, and a second chance.

I got more than I expected because I got all of her—her mind, her body, her soul by the time we ended up in bed. I could feel her need for me, her own desperation as our souls reconnected. I wonder if she recognizes what really happened. It wasn’t just sex. It never was with us. But waking up alone… maybe the daylight scared her, the reality of what happened yesterday.

Fuck!
I grab my stomach sitting up in bed. I hope she didn’t go back to him. I hope she didn’t realize he’s the better man.

He is.

Even I know that, but I’m the better man
for her
.

An hour later, I’m taking a cab to Jules’ apartment. I slog up the stairs, my shoes feeling like weights as I walk.
What if she rejects me?
Last night might have been it for us, but after feeling her… being that close again, I have to try.

When I knock, there’s no answer. Two more raps on the door and still no answer. I press my ear to the door like the fucking low life stalker I am and listen.
Nothing.

I return twice over the next few hours before heading home, her decision not to see me again, obvious at this point.

Come Monday morning, I’m sitting at my desk and still in shock that Austin didn’t have me fired. At least not yet. I sit idly by waiting for it to happen, but it never does.

Not today.

Not the next day.

Not even the day after that.

I’m still working here, moving up the ladder, but I removed myself from his account. Jacqueline is disappointed when I tell her. She questions, “I think the bruises on your face might have something to do with this. What did you do, Dylan?”

I remain silent, not wanting to lead her on in any way. I never have. I’m not starting now.

“You like her, don’t you? You like his girlfriend, Jules.” She laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder, then says, “Holy shit! Austin did this to you.” She drops the papers in her hands as she stares at me with her mouth wide open. “You make it so obvious, so now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Why’d she pick Austin over you?”

Shaking my head, I stare out the window of her large office. I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t even know if she chose Austin, but she didn’t choose me. That is glaringly apparent. I walk to the door as she calls to me, “Dylan? It’s her loss. I think you’re a great guy.”

“Thanks.” I leave, not wanting to discuss this with anyone, but especially not at work. Trying to escape the office that seems to confine my thoughts to the past, I go to the park every day, hoping to see her, but she doesn’t come.

I try not to go by the gallery, but I’ve been and watched her from afar. Through the office window, I see her. She often seems to be staring at the vase I gave her, touching it, examining it. Sometimes she looks out the window as if she’s looking for someone. I hope she’s looking for me, but I hide. I don’t want to be a distraction to her, to cause her anymore pain. I tried to force my way back in once, twice, and it backfired. If we’re supposed to be together, we will.

IT’S BEEN A
month. My mind still wanders and wonders, so today is the last day I knock on her door. The last time I’ll go to the park. The last time I’ll bother her.

She doesn’t answer. Brandon comes out unexpectedly though. “Hey man,” he says, eyeing me warily. “She’s not home.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“So you’ve been coming here, what every day?”

“Most days.”

“She’s been working a lot, not home much.”

“You don’t have to find excuses, Brandon. I know she’s avoiding me.”

“She told me what happened.”

I’m curious what she told him. I cross my arms over my chest defensively; worried that what she told him might hurt me more than her blatant avoidance. “What?”

“That you two were together that night.” He looks just as uncomfortable as I feel right now. “I think what she feels for you scares her. Like me, she needs to know you won’t hurt her again.”

“Never.”

He takes my response and mulls it over, gauging me momentarily. “She’s not with Austin. They broke up. She’s running on autopilot these days thanks to you.”

“So am I.”

“You look like shit.” He shifts, stepping back into his apartment, grabbing his phone from a table by the door. “Give me your number. Maybe we can talk over a pitcher sometime.” Jules’ best friend is offering to tell me what she can’t. It’s an opportunity and a death sentence all in one.

I give him my number and ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because as much as I want to help her through this, I can’t this time. It’s something she’s going to have to do on her own when she’s ready.” He shakes my hand, which seems oddly out of place, but strangely appropriate. “She’s not ready, Dylan.”

“She’s stubborn. More than she used to be.”

He laughs dryly. “Yes, that she is.” He steps back into the doorway to his apartment. “She’s still that same girl from years ago, the one you were with. She’s just more protective of her heart now. Give her some time.”

“How much do you think she needs?”

He shakes his head, laughing vacantly. “I don’t know. I don’t want her to hurt at all. I know you don’t either. Let’s grab that beer in the new year if you haven’t heard from her.”

“Okay.”

I walk away from her building feeling the same emptiness I’ve felt for a month. In reality, I’ve felt it for years, but deep inside, an inkling of hope remains. Finally, I might have someone else on my side, someone on her side that cares about her enough to know that I just might be the guy she should be with.

THERE’S SOMETHING FUNNY
about hate. It seems to be the only emotion you can’t hold onto. I used to think it was happiness. It’s not. It’s hate. It slips through your fingers before you’re aware it’s gone and you find yourself feeling something else, something new, something different. It manipulates itself. You think you can rely on the emotion like you once did so readily, so easily, but it changes.

It may be numbness that carries you forward now. Or, maybe it’s an emptiness that suddenly exists in your belly, in your chest, in your heart. Or maybe you find yourself feeling the opposite and catch yourself smiling at something you hadn’t noticed before.

Hate is funny like that.

I tried to hold onto it.

I tried to hate Dylan again.

I tried to hate him for making my life complicated when it seemed… not complicated. When it seemed obvious which way I should go. I tried to control the hate, bring it forth again, summoning it. To own it. Possess it. But it turned, altered from within. It left without my permission. Just like Dylan had years earlier, drifting out of my life without my consent.

Months after I went to Dylan’s apartment, I continue to work long hours, trying to block him from my mind. He lingers… in my mind, sometimes even outside my apartment. I know he’s there even when he doesn’t knock. I can feel him, his hand, his heart just on the other side of the three inches of wood that separates us.

Something inside me won’t let him in. Maybe it’s a deep-seeded emotion that seems to dwell inside, overpowering my weaker ones, scolding me for wanting him again.

Maybe.

By mid-afternoon, work is tedious, which is unusual. I love my work, but it’s not what I need right now. I need to feel something different.
I’m craving a new emotion.

Tired of punishing myself, I leave. I grab my wallet out of my bag and shove it in my coat pocket. I tell my assistant, Sergio, I’m going to check on Jean-Luc’s showcase. I’m determined to distract myself and my pesky heart that longs to be somewhere else, that longs to be with Dylan.

I hail a cab and slip inside. The drive is uninteresting. The view of the working city is uninspiring in browns, winter grays, and dirty whites. I knock even though he tells me I can walk in every time I visit. It’s not my home and I don’t like to intrude though my unannounced visit may be considered an intrusion in and of itself. It’s not to him though.