Authors: Shey Stahl
Trying to break the
awkwardness, I decided to ask where we were going. “Where we should go?”
He didn’t turn his head
but tipped it to the side, his eyes remained on the road. “I think the question
is where do you want to go?”
“This isn’t just about
me, Dylan.” I said bringing my legs up to wrap my arms around them. “I’m not
the only one in the car.”
He was quiet,
contemplating, for a few seconds then shifted in the seat resting his arm
around the back of the seat angling his body my way.
“City
by city then?”
He smiled with warmth I found comforting when I nodded.
“We’ll go to Medford tonight and decide from there.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
Then I thought about my
life at home.
Part of me was nervous.
How could I not be? For eighteen years, I followed the rules and today, I
destroyed any trust my parents had in me. Hell, with that stunt, I’d be lucky
if I still had my scholarship to Dartmouth.
“I should probably call
my parents when we stop.”
Dylan didn’t say
anything and to be honest, I wasn’t expecting him.
After ten minutes, he
looked at me, squinting from the sun filtering in through the windshield. “You
don’t always have to play by the rules.”
“So you say.” I laughed
feeling more secure with my decision to leave. “How many times have you been
arrested?”
“I stopped counting a
few years ago.” He laughed, finally laughed.
It didn’t surprise me
at all that Dylan didn’t know how many times he’d been arrested. For a boy like
Dylan, being arrested meant nothing, because he only got caught when he got
lazy.
More importantly, it
felt good to hear Dylan laugh again. After his mom died when he was younger, a
part of Dylan died too. Lauren, his mom who was killed in a car accident a few
weeks before Christmas by a drunk driver when he was ten-years-old, was
probably the sweetest most mesmerizing woman I had ever met.
I don’t remember much
about her, a distant memory that faded each day, but I do remember that she
smelled like sugar cookies and I always wanted to take a bite out of her. Dylan
had always been close with his mom. So when she was taken, so suddenly, it was
hard on him.
Given my parents were
pretentious assholes most of the time, I couldn’t begin to comprehend what
Dylan went through losing her.
It was nearing dusk when we made it to Medford,
Oregon. The once blue sky was splatter with purple and pink across the horizon,
an ending to another day. The lighting was perfect in the distance so I snuck a
few shots out the window knowing they might be blurry but decided to try
anyway.
Just like a sunrise, a
sunset can create some beautiful colors. My favorite part about a sunset was
the way it casted a beautiful golden light on everything else around you.
Constantly changing light can make you see and feel what you never saw before.
I don’t like everything
being planned. I like the unknown, the unexpected, and the mystery that I don’t
know where I’m sleeping tonight or that tomorrow I could be somewhere else.
My eyes were everywhere
now, taking in as much detail as I can of where my life is going, where I want
it to go and where I hope it’s going, somewhere, anywhere and maybe nowhere. I
also couldn’t help the nerves that kept creeping into my bones.
With the windows still
down, a chill ran through me. I still had my gown on, for who knows what
reason. The thin polyester material wasn’t exactly warm once the temperature
dropped.
Dylan noticed and
reached for a sweatshirt in the back seat. “Here,” he said handing it to me.
“It may stink but at least it’s something.”
As it
slipped over my shoulders, the smell of jasmine and lemon with what seemed like
oak and cigarettes engulfed me. When I snuck another glance over at Dylan, my
skin coming in contact with his hoodie, one side of his mouth pulled up into a
half smile as he noticed me burrow into the black sweatshirt.
Examining it, I noticed
the Oakley symbol on the front and the frayed sleeves indicating he wore this
one often.
We saw a Best Western
so Dylan pulled into the parking lot. I was a little hesitant getting out of
the car, his black GTO shined under the street lamp that hummed with thousands
of bugs flying around it. He didn’t say anything to me as he came around the
back of the car where I was waiting.
Opening the trunk, with
one hand on the trunk, he reached inside for a black bag that I assumed had his
clothes in it. Taking the bag in his left hand, he placed the guitar in the
trunk before closing it.
I knew Dylan played and
I wanted to ask if he still did but then again, I didn’t. It seemed personal
and I wasn’t sure we were
that
personal yet. Like I said, no words had
been spoken in years until today.
We walked
beside each other to the entrance, large glass doors opened as a swarm of stale
air rushed my senses.
“How many rooms would
you like?” the woman behind the counter asked, gawking at Dylan and then me,
and then back to Dylan as we squinted at the bright walls behind her.
With me wearing my gown
and my hair pulled up into a messy bun, I’m positive we had runaways written
all over us.
Dylan smiled, adjusting
his bag on his shoulder, and looked at me as he spoke. “I think—”
“One room is fine.” I
told the woman ignoring Dylan.
So first, I run off
with the town rebel and now I start suggesting that we share a hotel room.
If Dylan’s plan was to
murder me, it seemed he’d have his chance now. Why mess with the logistics of
it. If I was going to die this way, I was going to do it right.
Reaching for my wallet
in my bag, I pulled out some cash when Dylan placed his hand on mine. I gave
him a strange look because, while he reached for me, he stared for what seemed
like five minutes when the lady cleared her throat. “How will you be paying?”
“I’m paying,” he
insisted sliding his credit card across the granite counter.
Not wanting to make a
scene for him, I didn’t object but I would surely pay him back. There was no
way he was paying for this all by himself.
As soon as we got to
the elevator, I offered him a hundred dollars. “
Here.
”
“What’s that for?” he
didn’t reach for it and instead, shoved his hands in his pockets.
“The
room.”
The elevator smelled of stale smoke and dirty laundry. It took
everything I could not to gag and I think Dylan knew that when the corners of
his mouth twitched into a smile. “I can’t let you pay for it all by yourself.”
“Yes you can and you will.”
Dylan insisted watching the numbers of each floor blink as we passed by them.
“I won’t accept your money.”
“Well,” I swallowed
trying not to smell anything, which was clearly the wrong move. Once I opened
my mouth, it was like I could now taste it, so much worse. “How am I supposed
to pay you then?”
He laughed shrugging
and looked at his feet. “I’ll accept sexual favors.”
Say what?
It wasn’t until then
that we realized we were not the only ones in the elevator. The stale smoke and
dirty laundry was an actual person standing behind us complaining about crude
teenagers.
Dylan and I managed to
hold in our laughter until we get out of the elevator but before the doors even
closed, we both burst out laughing.
“Did you see her face?”
Dylan gasped between laughs.
It took me a minute to
be able to respond as I was laughing so hard my side hurt. “I thought she was
going to have a heart attack!” I managed to say after a few deep breaths. “But
damn, was that smell her?”
All Dylan could do was
nod in between his laughter.
We continued the
occasional fits of laughter making our way to the room only to find out it has
one bed instead of two. Aside from the one bed, I was thankful it didn’t smell
like that lady any longer. The cream walls stood out from the checkered gold
and green carpet and the red bed.
We must have stared at
that fucking bed for a good five minutes.
I know what you’re
thinking. Here is a girl that, on paper, has a scholarship to an Ivy League
school, had the perfect life, and now here she was sleeping in hotel rooms with
strangers and cussing like a sailor.
The problem is that
I’ve always cussed, just never around anyone. And as far as my brains go,
that’s all true but talking to me, you wouldn’t know it. I don’t believe in
talking above others or trying to use words that no one other than English
professor could understand.
Dylan was the first to
talk about the bed. “I can sleep on the couch.” He gestured over his shoulder
to the corner of the room to a burnt orange couch that looked as if it could
maybe fit his legs but not the rest of him.
I waved my hands
around. “Don’t be silly.” I told him trying not to let him know how nervous I
was. “We can share.”
Again, if he were going
to murder me tonight, it would be easy for him.
“If that’s what you want,”
Tossing my bag on the
bed, Dylan did the same. We both turned on our cell phones and I was a little
amazed to see that I had eighteen voice messages. Nine were from my dad, three
from Mercedes, and seven were from Eric. I also had thirteen text messages, ten
from Eric, and three from Mercedes.
Where are you? I will come get you. Tell me where you
are. - Eric
Did you seriously leave town with Dylan Wade? What
were you thinking? I can’t believe you would ditch us like that and for Wade of
all people. Thanks for only thinking of you. - Mercedes
Have you lost your mind? I can’t believe you would
just leave like that. Does this mean we’re over? It sure seems that way and
after four years. This is so childish. - Eric
Maybe I had lost my
mind but I was okay with that. Maybe we were over, and I was okay with that
too.
Sitting directly in
front of me on the burnt orange couch, Dylan laughed scrolling through his own
text messages.
“What are you laughing
at?” I asked, not looking up from my phone and deleting the text messages, I
did not intend to reply to.
“All
these messages from Eric.”
His hand jetted out handing me his phone.
“What a douche bag.”
My first thought was
why he had Eric’s number. They weren’t friends. Dylan only ever hung out with a
Landon Neel and Danny Wells, his best friend. Aside from them, I’ve never seen
him with anyone let alone Eric. As friends, they would have been the most
unlikely match ever.
How could you be so stupid about this? – Dad
Nice man. Way to bag the town
hottie
!
Call me. I need details. - Landon
You better not hurt her! - Eric
The last one wasn’t
something I expected to see and had me questioning what type of boyfriend Eric
James was.
How long have you been sleeping with her?
I can’t believe you. - Eric
And then the confirmation
came. His phone beeped with another message from Eric.
Did you tell her about Mercedes? Don’t tell her.
Please. But I know please means nothing to you. - Eric
I handed his phone back
to him but said nothing at first. Confused at my response, he looked at the
last message I was clearly not meant to see.
Apprehensive eyes
flashed with regret, his mouth opened as if he was going to say something but
stopped knowing his response would mean nothing if it wasn’t the truth.
“I’m going to ask you
some questions, Dylan. I want honest answers.” I demanded. He gave me a nod so
I continued. Everything felt like it was happening all at once. My heartbeat
was in my ears, my heart in my throat, ready for lies I knew were about to be
revealed. “Are you friends with Eric James?”
“No.”
“How did he get your
number?”
“I smashed the windows
out of his car last year at a party.” He finally looked at me and deep down a
fear I knew was always there inside presented itself like the monster it could
be. “My dad made me pay for the damages so I gave him my number for the
estimate. Believe me, it wasn’t by choice.”
“Why did you do that to
his car?”
He swallowed dropping
his eyes to the bed. “He’s a fucking douche, that’s why.”
“What did he do to
you?”
“Just drop it.” He tried
to get up from the bed but I grasped his arm forcing him back down. “It’s
nothing you need to worry about.”
“What did he do?”
Glaring at the floor,
he shook his head. “I saw something that he didn’t want me to see. It pissed me
off so I fucked with his car. End of story.” He said with a shrug as if this
wasn’t that big of a deal.
It was a big deal. I
could see he was concealing something under the shadows of his stare and deep
down, I knew what it was, and I wanted him to say it aloud. I wasn’t naïve but
the signs were there. Eric was too controlled and responsible for an
eighteen-year-old boy. I knew that he had to have a fault somewhere.
“What did you see? What
did Eric do?”
Dylan sat back down on
the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The arms of his
flannel shirt remained rolled up revealing the tattoos again. I wanted to ask
what they were but didn’t. “Do you really want to hear this,” tipping his head,
he looked at me, “or do you just want to hear this because you want a reason to
push yourself away from Eric? I won’t be the reason
why
you do it.”
I didn’t say anything
so he continued.
“Do you love him?” He
whispered.
Did I love Eric? The
answer was simple. After today, it was evident that I didn’t. I didn’t love him
and I don’t think that I ever had. To be honest with you, Dylan had stolen a
piece of my heart when we were kids and there was no way I could love another
boy the way I did with him. Though life had completely changed and I wasn’t
sure I was in love with Dylan anymore, it didn’t change the fact that he held a
piece of it, just him.