He Looked Back

by Hollandaise, Melissa

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I do.”

  Then he does something I never thought would come from him.

  He laughs a dry, humorless laugh.

  Just like Abigail did to him.

  “You love me,” he repeats. “That’s bullshit.”

  I furrow my brow. “No, it’s not.”

  “Katie, I’ve told you before, I don’t believe in that. So don’t waste your time.”I stand up. “Just because you don’t believe in it doesn’t mean I can’t.” I feel small and stupid for admitting it to him, now.

  “What’s the point? What could you possibly, ever love about me?”I look at the ground. “I don’t know,” I say. “You’re making it really hard for me to, right now.”“Good. That’s better for both of us.”

  His words are so bitter that I step towards him, anger igniting inside of me.

  “What, so I mean nothing to you, like you said before?” I ask. “When you kissed me, it meant nothing? When you said you wanted me, it meant nothing? When you took me to look at the stars, it meant nothing?” I’m yelling now, my cheeks flushed with anger.

  Dylan locks his jaw.

  “Go ahead, tell me it meant nothing, Dylan! Tell me all this time we’ve spent together has been a waste.”He looks away.

  “Say it,” I say through gritted teeth. “Tell me I mean absolutely nothing to you.”“You mean nothing to me.”

  Five little words; stupid, meaningless words, yet they almost bring me to my knees.

  I step back, swallowing hard.

  “You said when you told Abigail you loved her, she laughed in your face,” I say, unable to look into his eyes. “Let me tell you, Dylan, you’re no better.”I turn on my heel and exit his apartment, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter Sixty

  I don’t speak to Dylan for two weeks.

  For obvious reasons.

  I ignore him when I see him around the apartment building, I ignore him at work, and I ignore him when we meet in his apartment along with the rest to discuss Lyone Enterprises. I always feel his eyes on me, though; green irises of fire that bore straight into me.

  It was too soon. Too soon for me to tell him. I should have know he wouldn’t change for me, how could he? I’m no Abigail.

  I don’t know what to feel. I love him, I know that much. Even if he did laugh in my face, I do love him. He has done so much for me over these past months, yet at the same time he’s brought a whole world full of secrets and deception that I’ve never even dreamed of.

  I know if Dylan wasn’t so hidden, he would perhaps love me back.

  I feel like there’s this gaping whole inside of me, this crater in my heart. It’s almost as if when James and I broke up, Dylan filled the empty gap in my soul with his cheeky grins and sarcastic remarks. He soothed my fear of being left alone, and we were alone together. But now, we are both truly by ourselves, because at this point, we don’t even have each other.

  At work, I throw myself into my editing, sometimes getting up to three manuscripts done a day. Mr. Morris has praised me highly, and so has Mr. Crane. Dylan always watches me from his desk, tossing his stupid rubber band ball from hand to hand, spinning in his chair. I do my best to ignore him every day, but it proves difficult when I’m utterly infatuated with the green in his eyes.

  Sometimes, when I step out of the elevator in the lobby of Crane, I look up and see a single figure sitting on the skylight above. I don’t have to look long to know it’s Dylan.

  I also notice that he’s been writing.

  It’s in this torn, leather-bound journal that I catch him scribbling in. I always see him writing at random times, too—at lunch break, when he sits quietly next to Oliver while Sarah, Oliver and I chat. He always sips coffee as he does so, his hand flying across the page.

  I’d give anything to know what he’s writing about.

  In a nutshell, my life without Dylan is colorless. I had never noticed before that I had been missing something in my life, something beautiful. I’ve never smiled or laughed as much as I had when I was around Dylan.

  Dylan made me happy, by just being his annoying, sarcastic self, and he didn’t even know it.

  One Wednesday at lunch break, Dylan gets up to use the restroom, leaving his leather journal behind.

  Rachel and Sarah chat about some concert they’re going to next weekend, but my eyes are glued to the journal.

  Don’t do it, Katie. You know you’ll get in trouble with him. Besides, you’re not even on speaking terms.

  Oliver eyes me from beside Sarah.

  “Something wrong, Katie?” He asks me as the other two talk on.

  “Do you know what he writes in there?” I ask, not moving my gaze from the tattered book.

  “In the book?” Oliver looks over at it, shrugging. “No clue. Why?”“Just...curious.”

  Dylan still isn’t back by the time everyone begins to return to work, and his leather journal still sits on the table.

  Don’t do it. Don’t read it. Don’t—

  I snatch up the book, flipping open the front cover.

  My heart pounds.

  It’s a book of letters.

  8 January 2008

  Mum—

  I saw your grave for the first time today. The stone isn’t even the nicest one they’ve got. It’s not a nice, shiny granite like you deserve—it’s probably just some slab of old stone they found in a junkyard, or something.

  I graduate uni in two more months, then I’m off to Britain. I’m sorry, I know you always wanted me to stay in England, but I can’t. I’ll be better off there, I know it. And you always said you wanted what I wanted, right?

  I—

  “What are you doing?”

  I drop the book, jumping at Dylan’s voice. I swallow at his angry eyes.

  “I—”

  “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He snaps, snatching up the book and tucking it under his arm. “You ignore me for a week and half, and then you go and snoop around in something that’s clearly not yours?”I look at my hands. “I was just—”

  “Curious. I know.”

  He turns on his heel and stalks out of the break room, leaving me to think about the short entry I had read.

  Letters. Of all things, he was writing letters.

  Are they all to his mother?

  My old nagging sense of curiosity is tingling in the back of my brain, itching to be soothed.

  That short confrontation was the only time Dylan and I spoke.

  I sigh as I pull my gloves off, throwing them onto the couch as I enter my apartment. I think I’m catching a cold, my nose is stuffed up and my throat hurts. I need to run to the pharmacy to get some medication, or something.

  I hang my coat in the closet and turn around to walk into the living room, gasping at the sight before me.

  James sits calmly on my sofa.

  “Hi,” he greets me.

  I furrow my brow, fear beginning to pump through me. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you get in? What—”“Please, Katie, one question at a time.” He gestures for me to sit in the armchair next to the couch.

  I carefully sit. “How did you get in here?” I ask slowly.

  “I’ve known how to jimmy a lock since I was thirteen.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “We need to have a little chat.”

  I swallow.

  He leans forward. “Katie, what do you know about Lyone Enterprises?”“Nothing.”

  “False.”

  I clench my jaw. “I don’t know what to tell you, James. I have no connections whatsoever to Lyone Enterprises, whatever it is.”“But you do have connections to Dylan.”

  “No.” I feel a pang in my chest. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then take my uncle’s offer. You’re valuable, Katie. We could educate you about Lyone, and you could make a lot of money out of it.”I shake my head.

  “Come on, what have you got to lose?”

  “I’m not doing it.
”

  “You’d be Alec’s closest executive, next to myself. You’d get anything you want.”“James, I’m not doing it, and if you think you can just barge in here and force me into things, you’re wrong!” I stand.

  “I know you and Dylan haven’t been speaking,” he says lowly, standing from his seat. “I know you’re too proud to tell him to come after me if I were to do anything now.”I shake my head, taking a step back. “You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m right. If I were to have my way with you, right here, right now, who would you tell? Dylan surely wouldn’t care, would he? Since he caught you snooping in his journal?”“H-how do you know about that?” I stammer.

  “Lyone has eyes and ears everywhere, my sweet Katie.” He steps forward and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling down tauntingly. My skin feels disgusting from his touch, quite the opposite of Dylan’s.

  “Join us,” he whispers. “You won’t regret it.”

  “Leave me alone,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Join us.”

  “What do I have to do to make you leave me be?”

  James grins wickedly. “Oh, I could make you do a lot of things.”I step away from him, twisting the door handle and opening the front door. “Get out,” I spit. “And if you jimmy your way back in here, I’ll call the police. I’m sure the hospital wouldn’t want to see a criminal record to spoil your precious internship, would they?”James tilts his chin up. “Very well. But this is not over.”

  I slam the door behind him.

  I crumple onto the couch, built up tears from the past two weeks spilling out of me. All of my pent up sorrow from the way Dylan laughed, the way he shot me down when I told him I love him pours from me.

  I wipe moisture from my face, smearing my carefully applied makeup all over my cheeks. I feel like a mess—I am a mess.

  I go to sleep that night, thinking of the words scrawled in Dylan’s journal, the beautifully painful words that I yearn to read more of.

  The next morning, I drop my things onto my desk at work, emotionally drained.

  Despite my internal state, I managed to clean myself up, putting on a light blue blouse and black skirt. My hair is neatly curled, although I want nothing more than to sweep it into a ponytail.

  But I work at Crane, and in the world of publishing, image is everything.

  I open the folder with my first manuscript of the day in it, clicking open Dylan’s pen that I still have.

  “Hey.”

  I look up in confusion, meeting Dylan’s emerald gaze.

  “Happy birthday.”

  It takes me a good ten seconds to realize it is indeed the twelfth of December, and I am indeed now twenty four.

  And it takes me another ten to feel my sagging heart lift a bit at the fact that Dylan remembered.

  I manage to smile up at him, the first real smile I’ve put on in days. “Thank you,” I breathe and he nods, dropping into his seat.

  Why would he remember? If he feels nothing for me, why would he go to the trouble of remembering my birthday?

  I have trouble focusing, after that.

  Oliver and Sarah wish me happy birthday at lunch, and even Mr. Crane leaves a voicemail on my work phone, telling me he’s satisfied with my work so far with the company, and he hopes to see much more from me.

  My mother calls me at two, gushing about how she wishes she was there with me to celebrate. Courtney calls shortly after that, going on about this guy she met in one of her college classes. My father calls as I’m leaving Crane, telling me he’s so proud of me and everything I’ve accomplished.

  While I know I should be feeling happy about all of this, I can’t help but think that Dylan doesn’t have any family to call him on his birthday and tell him that they’re proud of him.

  Everything in my life at this point seems to lead back to Dylan.

  If only he felt the same way about me.

  I drop my things onto the couch when I get home, sighing. I change into flannel pants and a sweater, tying my hair up. I sniffle, still recovering from my stupid cold, deciding I’ll make soup for dinner.

  I turn on the TV and feel like crying again when the Office comes on.

  I’ve fallen so hard for Dylan, and it scares me. I didn’t know this level of complete and utter infatuation existed, but Dylan has proven me wrong.

  I watch TV halfheartedly as my soup cooks, leaning on my elbows over the counter.

  I eat alone, still watching TV as I swallow the burning broth.

  At seven, I hear a key twist in the lock on my door.

  I look up as Dylan steps in, almost shyly. He wears a brown sweater and he holds a container.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  He walks into the kitchen, setting the container down.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in a monotone.

  “I, uh...I made you something.”

  “What?” I stand, my brow furrowing.

  He opens the container to reveal a cake. It’s covered in white icing, with a single candle stuck in the middle.

  “You made this for me?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He looks down.

  “What kind?”

  “Red velvet.”

  “How did you know it was my—”

  “It’s my favorite, too. It was a lucky guess.” He half smiles.

  I look back down at the cake. “It’s lovely, but...why?”

  He sighs. “I’m still figuring that out. It’s your birthday, come on.”“Well...thank you,” I say, and mean it.

  He nods. “No problem.” He pushes another thing toward me on the counter, a box wrapped in silver paper.

  “You got me a gift?”

  “It is your birthday.”

  I raise an eyebrow and carefully unwrap it.

  It’s a box of pens—ones exactly like my favorite one that ran out, in all colors of the rainbow.

  A laugh escapes me. “You’re kidding.”

  Dylan smiles.

  “Thanks, Dylan. You know you really didn’t have to do this.”“I know.”

  I smile, my eyes travelling back down to the cake. “Well, since you’re here, I suppose we can eat this together.”He smiles wider.

  I retrieve a cake cutter from the kitchen, handing it to Dylan. He cuts out a piece for each of us, the interior of the cake bright red.