by Lisa Swallow
The engine revs and I prepare to leave when the door opens to Sky’s building. She stands on the doorstep glancing around and under the light of the porch; her wide eyes are set into a tear-streaked face.
Shit.
I kill the engine and jump out of the car, striding toward her. She has her arms wrapped around her in the protective manner that indicates stay back, and she’s still wearing her coat.
“What happened, Sky?”
She blinks at me. “Someone broke in… My flat… They trashed the place.”
Unable to help myself, I place a hand on her arm, desperate to hug her. “Are they still there? Are you okay?”
She shakes her head, lip trembling. “No. I don’t know. Dylan, my stuff… And they broke the locks. I can’t lock the doors again!” The rising hysteria in her voice panics me too, but soothing her is my job now.
“Let’s get you inside, I’ll call the police. We’ll sort this.”
The door to her flat is open, wood splintered around the lock. She hesitates at the doorway, and I step inside. Investigating each room, I’m satisfied the place is empty and return to Sky.
“No one’s here. Come on.”
Her body is tense as I guide her to the sofa and sit her down. What now? I’m not used to situations like this and I run my hands through my hair as I think about what to do.
“I’ll get you a drink? Then call the police. Have they taken much?”
Sky shakes her head mutely, staring into space. Panicking at my inability to act, having no fucking clue what I’m doing, I walk into the kitchen. The sink is full of plates and mugs, but everything else is intact. A half-empty bottle of wine rests on the bench and once I’ve located a clean glass, I fill it with wine.
“Here, I’m sure this will make you feel better.” I pass Sky the wine and sit next to her.
Sky continues staring ahead, and her quiet, pale-faced fear frightens me. This is Sky, the strong, smart-mouthed girl. Have I always overestimated that strength? I squeeze her cool hand and she laces her fingers into mine.
“Why my flat? I don’t have anything much. Or I didn’t.” She gestures to an empty space in the corner where wires and dust are left behind.
“I don’t know; they don’t give a shit who they steal from.”
“My laptop!” She disappears into her bedroom and bangs around. “Is it in the kitchen?” she shouts back to me.
“No.”
Sky reappears in the door, her face hard. “They took my fucking laptop! Fuckers!”
I attempt not to smile, vestiges of my Sky shining through. “I’ll call the police while you make a list of what’s missing?” That’s what they do on TV? I was robbed once, but it didn’t bother me, I just bought new stuff. Yep, that’s the selfish, spoilt prick I was back then.
I hold the glass of wine back to Sky and she grabs it, draining the contents before thrusting the empty glass back at me. “Thanks, I’ll have another.”
****
Sky
The policewoman who arrives spends more time gawking at Dylan, and flicking her gaze between the rock god and teary-faced girl than she does paying attention to her colleague. She’s supposed to take notes, but I bet she missed half of what’s said. There’s been a spate of robberies, apparently common leading up to Christmas. This makes me sick, stealing kids’ presents from under Christmas trees. In a tiny way, I’m pleased they targeted me rather than a place where kids would’ve lost longed-for gifts.
Dylan takes over, prompting and cajoling me into answering the questions and filling the gaps where I couldn’t and eventually they leave. They don’t say the words, but I get the impression there’s not much they can do. I rummage around in the drawer for my insurance documents. I’ll call tomorrow.
The world retreated into a weird parallel universe as soon as I walked into my trashed flat. Invaded and violated, my space isn’t my own anymore. I’ve had more nights than I’d like to admit worrying about sleeping alone here, not because the suburb is some backstreet ghetto, but because I’ve never lived alone. My move from the family home was into a place with Grant, and then this place five months ago.
The idea of sleeping in a flat with no locks on the doors turns my stomach, but this is something Dylan has thought about.
“You should call Tara?” he suggests as he closes the not-worth-closing front door behind the police officers.
“She’s not home, she’s in Shropshire.”
“You don’t have a key to her place?”
“No.” I did for her old place, but she moved in with Tom recently.
There’s Ryan, but asking to stay with him wouldn’t be fair. He’s in a share house too; they might not welcome an impromptu guest.
I park my backside on the sofa and drain another glass of wine.
“You can’t stay here,” he says. “Do you want me to book you into a hotel?”
“I could do, I guess.”
“Or.” He pauses. “Or you can come and stay with me?”
In my befuddled state, his words eat to the insecure, scared girl with her protective man stepping in. Being alone in a hotel doesn’t appeal. If my flat wasn’t the last place I wanted to be, or if I had viable options there’s no way I’d accept his offer. We’ve seen each other twice since July, and a week ago, I thought he was a rapist.
“My place in London is big, bigger than the holiday house. You’d have privacy and…”
“Okay.”
Dylan straightens. “Really?”
“I think I’d feel safer staying with someone else, in case this was more than a robbery.”
Is this coincidence that I’ve seen Dylan, and now this? I conclude I’m paranoid. Lily never contacted me again after her bombshell, and who would know I’d seen Dylan again?
“I’m sure this is just a breakin. But I’d rather you were somewhere you feel comfortable.”
“Just tonight. I can sort something out tomorrow.”
Dylan nods. “I’ll contact Steve. Do you want me to ask him to arrange for your place to be secured until you get back?”
I wander to my bedroom, and drag my rucksack from under the bed, absentmindedly shoving items of clothing in. The reality hits and I sit on the edge of the bed, tears spilling as I shake. I’m vulnerable and lost; the damage has spread to my confidence and I don’t want to come back here.
Dylan knocks on my half-open bedroom door, and I’m aware he’s seen me in tears. The last time he was in my bedroom, I felt alive and loved, like we could take on the world together. He hovers, unsure and the whole time he’s been around, I know he wanted to comfort me.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, chewing the inside of my mouth.
“Can I come in? Help out?”
Standing, I scrub my face with my sleeve and pick up my rucksack. “I’ll just get some things from the bathroom; then we can go, I think the roads will be getting bad. Is there anything you need me to bring? I could get… ”
Dylan touches my arm as I reach the doorway, alarming me out of my rambling. “Sky. It’s okay to be upset; this is a huge fucking deal.”
“I want to be able to cope with this.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
The expression in Dylan’s eyes pulls me back to the man who told me he loved me, and that’s still in his face now. He continues to rub my arm, in an attempt to soothe, and his kindness and presence switch the tears back on.
“Fuck, Sky.” Dylan wraps his arms around me, squeezing me close and I’m engulfed by the emotions that have swamped me today; seeing Dylan, admitting things could work, and then going from that euphoria to this despair. Rubbing my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell, I spend a moment in safety. I’ve fallen over the precipice, and I’m lost. Five months of clinging onto the new world I was pushed into after Grant, I’m pushed beyond what I can cope with. And Dylan is here to catch me.
Chapter Eight
Sky
&nb
sp; Mind blown. That’s what happens the moment I step into his apartment. If I thought Dylan’s house in the country was impressive, this place blows the expensive pile of bricks out of the water. Excuse my naivety but I never imagine apartments to be two storey; apparently, upstairs is called a mezzanine but whatever the hell it is, the space has floor to ceiling windows stretching across the whole wall, giving sweeping views of the Thames.
Having walked across plush brown carpets and around furniture that’s so expensive I wouldn’t want to touch anything, I gape at the panorama, reminded of canvas pictures of skylines on the wall in my dentist’s reception area. Dylan stands beside me, hands tucked beneath his arms as if this is the only way he can stop himself from touching me.
“A bit different to Cornwall,” I tell him.
“More snow, less beach?”
“You know what I mean, look at this place.”
“Would it sound strange if I said I’d rather be in Broadbeach?”
I’m unsure I want to revisit Broadbeach in my mind, even though the fantasy of the place would be much better than my current reality. Finding my flat broken into turned the day toward a weird unreality, coming here has reinforced this. I don’t answer him.
“Let me show you where you can stay,” he says, gesturing toward the metal stairs.
We walk down, toward the centre of the house. “I’m that side; this side is for guests,” he says, pointing in two directions.
I nod dumbly, taking in the contrast of his clean, beautiful home after my trashed flat. Dylan leads me in the direction of the guest rooms, past a separate lounge area and a darkened room set up like a movie theatre.
Going into the room Dylan indicates, I perch on the edge of the king-size bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The room is huge, twice the size of my own at home. A walk in robe is set into one wall, next to an ajar door through to a bathroom. No expense has been spared anywhere in this house; the guests get as much luxury as the owner.
Dylan sets my bag down, the scruffy rucksack out of place on the beautiful cream carpet. “Thanks.” I open the bag and look at my clothes, debating whether to hang anything in the robe.
“One thing…” says Dylan.
“Knickers on the bed, I know, getting old now, Dylan.” I’m too tired for this; the plush bedding begs me to lie down and switch off from the world.
He laughs. “I wasn’t going to say that, but you’re welcome to.”
“What thing then?” I ask.
“Myf has been staying here. She’s away currently, in case you wonder why there’s another girl’s stuff around.”
He doesn’t need to justify himself; we weren’t together, so I have no right to get upset about other women in his bed.
“It’s your life, Dylan,” I say.
A cloud crosses his face. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
He rests against one side of the doorframe, hands buried in his leather jacket pockets. The effect he has is the same as ever; a desire to touch and to be touched by this man will never leave, as if hardwired into me. The tired face is brighter than a couple of days ago, more sparkle in his eyes, but he’s still pale and something about him isn’t right.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Not really, I think I want some space. I’m tired.”
“Yeah, I understand. Did you want me to show you where anything else is?”
I shake my head. Despite all the crap of my life in the last six months, Dylan has been the only bright moment. Lily attempted to turn this into darkness, but the flicker remains. I realise I’m staring and Dylan’s eyes reflect the desire in mine, and I look away.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says.
“Thank you.”
Dylan quietly closes the door behind him, and I collapse backwards on the bed, staring at the bright white ceiling and spotlights set into the walls.
A realisation overwhelms me. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and suspect the decision to leave Bristol is made for me. None of my family lives there anymore, I have nothing to keep me there. I no longer belong in the life I clung onto. I don’t belong anywhere.
****
I fall into an exhausted sleep and wake in a darkened room with open curtains. Struggling to remember where I am, memories of my rollercoaster day return. Dylan’s home. The room is warm and my mouth is dry; I summon the energy to look for a glass of water.
The kitchen is through a door opposite the metal stairs and across from a lounge room. The door to the lounge is open and a TV plays on low across the room. Dylan sits, bare feet on the coffee table watching TV. He looks up as he hears my footsteps.
“Okay?” he asks.
“I was getting some water.” I glance at the clock over his head. Two am. “You’re up late?”
He makes a small noise of amusement. “Rock and roll lifestyle.”
He’s in his rock-and-roll uniform from the summer; black t-shirt sleeves stretched across his biceps and dark jeans hugging his long legs. “You look tired, Dylan.”
“I was waiting up, in case you needed anything.”
His words melt my insides; the fact someone in this world is looking out for me in my fucked up life sends me rushing to the kitchen before the tears start. Shakily, I pour myself a glass of filtered water from the fridge then gulp it down. I refill the glass and head back toward Dylan.
He’s sitting forward now, elbows on his knees as he watches me. “Are you okay?” he asks again.
I waver between running back to the strange, empty bedroom and spending time with Dylan. Dylan wins, and I head into the room, perching on the opposite end of the sumptuous brown leather sofa.
“Not really,” I say hoarsely.
“I’ll do anything you need to help,” he says, “with your flat or whatever.”
An ad for Christmas Day TV flashes across the screen, traditional English programmes and movies reminding me of past Christmases. Another kick in the teeth.
“This is my first Christmas on my own,” I say softly.
Dylan sighs and leans back, the sofa squeaking as he does. “Not a nice one so far, I suppose. With the breakin at your flat and everything.”
The creeping fear and loneliness of the last five months seizes hold, the violation of my one safe space in life is the end of my ability to ignore how my life this year resembles the flat I left behind.
“Everything’s a mess…”
“We can clean things up; I’ll help. I know you won’t want me to buy things, but I have a lot you can borrow…”
“Not my flat,” I interrupt. “Everything! Everything’s a mess! Look at my life! I’ve lost everything this year! I have nothing!”
I clamp my mouth shut, aware of the sob fighting its way out of my throat. I can’t let this out and have him see me like this, but the dam against my emotions cracks a little every day. It doesn’t help when Dylan shuffles toward me on the sofa and takes my hand.
“You have me, Sky. I’ll always be here when you need me, I won’t leave you again.”
The dam breaks, and ugly sobs escape as tears flow. I hate crying in front of people, but I can’t hold this together anymore. “I’m sorry,” I hiccup though the noise.
“Sky, I said you don’t have to be strong all the time. I’m here; I’ll catch you tonight and you let out what you need. Tomorrow, you can be strong again.” He rubs my cheek with his palm, wiping away tears. I rest my face against his, allowing myself to take comfort from him as the tears flow. He’s gazing at me with concern, and I’m sure my red face and snotty nose must look delightful.
“Don’t hurt. I don’t want you to hurt.” Dylan wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer, squashing my face into his chest. With no jacket in the way, I inhale the comfort of my Dylan and feel his warmth through the thin material. The combination of his strong arms and words releases the control I’ve held.
Dylan holds me silently, as I sob the last five months into his chest. The end of Grant and my old life,
the limbo I’m stuck in, and the final kick of my safe place gone. And Dylan. Meeting him, resisting him, and at the point I was giving myself to him, he was torn away from me. The pain of the weeks after, built on top of the aching loss of my old life in the weeks before. I’m defeated; I don’t have the energy anymore.
The tears ebb, and Dylan tips my face toward his, long fingers under my chin. Everything is stripped away now, back to a rawness of souls who share an understanding in each other’s eyes. Dylan places his mouth on mine; lips soft at first until I kiss him back, holding his head against my warm tears. The moment Dylan kissed me on the beach all those months ago and the reuniting kiss in the car earlier are nothing compared to this. His kiss reaches into the empty spaces inside and fills that emptiness, as if consuming the darkness. The reason for the pain of separation from Dylan makes sense, as the light missing from my world re-ignites in this moment.
I’m in Dylan’s world again, our world. The hurt and confused Sky pushed away her memories of how melded we were and how the unity of our hearts and souls changed our lives forever. This is why. With Dylan, love becomes a different concept. Not hearts and flowers, or lust and need, but the unexplained, frightening place, two people go and are lost together. Love has become a word that can never express the reality of the universe crashing around yet holding us together.
Chapter Nine
Sky
The low drone of the TV pulls me back to consciousness, and I shift against the strong chest of the man holding me. Dylan’s asleep too, arms loosely wound around my waist, head resting against mine.
The early sun filters through a gap in the long blinds opposite. My chest and stomach ache from the release of my emotions, Dylan’s presence comforting and worrying at the same time.
Sitting forward, I pick up the TV remote and flick to find the time.
“What time is it?” asks Dylan’s sleepy voice.
“Six. Last I looked 2am.”
