by Lisa Swallow
“We going to have the conversation standing in the middle of your hallway then?” asks Jem. “I wanna get going before Steve tracks me down.”
“Where are you going?” asks Dylan.
“None of your business. May or may not be taking my shit hot heiress with me though.” He lopes off into the lounge. I roll my eyes at Dylan and follow.
We sit on the brown leather sofas, as if in some kind of weird business meeting. I’m not sure how I feel about what’s coming, but Dylan’s rubbing his arm again. If he’s told me everything, why is he nervous?
“What have you told her?” he asks Dylan, not looking at me.
“The truth.”
“All of it? I bet you didn’t. Bet you left the bits out that made you seem like the bad guy.” He turns his bloodshot eyes to me. “Did he tell you the game was all his idea?”
“He told me you played a game with her to see who she chose and that it ended badly,” I reply.
Jem rests his head on the back of the sofa and places his bare feet on the table. “And whose idea was the game, Dylan? You could’ve just left me and her alone instead of trying to get her interested in you.”
“Both of us wanted to play, as always.”
He scrutinises Dylan. “And who made Lily stay at your house, Dylan? If I’d known she didn’t want to stay, I’d have let her go rather than fuck up any chance with her.” His tone hardens, holding truth I don’t expect.
“You say that now but I don’t believe you,” says Dylan.
Jem sits forward quickly; I shrink back in alarm. “If for one moment you’d let me know she’d wanted to leave, things would’ve been different. She wasn’t some slutty girl throwing herself at us, nothing like a groupie. I wanted to talk to Lily and get to know her. I believed she was different until you told me she was lying and tricking us.”
Dylan shifts. “Some of the night’s hazy, you know that…”
I turn to Dylan in surprise. This he didn’t tell me. “What does he mean Dylan?”
Dylan looks at the floor.
“Yeah, conveniently hazy, hey, Dylan? Did you tell Sky what you did that night was revenge for the chick a few months before.” He pauses and narrows his eyes. “Wasn’t it Dylan?”
“No.”
“I fucked his girlfriend,” says Jem to me.
I cringe at his words.
“Ancient history, Jem.”
“Really? It wasn’t history that night, was it? You didn’t really want Lily; you were doing it to piss me off. And after what you made happen the night at the house, she wanted you. She could’ve wanted me!”
I blink at them arguing about a girl as if she was some toy they fought over.
Jem’s hands tense on the arms of the sofa and his breathing quickens. “I thought she wanted me. I thought she was playing hard to get and look at what I did…”
Dylan shifts in his seat. “You didn’t rape her.”
“I nearly fucking did and because of you! Did you tell Sky how you convinced me Lily wanted sex with me? That you told me she’d confided that she wanted to but was shy?”
“What the hell… Dylan?” I look over and his eyes remain on the floor.
“I can’t fucking remember half the night,” he says softly.
“Lily. She was beautiful, calm and sexy in a way she didn’t realise. She pulled me out of the haze of the world we were in and I wanted to touch her reality; touch whatever surrounded Lily. And you fucking ruined my chance!” growls Jem.
The bizarre mix of gentle and aggressive confuses me. “Jem. We can’t drag through everything,” says Dylan. “We can’t rewind, please just tell Sky the truth. Tell her Lily lied about me raping her.”
Jem snorts and fixes his eyes on me. “Lily lied.” He looks back to Dylan. “Can I go now?”
“Ha fucking ha, Jem.”
“Fine.” He turns his bloodshot eyes on me again, a small smile curving his mouth. “Dylan fucked Lily and was done with her. Done with the girl who could’ve been mine. I might have almost assaulted her, but he used her for sex and threw her away. I never intended to do that with her; I wanted her, not just sex. Tell me, Dylan’s summer Sky, which is worse? I stopped. He didn’t. Yeah, Lily said yes to him but only because she thought she meant something. I told Lily exactly who was responsible for keeping her in the house that night and how we bargained over who got to fuck her. That’s why she threatened to go to the police.”
My stomach twists, as I picture Lily again, trapped between the two men in front of me.
“Is that true?” I ask Dylan
Dylan rakes a hand through his hair, unable to look me in the face. “Fuck, Jem. She would never have wanted you!”
“How do you know? I never got the chance!” Jem drags himself to his feet. “I can’t do this. I need a fucking drink.”
Realisation hits. In his weird, screwed up way, Jem felt something for Lily. But why? Because she was something he couldn’t get? After three years, he wants to end things between Dylan and me because I remind him of her? Another pawn in their game? I’m stuck in the middle of some stupid revenge act by Jem.
Dylan didn’t rape Lily. Finally, I have the answer to why he hates himself - how his deceit caused the events that night at his house and how his selfish act of revenge created this side of himself he hates. I know this is his past he’s struggling with, but I can’t stomach what Dylan did, not right now.
“I think I’ll leave you two to chat,” I say quietly and stand.
“We don’t chat, haven’t you noticed?” snaps Jem.
“Maybe that’s the problem?” I retort.
Jem laughs, a short sharp sound. “Oh! I get it now. I don’t know why I never saw before. She’s a new Myf.” Jem smirks. “Bet you haven’t told her you used to fuck the girl who lives in your house too?”
“I haven’t had the chance to talk to Sky about Myf,” says Dylan, voice hard. “Don’t twist things.”
This is too much for first thing in the morning. I’m pissed off enough Jem stepped into our new world yesterday, about the shocking explanation I just heard, and now he’s throwing more secrets at me.
“I think I’ll umm… dry my hair.”
The world spins again as I leave. Why did Dylan do this? I had enough information - I believed him - but now I have too much I don’t want to know, that I didn’t need to know. I’m trying to reconcile the two Dylans in my mind, as I have since the day I first found out who he was. The reason he and Jem clash is that they’re similar. Too similar, and how far those similarities go worries me.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan
The journey to Sky’s flat takes a couple of hours but feels like half a day; the time driving in silence drags by. Following the disastrous conversation with Jem, Sky closed down and told me she needed to go back to Bristol. I’m scared to ask if she’s leaving. Her demeanour toward me has cooled and although she’s talking to me, there’s a distance between us. Sky hasn’t mentioned the conversation with Jem again. I want to broach the subject, but the roads need more concentration than usual due to the wintery weather. I turn some music on, and focus on the sound rather than the emptiness in the car.
The afternoon threatens snow once again, the winter at odds with the sunshine I could be in if I’d stayed in LA. If this latest revelation has fucked things up with Sky, then I won’t stay around in England.
When we arrive, Sky stares up at the window to her flat and after a few minutes of silence, I open my door and climb out before walking to her side. I open her door and she steps out, not looking at me.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Not looking forward to this.” Sky shifts her thick black jacket around herself, pulling the collar tight.
I fight against sighing with relief that the silence isn’t because of me. “Everything should be how we left it the other night. Steve got the locks sorted too.”
“Yay for Steve,” she mutters.
She climbs the stairs in a slow, weary w
ay and I pass her the key Steve had cut, hating that her hands tremble as she places it in the lock. I wish Sky would let me take her away from everything; give her somewhere comfortable and happy to live and not a shitty flat trashed by idiots.
The winter afternoon darkens the room and Sky flicks a light-switch. The un-lived in, cold atmosphere isn’t helped by the lack of heating. She can’t want to stay here.
“Why did they leave the curtains open?” Sky crosses to the window and yanks them closed.
All she brought with her was a large handbag; I’m clueless as to what she’s doing. Packing? Staying?
She sits on the sofa and looks at me. “I waited and you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Not explaining yourself. Communicate, Dylan. Or are you going to disappear again?”
“I’m not sure what to say…”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks coldly.
I hover in the doorway and drag a hand through my hair. “Which part?”
“The part about telling Jem that Lily wanted sex with him, manipulating the situation so you got your chance with her – and all for revenge. That’s fucked up.”
“Now you know why I blame myself,” I say softly.
Sky shifts the glare from me to her hands. How much does this change things? Permanently?
“Why didn’t you tell me when you supposedly told me the story? That’s one hell of a gap.”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I should’ve done.”
“Damn right you should!” Oh, shit, this is over. “No, what Jem said doesn’t change anything, but I’m bloody upset you left something major out of your story.”
I approach and perch on the sofa next to her. “I’m sorry.”
“And Myf?” she snaps. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
Oh, great. “Fucking Jem… Yeah, we had a thing – when I was seventeen!”
“And that’s all?”
I touch Sky’s face, desperate not to have her close me out. “Yes, a teenage thing that didn’t work out. I was too focused on the band, didn’t give her the attention she deserved, and she found someone who did. Things were better that way; we’d created one of those situations where friends cross the line and screw up the friendship.” I pause. “Plus Jem wanted her. Beginning to see a pattern here?”
“But he can’t make people want him!”
“Not the people he wants to. Well, some of them – I’ve seen him with Liv; she wants him. Maybe if they weren’t both addicted to substances they could switch some of that addiction to each other.”
Sky rubs her face, looking round the room. “I don’t know what to say, Dylan. Every time I think you’ve told me everything, something new comes up. Trust is a huge thing in a relationship.”
“I fucked up again, didn’t I?”
Sky shakes her head. “This burying things and not dealing with them is a part of you that you need to acknowledge. Funny, I remember you saying something odd about me being a mirror the day we met, about how you couldn’t see through me.” For a long moment, she pauses and studies her shoes. I shift uncomfortably, bracing myself for what might come next.
“I learn more about myself the more I get to know you,” she says as if half-talking to herself, then looks at me with confused eyes. “Let’s deal with our crap together.”
I sink back against the sofa in relief. “You did come to collect your stuff?”
“I don’t want to live here. If I can stay with you until I face what I need to change…?”
“Sky, stay with me as long as you want to.” I bite back the desire to say ‘forever’, pushing away the fantasy of her and me and a happily ever after.
As I watch her wander around the flat shoving random items into her bag, I realise this can’t be a happily ever after because in reality our story is just beginning.
****
Sky
The girl on Jem’s lap curls her body around his, blonde head on his shoulder. Jem grips her waist, smoothing the back of her hand with his thumb as they watch TV. This is different to the last girl I saw him with, the groupie at Dylan’s house in the summer who he treated like his servant. The heavy black eye make-up and red lipstick ages her, but her heart-shaped face and smooth skin make her look like a child trying to dress up. There’s a vulnerability about this girl with the skinny legs and big boots.
When we walk into Dylan’s lounge room, she pushes hair from her face, dark roots betraying her natural hair-colour, and her green eyes watch us from a distance. She’s in the room, but removed and the dilated pupils indicate why.
“Make yourself at home,” mutters Dylan, walking by. “Thought you’d be gone by now?”
Jem and Liv remain in the same position and he gestures toward me with his black-painted fingernails. “Moving in, summer Sky?”
I hug the box tighter. “Temporarily.”
“Hmm. Cute.” Jem switches his attention back to the TV.
Liv scrutinises me further, head still resting on Jem, and his grip on her waist as if he doesn’t want to let go. Aware there’s no introduction coming anytime soon, I follow Dylan into his bedroom. He dumps the rucksack on the floor and holds his hands out for the large cardboard box in my arms.
“Don’t you like them?” I ask him.
“I like my own space, and with what’s happened between the three of us, he’s not my most welcome guest.” He spins around. “Sorry, I’ve no idea why I’m bringing all your gear in here. Habit. Where do you want me to take this?”
“I need to store the boxes somewhere, I guess.”
Liv has detached herself from Jem when we walk back into the lounge, and now she’s standing I can see how painfully skinny she is. Her leather jacket hangs on her small frame and sharp collarbones jut out of the top of her tatty black tank top. Nothing about her says ‘heiress’; she’s ill and lost. Is this Jem’s fault?
As she passes a beer to Jem, I study him, intrigued by their lack of vocal interaction. The comfort around each other, the way they can hardly take their eyes off each other, are they a couple in love? Although Liv’s eyes are dull, Jem’s are bright, watching her every move. When she places herself back on the sofa, they instantly fit together again, like interlocking pieces of a puzzle no one else could fix. Jem rubs his face into her hair and catches my scrutiny. I shift my look to the floor.
“How long you staying, Jem?” asks Dylan.
“We’re going soon, just waiting for a ride from Liv’s mates.”
She smiles, the perfect white straight teeth at odds with her image. “I’m Liv.”
Jem smirks. “Yeah, oops. Forgot you’d never met.”
As if. “Hey, Liv.”
Her phone beeps and she pulls it from her pocket. “They’re downstairs.” Her Home Counties accent contrasts with her image too.
As I watch, I don’t see anything imbalanced in their relationship; the power of the rock star over the innocent girl isn’t in play here. Dylan said they fed off each other, perhaps they do, and that’s where their comfort around each other comes from. Jem’s not high right now; he’s not sober either, but he’s in the room more than Liv is. When I look at Jem and Liv, my heart hurts because what emanates from them isn’t the happy peace of two people in love, but the defensive tension of two people shutting out the world.
Will this girl survive when Jem’s inevitable explosion happens? I can’t see she’ll be the one to save him.
Chapter Thirteen
Sky
Early afternoon and I’m as exhausted as if I’d been up all night. The onslaught of Jem and Dylan when I woke up, the trip to Bristol and then returning to the intensity of the atmosphere with Jem and Liv I’m ready to sleep.
After an awkward hour where little is said, Jem and Liv finally leave, and I go back into Dylan’s room to retrieve the items I left last night. My tired head aches and without thinking, I open drawers in Dylan’s bathroom, looking for painkillers.
Most cupboards an
d drawers are empty; some have towels folded inside. A drawer next to the sink has a pile of items that must be Dylan’s inside and I pause before closing it. Razors, half-empty bottles of gels. Packets of something. I pick one up. Condoms. Disappointment grips, and I tell myself he just came back from the States and these have probably been here a long time.
I’m not distracted for long, because next to the packets is a small plastic bottle. Hesitating, I pull the bottle out. Underneath is another rectangular cardboard box. The container rattles and on the side, a printed label reads Dylan Morgan - Diazepam. The disappointment trickles away, replaced by worry as I pick up the second box. Dylan Morgan - Xanax. Placing both on the counter next to the sink, I push around the drawer. There’s several other boxes, all different medications and all are half-empty. What worries me the most is they’re dated close together, between June and December, but are all by different doctors.
Dylan’s worse than I thought; how long has he been like this? The container in my hand is dated early June, before I met him. No wonder he ran. Now, look at what he went back to.
He’s screwed up, all of this is. He needs to change. Memories of news stories, stars dead before their time through overdoses and suicide, crash into my mind. Not just Dylan, but Jem too. Does Steve know? Or care?
“Everything okay?” asks Dylan from outside, shaking me back to reality.
I begin shoving the boxes away, debating when to talk to him about this.
The door to the bathroom opens and Dylan appears in the doorway. The boxes are spread across the sink and I have one in my hand. Dylan stiffens and I wait for his reaction, unable to read the closed off expression.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I was looking for something for a headache and I came across these. Sorry.” I shove the box into the drawer. No. Wait. We confront this. I turn back to Dylan. “There are a lot of different things here, are you sure you should be mixing them? Whatever these are doing, they’re not helping. Look at you.”
“Look at what?”
I sigh and lean against the sink. “When I first met you, I knew there was something wrong; and as I got to know you over that week, I heard what was wrong, how trapped and unhappy you were. I thought maybe you’d dealt with some issues and were happy to move on.”
