Waiting for You
Page 21
Without saying anything Dylan stood and walked over to me. Holding out his palms, I took them and he pulled me up from my chair to his arms wrapping them around my waist.
I looked up and he smiled. “Wish me luck?”
Gently kissing his lips, he had other ideas and deepened the kiss. Letting go of my hands, he cupped my face with both of his hands, his palms now on my cheeks. Kissing me with a few more lingering pecks to my lower lip, he pulled away and then kissed my nose once. “Enjoy the show, brown eyes.”
When he slipped back stage, I moved closer to the stage wanting a good view.
As the previous band exited the stage, the announcement came on for Dylan. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Dylan Wade of Seattle.”
Seattle? Maybe he didn’t want anyone knowing where he was really from or he just didn’t care and rattled off a city when asked. I tend to think he just didn’t care.
Not long after that, Dylan took the stage, his gaze locked on his feet as him and three other guys shuffled to the poorly lit stage.
Dylan never looked up until he was standing at the microphone and then as if he could feel my presence near him, his eyes found mine. The corner of his mouth curved into a smirk as the electric guitar behind him played the opening notes to a song I knew. Within a few seconds, Dylan leaned in and began singing.
He played the Framing Hanley version of Lollipop.
My face was immediately on fire but I couldn’t look away. The swarm of bodies near the stage went crazy for it as did I. The entire song I couldn’t take my eyes of his lively performance and desire to put so much of himself into his performance. Not only that, he was relaxed. And when he saw that the crowd was enjoying it, he fed from that and got even more into it.
I think I lost my voice that night, I even reached out to him when he fell to his knees at one point in front of me. I felt like a goddamn groupie.
What really made me feel like a groupie was hoping he’d invite me back to his room and knowing I would be.
One of my favorite parts was when he would scream into the microphone keeping a note longer than the others and the veins in his neck surfaced. It reminded me of what I did for him earlier and what provoked the song.
Not only could I see myself being a pit -lizard, I could now see myself being a groupie. It’s a shame how easily I was influenced when finally allowed to think for myself.
We didn’t stay long after Dylan sang, long enough for him to come down from his adrenaline high singing on stage gave him.
Back at the hotel, I found my groupie self in his arms, right where I wanted to be. The curtains were open to the night, the lights of the city below dimly lit the room, our low steady breathing muffled by the sounds of the air conditioner.
I could feel his heart between my shoulders and his stomach against my back. I could feel both his arms around my middle, and I was glad it was dark around us. I was also glad that I was facing away from him, because the way he was holding me made me smile like some kind of groupie lunatic.
Lifting my right arm out from under his bicep, I placed my hand on his that was curved around the top of my rib cage. I wondered if he could feel my heart, because it was beating like crazy, wondering if he knew how I felt about him.
He pressed his face closer; I could feel his nose by the back of my ear. He warmed my body space and surrounded me as he whispered, lowly and with gruffness. “Thank you for getting in my car that day.”
I could feel his breath on my neck, through my hair and my entire body.
Dylan did things to me, made me feel ways I never imagined.
I wasn’t sure if I could sleep that night with all the thoughts in my head about what we were doing, how I felt, how he felt, the future, all of it, but then Dylan made the lowest, quietest hum-sound right by my ear. It made my eyelashes feel like a thousand wonderful pounds, and I closed them easily, happily, keeping that memory, that moment with me.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice tickling my ear.
I hummed in response this time, and sleep found me before I even knew it.
14. Her storm – Dylan Wade
I was holding out on brown eyes. She knew it. I knew it.
Pushing limits was my fucking thing. It was. But not with her. Not with brown eyes. She was better than that and not someone I wanted a one-time thing with.
Don’t get me wrong, I wanted her. I wanted all of her and in every way manageable. The fucking cute way she scrunched her nose when she couldn’t make up her mind, which was often. The way her eyes lit up when she watched me sing. They way her lips pushed out when she slept and the freckles on her nose and cheeks and the way she could never quite tame her ginger locks into a ponytail.
I wanted all of her. Even the parts that darkened the light around her but I couldn’t do it without feeling sick to my stomach that I would be what he said I was. Resentment. She wasn’t resentment.
I want her and only her.
I want to be a part of her storm.
I want to feel my pulse against hers.
I want the bitter on her sweet tongue. The sadness in her sweet syrup eyes. The silence in her screaming mind. The enigma that is really quite simple. A complicated happiness.
I wasn’t willing to let go, I was falling completely, forever, solid fucking love swimming through my veins. I want to be the breath in her mouth and the rhythm in her chest that beats for me only.
I want her to know the truth that would crush her.
I want to hide her from that very same truth and keep her with me.
I want her to see the beauty this world has to offer her. That was the fucking point of all of this.
I want her sunrise and her sunset.
I want to go back to being seven and kissing her innocence and her soft skin against mine. I want to go back to the first time I touched her and remember that feeling and live in that moment. I want to get rid of this ache in my chest and the pure fucking torture of being so close and not being able to have what I want.
What I want doesn’t fucking matter anymore. What she wants matters.
15. I’m Here – Bailey Gray
Whenever you tell a story, there’s always a twist, a turning point, a point when the story changes. When we arrived in Birmingham is when it happened. It was the reason why I said the cover should have been shadow and smoke.
When we arrived in Birmingham, we met up with a few of his friends that he kept in touch with because his brother was out of town that weekend. We made plans to meet up with him Friday night at his bar which would mark the one month day to us leaving home.
In that one month I learned a lot about Dylan and the life he had and wanted. He wanted to sing only if he didn’t have to be obligated to do so. He did in fact hate lemons and anything cinnamon. Cardboard freaked him out. The Beastie Boys were his favorite band, again, if he had to choose.
The most important part that I learned, if Dylan wanted something, whatever it was, nothing would stop him. Until me. He wouldn’t give in. He kept saying shit like I wasn’t ready and he wanted me to be sure. I had knocked off everything else on my summer bucket list but my virginity, or innocence as Dylan put it. I begged, pleaded, attacked, nothing worked.
I also learned quickly of Dylan’s moods and that they changed drastically from one moment to the next. When other guys and I were involved, that’s when his anger got the best of him.
I’d seen him jealous at the club in Oklahoma City and a few other times during our trip but nothing compared to that night at his friend’s house in Birmingham. Even then that was nothing compared to the rage he could release when pushed. I soon came to find that hurricane he had inside of him was the deadliest storm I would ever see.
His friend, Chris Rigby, lived in a small housing development outside downtown Birmingham with his parents who were, conveniently out of town, that weekend.
As soon as we entered the house, the smell of marijuana and whiskey was almost overpowering.
I’m not sure why, but most of the night felt odd to me, a strange reminder that we were just two kids who knew nothing about consequences and the damage we could do to one another.
It started with me being high, as was Dylan, the music around us pulsed and I found myself dancing with a guy named Josh who Dylan was friends with.
Dylan saw and wasn’t pleased but did nothing to stop it. The only indication I got from him that he didn’t enjoy it was his glare. He took a drink of his beer, his eyes remained locked with mine as I danced with Josh.
When Josh and I parted after the song, things were kept civil. His hands had been probably where they shouldn’t be and his mouth was dangerously close to my neck a few times but…I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have done.
Dylan and I hadn’t defined our relationship and I didn’t see where we really needed to. Neither did Dylan, or so I thought. I still hadn’t told him how I felt, though I was sure he knew, I hadn’t said the words out-loud.
Feeling Dylan’s livid glare had me sweating bullets so I went outside with my plastic cup of beer to get some air, a warm summer night was just what I needed to clear my already foggy head. That’s when Dylan followed me.
“You fucking that guy later or what?” he said slurring his words, his hands buried deep in his cargo shorts that hung low on his hips, a smirk present. Whenever Dylan had something to say, whether good or bad, he smirked.
My words came out in a hiss when I turned to face him, my stomach twisting and turning. “Jesus Dylan, I was just dancing with him.”
He sounded desperate for me to hear him but I didn’t, I was pissed. “Why did you let him dance with you like that?”
“Dylan, we were just dancing.” My voice was softer now, nearing tears I didn’t want to show. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with Dylan being upset with me for enjoying myself. I wasn’t attracted to Josh nor would I have let him try anything. But dancing shouldn’t be off limits and neither should talking. After all, he could check out another girl but I couldn’t dance with someone? “You didn’t see me acting this way when you checked out Sway,” I added spitefully.
That set him off. “Don’t give me that shit!” he yelled, his voice echoing throughout the covered deck we were standing on. His weight shifted and he stepped forward. “It sure as shit didn’t look that way to me,” he spit, desperation turned to anger and I heard something break, a beer bottle against the wall side of the house, a beer bottle I didn’t know he was holding. It was evident we had both had too much.
“You’re overreacting.”
That was the wrong thing to say to him.
To be fair, I pushed, but what he said next was like acid in my veins.
Dylan tore his eyes away from mine and turned to walk away, but stopped abruptly. He spun around to look at me before he got to the door. “I fucked Mercedes Grant last summer.”
He kept his eyes on mine as if he was challenging me to reply. I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to let him know how bad that hurt.
He knew what to say to hurt me right then.
The door to the house slammed behind him and I stayed outside and sat in the grass. Laying back, I stared at the stars above me wishing they held an answer. If only I could connect them and come to some sort of an unspoken answer. I cried. It was the type of tears that soaked your face, warmed your cheeks and closed your throat begging for some sort of understanding.
What did Mercedes have that I didn’t have? Why did every guy want her? Why would he sleep with her and not me?
She was a bitch, how could they not see that?
At the first sign of interest, guys were drawn to her and I never understood why. First Eric and now Dylan, I really couldn’t understand the appeal she held.
I got cold quicker than I wanted and decided to go back inside to face Dylan. I was ready to leave and if he wasn’t going to take me, I was walking.
He was sitting at the bar in the kitchen with several guys that appeared excited to have him around. They patted his back, talked around him, never noticing that he was not part of their discussions.
Without knowing I came back inside, he tensed, he felt it. We had that type of pull on each other now.
Setting the beer down, forcefully, his head tipped toward the door and I knew this was my directive to follow or I was about to be left there. He waved a quick goodbye to his friends and moved past me to the door, his stare on his feet.
Sure enough, he walked to the door, waited for less than two seconds, and then pushed through to the driveway.
Nothing was said when I got in the car and nothing was said when we drove away.
I folded my hands in my lap prepared to pick out a corner on the street soon. I thought for sure this was the end of our trip. I’d have to call my dad, beg for forgiveness and go about my perfectly planned life.
I didn’t want that though. As much as this hurt, my time with him had been unreal. That’s why this hurt so badly. Dylan was showing me a side of life I never knew. Yeah it was painful but it held a fire I never knew anyone could feel.
The drive to the hotel was quiet, no music, nothing. Streets were empty, houses dark, and businesses closed. At the stop light, I snuck a peek at him, his stare was forward, never yielding. A quiet rolling rumble from the GTO is the only noise around us but I knew. I could feel it, the storm that was coming. The shadows that were moving on my sunrise and sunset, the darker tones that would suffocate my honey hues.
When we got back to the hotel, he said nothing to me. When I slammed the door behind me, which got his attention. He looked back at me and I smiled kicking my shoes to the side near the heater.
Dylan set his phone, keys and wallet on the nightstand and then looked over at me again. “What’s the matter, brown eyes?” He was taunting me with the curve of his lips and the smirk that touched his eyes. He was being vindictive.
“Don’t be an asshole Dylan.” I threw my bag down and slammed the door to the bathroom before I entered it. Trying to avoid him as long as I could, I stayed in there for close to an hour.
When I came out, his mood had softened though the wreckage around the room informed me it wasn’t without damage. I decided in that hour of my alone time that I was going to be the bigger person in this and apologize. “I’m sorry I danced with Josh. I wasn’t trying to upset you.” I moved from the door to the bathroom to the bed sitting on it. “I was having a good time.”
“Yeah, I know.” His irritation spoke in his stance and the way his eyes held mine as he paced the space beside the bed. He still hadn’t calmed down. Before I had much time to react, he stopped pacing and hovered over me. “You made that perfectly clear tonight.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I sighed feeling like I was suffocating with him that close, that angry, that defensiveness for something he didn’t understand. Quickly I brushed away the blame-worthy tears streaming down my face.
“But you did,” Dylan said keeping his eyes on mine. Anger was flaring, that part I understood. “You said it.”
“My god, you’re so frustrating.”
“Yeah well.” He finally stepped back creating a few inches of distance. His hands patted his pocket looking for his cigarettes. When he found them, he pulled one out placing it between his lips and squinted at me. “You’re annoying.”
“I am not.” I glared trying to let him know this wasn’t exactly helping us move past this.
“Yep, you’re annoying.”
“What are you, like five-years-old?”
“Shut up,” he said taking his lighter from the pocket of his flannel and tossing it around in his left hand before lighting the cigarette in the non-smoking room.
“Okay, so four then.”
Dylan pushed against my shoulder and I fell against the bed, he smirked as he walked toward the balcon
y but added. “More like two.”
I wasn’t finished with our argument though and had a few things I needed to say so I followed him. He sighed when I came outside. “Haven’t had enough princess?”
I did what I thought was necessary for the situation. I kicked his shin. “Don’t be a fucking jerk about this.”
He laughed a little darker this time. “Well then, go ahead,” he said blowing smoke out with another chuckle. “Tell me he touched you so I can lay that motherfucker out.”
I wasn’t laughing. “That’s not nice, Dylan. You’ve got some serious anger issues. We were dancing. Don’t blow this up into something more.”
“Whatever,” he grunted kicking his legs up onto the railing and leaning back in the plastic chair that was out there.
“Fine Dylan, take me home then. If this is the way this shit is going to go, take me home!” It was the first time since we left where I didn’t want to be around him.
“So what?” Dylan snapped jerking his legs from the balcony to sit a little straighter, his posture tense. “You fucking hate me now because I was trying to protect you from being raped by a fucking douchebag?”
“I wasn’t going to be raped Dylan.” Losing a little steam, I sat down beside him in the other chair next to his. “You’re exaggerating.”
“You don’t know that,” he mumbled taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’re so fucking naïve to all this shit around you. There’s so much about this fucking world that you have no idea about. Do you know how many times Josh has been in and out of jail?”
“Stop trying to protect me Dylan,” I said ignoring his comments on Josh. It meant nothing and wasn’t part of this argument. “I don’t need you to. You’re not my father and please don’t act like it.”
“Yeah, princess.” He gave another scornful glare my way. He called me princess just to pour salt in the wound his words left. “You can be goddamn sure I’m not your fucking dad.”