Falling Sky (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Sky

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 break-in 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.”

He groans and I turn to look at him. He’s bleary-eyed; his expression confused. “That’s still the night before.”

“For some of us.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, placing a hand on my arm.

“A little better. Thanks for listening.”

Dylan cups my chin. ”I meant what I said, Sky. Whatever happens between us, I’ll always be here for you. However far you fall, I’ll catch you.”

I nod because I don’t want to respond and trigger my tears again.

“You look exhausted, maybe go to bed?” he suggests, smoothing my tangled hair.

“I don’t think I could sleep, my mind is already planning the day. You get some rest.”

“That’s the best sleep I’ve had in months,” he says quietly.

“On the sofa?”

“I’m not sleeping well; I guess I’ve found the answer to my insomnia.”

I pull my brows together and he leans toward me, placing his lips on mine in a gentle kiss before drawing back again. “You in my arms.”

The stupid, annoying tears return and Dylan holds my face, wiping them with his thumb. “You’ve cried enough without me bringing more.”

I want to tell him how many times I’ve cried over the loss of my Dylan from the sea, the one replaced by the rapist who walked away rather than explain. I want to share the way my chest hurt, as if my heart was ripped from me and taken with him when he left, and how an emptiness I’d never noticed before had consumed the void where my heart had been.

“I’m going to get changed,” I say, aware from his gaze he’s about to kiss me.

Dylan drops his hand and kisses my forehead. “When you’re done, tell me how I can help.”

****

I shower in a bathroom as big as my entire flat. The marble bath set into the
centre of the mosaic floor tempts me but I don’t want Dylan to come looking for me. Once I’m dressed, I’m refreshed physically but mentally exhausted. I’m not sure I can face the day yet, as if letting go of the last few months has taken all my energy. I walk back to the area I left Dylan and he’s on the phone. As I approach, he smiles and holds a hand up the way people do when they’re on the phone and don’t want interrupting.

“Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I’ll talk to Sky about this first.”

I sit opposite him, distracted as always by his presence; sucked into him. He cancels the call and smiles at me.

“You look brighter.”

“Liar, but thanks.”

“Did you want to go back to your flat? Or stay away?”

“Did Steve manage to get the place locked up? Are the rest of my things are safe?”

“Yeah. Someone’s dropping a new key round later; did you want to go back?”

My stomach turns over at the loneliness the trashed place represents and how hiding in Dylan’s high security world appeals to my need for safety. “Is it okay for me to sleep here for another night or two..."

Dylan laughs. “Sure, this place is a bit bigger than the last one we were forced to share.”

“Just a bit.”

“Besides, I’m not letting you spend Christmas on your own.”

“I keep forgetting it’s almost Christmas.”

“Weird day yesterday.”

“Weird few months.” He bites his lip and looks away, so I hastily add, “Did you have Christmas plans? I’ll get out of here before then. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Dylan flips his phone over in his hands. “I hate Christmas. I’m a total Scrooge. Or have been since I was about twelve. Besides, I don’t have any family to visit and Christmas is for families, right?”

No family, at twenty-four he should have family around. I doubt this is something he wants to talk about from his distant expression.

“And kids and you’re a big kid.”

Dylan pouts and I fight back a smile. “True. But Christmas still sucks.”

I survey the room; the huge Christmas tree in one corner, small gifts underneath, tastefully decorated. “Why do you have a tree then?”

“Myf. She wanted me to have Christmas with her and Miles, but I’m not interested.”

“Have a non-Christmas.”

“Christmas is just another day to me, but I think it means more to you?” asks Dylan.

“I think the Christmas thing is the reinforcement of how everything is different now. How life has changed this year.”

Dylan studies me and we both know I’m referring to Grant too. “You know what happens after Christmas?”

“Stomach-aches and crash diets?”

“Funny, Sky. I missed your humour. No, New Year. 2014 will be a new year for you. For… me.”

He corrects himself sharply and I
realise he was going to say us.

“We’ve both got a lot we need to face,” I tell him.

He reaches across and curls his fingers around my hand. "One day at a time? How about we start today and do something together?”

I start at his touch, relishing the warmth of his protective hand around mine. "We can't look for shells on the beach or go to tacky tourist shops so what do we do?"

"A proper date?" he suggests, watching me warily. "But somewhere a bit nicer than a fish and chip shop."

A chance to reconnect and see how we go; where we go from here.

“Where?”

“I know a nice restaurant or two?” he suggests.

“Define ‘nice’.” I picture expensive and exclusive and definitely not me.

“Somewhere a little more exclusive than normal places and where we can relax and not worry about press. Well, once we’re inside anyway.” He wrinkles his nose.

“I didn’t bring anything suitable for that!”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“You remember in the summer before…” He pauses. “We’d arranged that I’d take you out and the date got cancelled because I had to go to Belgium.”

“I’m not going to forget,” I say quietly.

“Well, I kind of bought you something to wear…” My insistence that Dylan doesn’t spend money on me is responsible for the cautious look on his face.

“Kind of?”

He huffs. “I know you didn’t like me buying you stuff, but I wanted you to feel as beautiful as I think you are.”

I stiffen, my fears about Dylan trying to change me into his world’s image of women push in. “You didn’t think my clothes were good enough?”

“Sky, no. I asked
Myf to help - she likes nice clothes but doesn’t dress like the people in my so-called world. I wanted you to feel special; that’s all. Can you take this as the gesture it was meant to be? You could always call this a Christmas present?”

A little fantasy might brighten my screwed up world - dressing up and going to an expensive restaurant with rock god Dylan Morgan.
I half-smile to myself. “Okay, but if the dress is leopard print you’ll get a big fat no.”

Dylan laughs and leans toward me. “Definitely not. But I hope you like pink?” As I open my mouth to protest, I stop when I notice Dylan’s bitten back smile. “Sky, the dress is blue to match your eyes and your name.”