Page 29 of Apathy
That’s what Dylan always was for me.Home. The only one that cared enough to understand my mind and everything I was going through.
“As much as I missed you and as much as I like this after the shit that has happened today, you’re scaring me.”
Soft lips pressed against my cheek, then my temple, until he reached my forehead, holding them there for a moment. He started dragging his hands through the strands of my hair and slowly untangling it. I moved my own hand to his hair and started playing with the short strands at the back of his head, moving to the top of his head, where he kept his hair longer.
“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you,” he started in a strained voice. “Never.”
“Dylan,” I whispered. “You had nothing to do with this. Whoever did it… I don’t know, they must be sick.”
His eyes flashed with something unfamiliar, but as fast as it appeared, it also disappeared, replaced by the soft look he always had for me.
“I know, Little One. I know I had nothing to do with this, but I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here to protect you.”
“You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
Still dragging his hand through my hair, he simply nodded and kept quiet while he continued looking at me. The hand I had on his hair dropped down as my body started experiencing all the effects I was waiting for. This happiness that was coursing through me was a lie, but it was a lie I wouldn’t mind living.
The anxiety I felt before started dissipating, and as my head fell onto his shoulder, he started moving us toward the headboard of my bed, still holding me close to him. A smile played on my lips, but as the vertigo started dancing around my head, I let my eyes close, placing my hands against his chest.
“You need to change, Little One,” he murmured against my hair. “And you need to take a shower.”
I did. I knew I needed to do both of those things, but the pain in my shoulders started spreading over my back, connecting with my bruised ribs. The hammering in my head quieted down as the pills took over, but I didn’t want to move.
“Later,” I murmured. “I’ll do everything later.”
But he didn’t listen to me.
Softly pushing me away, he laid me down on the bed, and stood up. I could hear him walking through the room, the opening of the wardrobe as its doors squealed, and the rustling of fabric. I wanted to open my eyes. I wanted to get up, but instead of fighting the sleep slowly creeping up on me, I gave up.
Warm hands touched my stomach, slowly, slowly, pulling the shirt I wore up, reaching my chest. A giggle escaped from me, vibrating through my chest, as Dylan pressed his palms on either side of my waist, finding that hidden spot that always made me squirm and laugh.
“Dy,” I laughed. “What are you doing?”
He tickled me again, laughing with me. “Changing you of course.” Still keeping my eyes closed, I felt it when the fabric came to my chin, and I lifted my arms above my head. “Can you lift yourself up?” he asked in a hoarse voice. This entire day was no doubt stressful for him as well, and I obeyed, inching my upper body higher. The shirt slid over my head, my arms, and with a soft thud, hit the floor as Dylan threw it somewhere in the room.
“You are my sunshine,” I started singing as he moved down to my pants, unbuttoning them. “My only sunshine…” The sound of the zipper being lowered mixed with my voice. “You make me happy…” I lifted my butt and Dylan started pulling my pants down, goosebumps following his movements as my skin became exposed to the chilly air in the room. “When skies are gray,” I choked out when he finally removed the pants from my legs.
“Shhh,” he soothed me, his hands roaming over my legs, landing on my knees. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I nodded—at least I think I did, when his hands disappeared, and the sudden drumming of my heart I didn’t expect made me open my eyes, looking for him.
“Dylan?” He stood in front of the wardrobe, his back turned to me, the strong set of his shoulders hunched down as he held something in his hands. “Come back to bed,” I slurred, my words echoing in the room. “Please.”
He turned around, his face contorted with fear, with worry, with all the unspoken things he didn’t want to burden me with. I patted the spot next to me, inviting him back.
In two long strides, he was next to the bed, holding a shirt I haven’t seen in ages in his hands.
“Is that…?”
“Your SpongeBob shirt.” A small smile played on his lips. “Remember when I brought this?”
“How could I ever forget?” How could I forget that he bought it for me, while traveling through the country with his friends?
“Arms up,” he instructed, holding the shirt up. I complied, lifting my arms above my head, and he slid the shirt over, letting it fall over my body. I pushed the shirt on my back, up, and unclasped the bra biting into my skin, pulling away the straps through the sleeves of the shirt and throwing it to the side.
I could feel his eyes on me as I moved back toward the headboard. When the mattress dropped under his weight, I closed my eyes, and turned to my left, inch by inch, climbing over him.
The soft fabric of the comforter came around my shoulders as he pulled it over us, and I nuzzled my face against him, letting the smell of fabric softener, cinnamon, and apples comfort me. To let me believe that everything was going to be okay.
