Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter twenty-two: B R E A K F A S T

Gabby

. . .

"What happens now?" The question is whispered so softly I almost miss it. I'm on the edge of consciousness, freshly woken by Dylan's voice in my ear. I've been aware of his mumbling for a while, though he's been quiet a while, perhaps he dozed for a short minute.

"Dyl," I whisper, nudging him with my elbow.

When he doesn't rouse, I turn in his grasp. He makes a sound of discontent, his arms tightening briefly as if to ensure I'm still there. He's sleeping soundly, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. 

A blanket that wasn't there when I fell asleep covers both of us, and the way it rubs against my skin makes me acutely aware that I am buck ass naked. Oh shit. Mierda. We did that. I did that. I did... him.

My heart seems to pound a mile a minute as I recall yesterday. I can't believe that actually happened—and we weren't drunk or high or dying. He said he loved me. Loves me. 

It's more than I could have ever dreamed or hoped for, and that in itself is terrifying. Relaxing into his hold, I go still in his arms, peeking up at his stubble covered cheeks. Closing my eyes I will sleep to return to me. More than I can dream for means more than likely it'll become a nightmare. And if it does, then I really don't want to wake up.

. . .

Dylan nudges me into consciousness with gentle kisses along my brow. "Time for breakfast," he murmurs. His kisses are chaste, lasting the briefest of seconds before he peppers them elsewhere. 

I moan softly, turning into his embrace, but the second I move so does he. With a groan I haul myself into a sitting position, struggling to pull my eyes open. "I don't want breakfast. I wanna sleep."

Dylan laughs as I finally manage to blink away the remains of sleep. "I made pancakes."

"Bullshit, I shopped for you. You don't have that kind of food here."

"Yeah, I got them delivered, same thing." He laughs one more and hands me my glasses. 

I wipe them off on the thin blanket I'm under before slipping them on. My eyes narrow as I look at Dylan. "Why are you dressed?"

"Can't very well answer the door naked can I?" 

Dylan stands, graceful as ever and holds a hand out to me. I hum, not giving him an answer as I allow him to pull me from the tangle of blanket and pillows that serve as his couch. I look down in amusement. I'm shoved into one of his shirts. It's tight, but it fits... mostly. 

"Your sofa probably has... fluids in it now," I muse.

He laughs, pressing himself to my back as he leads us into the kitchen. Neatly plated pancakes sit on his kitchen island, a small vase with a single rose between the plates. It's like something I would have dreamed, the morning's sunlight peeking through the kitchen windows to cast golden shadows over the scene. 

"Oh Dyl..."

He presses yet another swift kiss to my forehead as he leads me to the island, pulling out my stool for me.

"You know you didn't have to do all of this, right? Cheap beer and pizza for breakfast has always been..." As Dylan takes his seat across from me, I trail off seeing the fire in his eyes.

"You deserve nothing less than this, Squeaks. Quite frankly, you deserve a hell of a lot more."

Tears well in my eyes with his words and I give him a droopy smile, I open my mouth to respond but I can feel my voice cracking before I even get a chance to say anything. I settle for another smile, digging into my pancakes with gusto.

Our breakfast is comfortably quiet and when we finish eating we do the dishes. I wash and he dries—just like we used to.

We complete our domestic task and Dylan steps away to call his trainer whilst I head to the living room to retrieve my pants.

I delve through the cushions, only finding my shirt and bra before a door opens. My ears perk at the noise, not having registered a key in the lock preceding it and I follow the sound, expecting to find Dylan. 

"Hey, have you seen my—"

The one and only Stella Taylor blinks at me with impossibly wide blue eyes. Her pink glossed lips are pursed in shock as the man with her begins to pick up the boxes that line the wall to the foyer. 

"What the hell!" Her slow spoken words come out as a shrill hiss as her stare bores into me. 

Instinctively, I cast my gaze to the floor, grabbing at the hem of Dylan's shirt that just barely covers my thighs. Breathing rapidly, I'm glad when Stella's mover ignores the both of us and simply continues to move boxes. His gaze does not linger and for that, I'm thankful.

"I would have had those sent to you," Dylan says smoothly from somewhere behind me, a smirk in his voice. He's putting on an act, the same one he used when we were in school, or maybe it's always been real. A bravado that says with one hundred percent positivity that he is better than her, than everyone.

"Go to hell!"

"Your employee can get your boxes. You can leave now."

"Oh, I can leave? What about her? Not a week after we're done and you move her in?"

"Yes, you can leave." He does not give her the satisfaction of responding to her accusations about me.

"So what you've just been fucking her this whole time? I know you've been in her room—in her bed!" My heart is beating several miles a minute, pushing against my lungs at a breakneck speed until I'm struggling to breathe.

"Are you leaving or not?"

Stella scoffs, and I hear the whoosh of her thick blonde hair as she tosses it over her shoulder. "Listen up bitch. He'll fuck you and won't give a damn about you later. It doesn't matter how long he's known you in his eyes you're a goddamned whore—"

"Stella..." How can I inhale at a time like this?

"And when he gets tired of your bitch who cried wolf, fake rape—"

"Stella!" Inhala, exhala, inhala, exhala...

"Gold-digging, home-wrecking, chunky monkey ass, he'll either crawl back and kiss my Jimmy Choos or find another trust fund he can fuck. Got it, Flabrielle?"

With that she spits, presumably on the floor and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

I lean heavily against Dylan, unable to hold my own wait as panic consumes me and my vision begins to pinhole.

. . .

I took a writing class and so therefore I can see where Dylan's personality in the previous chapters is literal hot garbage. Cause 16yo me was gonna have the get it on again in this chapter but 18yo me is like... nah.

I don't even read on this app anymore lol. But, I feel a sense of obligation to everyone who reads because fuck, I wanna know how the story ends too.

I'm going to college. 

Remember to stay safe.♥

😊✌🏽