Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter twenty-three: D I N E R

Gabby

. . .

It's amazing what you remember in times of great distress.

Prom Night 2007

"You can just take me home, Dylan. I shouldn't have bothered going in the first place. I'm not exactly friendly."

The tiny diner we've stopped at is basically empty. The only customers are an elderly couple, a pair of preteen friends who whisper anxiously as they wait for their meals, a tired blond man typing rapidly on a silver laptop covered in stickers, and Dylan and myself.

A single row of booths lines the front wall, flush with the windows. The floors are a cracked white and checkerboard tile, the seats made of worn blue leather. They're comfortable, and don't squeak when you move. Dylan and I sit in the very last booth, tucked into the corner, though just as visible as any other patron. There's a jukebox next to us, crooning the greatest hits of the seventies at a smooth and even volume. George Throrogood croons softly as we talk quietly amongst ourselves.

"Gabs... you don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. I've never been into that type of stuff. For me to even drag you into that I just—"

"Well at some point you wanted to go. The why isn't important, neither is whether you would have liked it. It was a thing you wanted. What changed that?"

I shrugged, feeling my face go warm. He had a point. He almost always did, as smart as he was.

"You don't like your dress?"

"The dress is fine."

"You didn't like the venue?"

"The decorations were nice."

"You didn't like my friends?"

"I..."

Something about my tone immediately grasps his attention and he breathes heavily through his nose as though figuring out something that should have been obvious. "You felt out of place."

This time it's not a question, and unwilling to confirm the most embarrassing explanation, I grab my glass of water and take a healthy sip. 

"I'm sorry, Gabby."

I swallow my mouthful of water, shifting in my seat. My back is to the wall, giving me a clear view of the diner, and Dylan sits across from me.

The lone waiter who had been tending to the kids on the far side of the diner walks over, saving me from Dylan's scrutiny. "Sorry for the wait, what can I get you guys?" The pimply faced older teen has a permanent scowl and sand colored hair as he poise his pen on his order pad, not bothering to look at us. 

I peer down at the menu that's imbedded in the table. "I'll have a cookie-dough waffle and a vanilla shake with a side of fruit." 

Looking up from the menu, I see that his pen hasn't moved, and he's now looking at me intently. His dark eyes are wide and his mouth gapes slightly. I roll my lips inward, dropping my gaze back to the table. Way to make a girl uncomfortable.

"And I'll have a bacon burger with a strawberry shake."

"Sure thing, man." The guy hesitates and stumbles over his feet as he walks away, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

Once I'm sure he's gone, I look up from the table to peek up at Dylan, but he's sliding into my side of the booth. His back is to the crowd now, just like mine is—just like Levi taught us to avoid, but his arm is wrapped firmly around my shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry. That freak's like twenty and he was an eyeball-er." 

"That's not a word. He probably thought my voice was weird."

"Don't care." He peers over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at something before turning back to me, sincerity written all over his face. "Gabs if you felt out of place, we had other options. We could have made our own prom. It was something you thought you wanted. How could any alternative possibly be bad." 

I don't say anything feeling guilty for ruining his night, but I nod. He's been my best friend for years, and he's always comforted me when I've gotten like this. I was never the popular kid, never someone everyone raced to spend time with. So much so that I became the kid who avoided everyone.

I thought... I just thought. 

We sit in a comfortable silence listening to The Judds as we wait for our food. The songs change as we wait go through our night, with Dylan casting the occasional glance over his shoulder at our waiter. When we prepare leave with our to-go milkshakes, Dylan walks over to the jukebox. With everyone having left as we ate, there was no one to complain as he increased the volume and switched to softer music. Entwining his fingers in mine—for the waiter to see, I remind myself as my heart skips a beat—Dylan leads me out of the diner. 

We walk to the car, parked on the far side of the diner, close enough that we could still hear the jukebox from where we stood. Dylan takes my milkshake, and despite my questioning look, hops in the car. It starts with a purr, the lights blinding me for a split second. Dylan emerges from the light, tucking the keys in his pocket, and offers a hand to me.

"Dylan," I whisper, feeling my chest constrict.

"Can't let you have a prom night without a slow dance." He nods his head at the music that plays from within the diner and pulls me to him. He tugs one of my hands to his shoulder, placing the other one in his palm. It's warm and dry, not cold and clammy like I know mine is. "I know you can keep the rhythm," Dylan murmurs with a smile.

His other hand reaches my waist and I stifle a gasp. We begin a slow waltz in the parking lot. It's a simple box step, nothing fancy like the tango or rumba that we'd been taught. We sway in the light of the car's low beams, and I place my head on Dylan's shoulder.

On our second turn, a noise grabs my attention. I peek up at Dylan whose eyes are now closed. So it wasn't him. I look around in the darkness, still swaying. Dylan leads us into another turn, and there on the edge of the light is the waiter from before. He holds a hefty black garbage bag and wears a discontented frown. He edges closer to Dylan and I before he seems to change his mind, tossing the trash and stalking away.

In that split second before he walked away I realized his eyes weren't dark like I'd thought. But om the blinding light, his pupils mere pinholes, they were a piercing blue, and my memory begins to crash.

. . .

I literally never proofread any of these beyond checking for those little red squiggles. I swear I'm not uploading the next book until it's done, so if I make time for it, it shouldn't take long, but y'all know how that goes.

I'm so tired.

Remember to stay safe.♥

😊✌🏽