How Much Do You Remember?

2

His body heat swallowed me whole, his arms lapping over themselves on my back. My arms lifted and gripped around his neck and my head tucked into his shoulder. I gripped onto his t-shirt so tight that I felt it I let go then he would crumble to ash at my feet and blow away in the mild wind. "Oh Evie," he whispered into my hair and my grip tightened so hard my feet lifted off the floor. He smelt like wood and vanilla and home and warmth and everything good in the world. The overwhelming feeling of childhood nipped at the corners of my eyes, tears rippling over my skin and sinking into the material of his shirt. We stayed hugging for a few minutes until his grip softened and I sunk back to my feet.

"Dillon, what are you doing back?" I asked, breaking his trance on my face as I wiped my eyes on my sleeve.

"Mum and Dad have gone to America to see Auntie Mary, what are you doing here?" Dillon asked through a smile, cocking his head to the side with curiosity. 

"Is Auntie Mary okay?"

"I don't think so, they said that she's got a bad case of the flu but they haven't told me any details." He didn't look away from me once and it was unnerving, and felt like I was under surveillance and it was worrying to think that if he stared long enough, he would see straight through me and pull me apart from the inside out. "What are you doing here, Little Evie?"

"Don't call me Little Evie, you know I hate it," I said with a smile I couldn't hold back. His presence was so inviting, even when the anger stepped forward I couldn't help myself from speaking to him, welcoming his voice and words to clamber over my own thoughts. 

"You are Little Evie though, you're the youngest of three it's just a natural nickname that fell upon your grace." He was beaming down at me now, his smile so electric she thought the sun could shine out of his soul through his mouth.

"I'm not though."

"Not what?"

"Not the youngest. Not of three anyways- not anymore." I turned back to my bike and put the bottle in the basket zip-tied to the front of the handles, the little bubble of their conversation popping almost immediately. I was never going to escape history, no one could, it was just a part of life and just because her history was slightly stained didn't mean she... 

"Your eye is a different colour." Dillon pointed out with a cock of his head. I'd hope that he wouldn't notice, but I'm not surprised he did, he's been staring at me like I'll evaporate if he looks away. 

"Yeah..." I didn't know what else to say, "I think it happened when I was 17 ish." 

He was stood right next to me, goggling down at my bike like he'd never seen such an invention before which was impossible, this bike was years older than his own truck. "You still have this thing?" He asked but I didn't reply, the fact they were stood over its rusting frame answered his question. The handlebars were slightly wonky and the chain had fallen loose whilst it sat dormant outside the store. Swearing under my breath I knelt down next to it and led the chain back through the gears cautiously, my fingers growing muddy and dark. Dillon was still stood over me, when his voice broke through the silence and startled me.

"Come have lunch with me."

"What?" I wiped my hands on the dying patch of grass next to the wheel and stood up. 

"Come have lunch with me, for old time sakes. We can catch up and chit chat like two old women- it'll be fun." He pointed towards the American Diner cafe across the street. 

"I'm not hungry-"

"You look like you need it, Eve, come on."

"What does that mean?" I replied, slightly offended. His words shot straight through me, he could already peak into her mind and her soul, I could feel his gaze soaking through my clothes and into my skin, falling through my heart and into my stomach.