Disappeared [ Dylan Sprayberry Fanfic ]

Chapter 7

Bridget's POV
I looked up into Daniel's eyes.
"I didn't know that happened to you."
He smiled pathetically,
"Not many people do."
Like me, like Dylan, Daniel had been wandering around in that deep dark forest too, alone and freezing. Though I feel like he had fallen somewhere, and maybe, he never found the strength to get back up again. Now I knew why Daniel had visited me countless times while Dylan was in the hospital, I knew why he picked me up off of the road that night to go to the guy that had beat him up--no one had ever been there to do the same when his little sister was hit. Nobody was there for him now.
I didn't want to understand why terrible things happened to good people, and why even gentler people are subjected to such pain for so long.
Daniel squeezed his eyes closed, and inhaled slowly. Then his eyes opened again, and he was looking at me.
"Here," He said, sliding his fingers underneath one of his rubber wristbands. It was yellow, the white words read, 'Keep Your Chin Up'. Daniel took it off of his wrist and handed it to me.
"I want you to have it. As a reminder."
I nodded thankfully, holding it as if it was made of gold. In the motion of him returning his arm to his lap, I caught sight of a thin fading scar on his inner wrist where the bracelet used to be.
At that time I didn't ask Daniel where the scar had came from, or what it was--
some things are better left unsaid.

Another sleepless night. I pulled on Dylan's faded sweatshirt and sighed. Looking in the mirror, I could see all of my flaws, and my clothes didn't do anything to help--trashed jeans, and grubby converse. I tugged my black hair into a ponytail tiredly, and rubbed my eye before any tears could fall. I pulled my Dad's dog tag out from underneath the sweatshirt.
Luck. Prosperity. Hope. Funny, how all of those words seemed meaningless now. Too optimistic.
I looked out the window, it looked bleak and grey, on the verge of snowing. I didn't know how long Dylan had been gone. The only way I was able to tell of time passing, was how many times I'd stared at his empty seat in class, or watched another sunset without him holding my hand, or another day pulling into Emerson High's parking lot without his motorcycle being there. It all seemed like a blur.
'Had he even loved me in the first place?' I wondered, staring back at my sunken in face. My thoughts suddenly turned backwards like a time machine almost, as soon as I began imagining Dylan's blue eyes,

"Dylan's going to try to do it all by himself. Don't allow him too. You chase after him no matter what....Things are far out of my hands, but you, you can save him." She stared at me, hope flickered in her eyes.
"Only you, Bridget."

What exactly did Mrs. Tasha mean? What was Dylan trying to do by himself? I hadn't seen Mrs. Tasha since that night, not once. She hadn't even called my mom to talk about whatever they talked about. Or maybe she had, but I hadn't never noticed.
"Chase after him, huh..." I stared at my bedroom floor. But I didn't want to play tag. I've always felt out of Parker's league, always a step behind, I'd only been running then--but he'd always had the courtesy to wait up for me. I didn't know how to chase after someone who didn't slow down to be caught. Him leaving didn't make sense. Neither did Mrs. Tasha's words. I slid my phone out of my pocket, and unlocked it. I scrolled down to Dylan's number, and tapped Dial. All of my other 20 billion calls had gone straight to voice mail. That's what made me feel loneliest, it was like he was cutting me off completely, like I was some obsessed, fanatic little girl. And maybe I was.

I pressed the screen to my ear, and squeezing my eyes closed, hoping and praying I'd hear his voice, sweet and calm like it used to be. It rolled back into voicemail,
"I'm not available right now, so yeah...I'll get back to you whenever I can." Dylan's nervous voice filled my ears, causing a reluctant smile to form on my lips. But that was the thing, I didn't think Dylan would ever get back to me. He'd stay right where he was, because apparently, he didn't have much to come back too. I knew I was torturing myself, calling his number just to hear his voice.
God, I was pitiful.
With a quivering hand, I pressed my fingers over my lips to stop the ugly sobbing sounds bound to escape sometime or another. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, slung my backpack over my shoulder and turned to the door. I didn't even bother waiting out my puffy eyes or my red face, my mother knew I cried. Olivia knew too.