You, A Friend Of Mine

6

"Dylan?" I hear Macy's voice, wavering as if she's approaching a sleepy bear.

"Yeah?" His gravely voice is weak, almost as if he hasn't slept in days, which he probably hasn't.

"You should go home, get some rest." Macy tries reasoning with him but I know he won't listen.

His grip tightens on my hand. "Macy, I'm not leaving," he says, his voice slightly raising.

"Seriously. You need to sleep in your own bed." Macy comes closer.

"I won't be able to get any more sleep there than I will here," he retorts, obviously getting frustrated.

"Dylan, come on, I'll stay with her if you just-"

"No!" Dylan raises his voice but he isn't quite yelling yet. "I'm not leaving her! I let her leave but I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay, fine." Macy says, defeated. "I just came to check on her." They both stay quiet for a while. "Let me know if she wakes up." Macy starts to walk away.

"When," Dylan says matter of factly.

"What?" Macy asks, confused.

"When she wakes up." A hint of hope is evident in his broken voice.

"Of course," Macy says, and I can hear the tears in her voice before she walks away.

Dylan sighs. "I wish I hadn't yelled at you," he whispers. "There's a lot I wish I hadn't done."

When he first yelled at me, I was scared. He was so hurt and broken over his mother's death and his father's lack of caring that he wasn't himself, and he hasn't been since. I still remember our first fight like it was yesterday.

The sun rays beamed into Dylan's room, and woke me up. I grunted, and moved my arm up to cover me face.

"Morning," Dylan grumbled in my ear, tightening his arm around my waist.

I rolled over onto my other side, so I faced him. I looked into his puffy eyes, and saw sadness instead of the glimmering happiness that I'd grown to love. He put on a small smile, and made an effort to look happy. 

I placed my hand on the side of his face. "Morning," I said back, giving him a soft smile. "Are you hungry?"  I asked, and propped myself up on my elbow.

He shook his head. "Not really." He rolled over and looked at the ceiling, removing him hand from my waist.

"Did you sleep?" I asked, sitting up, knowing full well he hadn't in almost two months.

"No," he replied shakily, and rubbed a hand over his face. "I tried." He paused. "I had the nightmare again." He couldn't sleep for more than ten minutes without being woken by the nightmare. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but it was bad. I could tell because he never got any sleep because of it.

"I'm sorry." I frowned and took his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.

"Nothing you can do about it." He refused to meet my eyes.

"What happens?" I asked. His eyes glazed over and he didn't respond. I saw him gulp, not wanting to say anything.

He pulled his hand out of mine, and stood up. "Nothing," he said, and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers, yet remained shirtless.