When We Met

Seventeen

|Donovan|

Weekends aren't my piece of cake. Instead, they carve my already hollow self into a stagnant and limitless void. They remind me of everything and everyone I don't have.

Leanne.

Jake.

Mom and dad.

Dylan...?

I shut the album close and stack it under my bed. For a change, I didn't end up crying this time. Instead, I decided to think about a future without the shattering fragments of my past.

I pull up my hair into a loose ponytail and get ready for bed. It's only eight in the evening, and I feel absolutely useless. Hence, a good hour sleep would be much appreciated.

As I shut the windows close, the doorbell goes off. I stop midway and frown in confusion. I don't remember Maddie talking about a sleepover. Then who would it be at this hour?

I shrug and skip my way to the door. As I unlock it, I get a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach; as if a swarm of butterflies has decided to flutter rigorously in my belly.

And that's when I give reason to that uncanny feeling.

Dylan Martin stands on the other side of the door; his face pale and colourless, and his eyes bloodshot. He sways from one foot to another, claiming that he has consumed alcohol. I am vaguely aware of him stating that alcohol never gets to him, and if he is out of body balance, I wonder how many bottles has he downed.

"Dylan?" I croak, still not believing what I'm seeing. "Are you alright?" Something bad has happened, that is quite evident.

The next thing he does takes me off guard. He stumbles forward and literally leans down for a giant hug. I lose my balance for a second as his body half collapses against mine.

As I regain my posture, Dylan's face nuzzles into the crook of my neck and I feel my body light up with an attack of chilling goosebumps. I swing my arms around his back and hold him close to me.

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay." I gently rub his back and try to stay calm. He is scaring the crap out of me.

I slowly pull away and shut the door close. The simple action sends shivers down my spine. I'm alone with Dylan Martin in my apartment at eight five in the evening. And such a close proximity is sending my brain into a drive of vague memories.

An image keeps on flashing in front of my eyes; me sitting in a car, Dylan's face right in front of me,  and then a major blackout.

I clear my head of everything and lead Dylan to the sofa set sitting in my apartment. He settles on the sofa without any comments and looks down at his feet.

I frown and kneel down in front of him, placing my hand over his balled fists.

He looks into my eyes, and for a moment, they soften considerably; the brown in those eyes melting me vehemently.

"You want me to get you something?" I ask in a quiet whisper.

"Just... Oh, god." He slaps a hand over his forehead and groans. "I'm sorry, Cheryl. I shouldn't have barged in like this. I don't know what I was thinking..."

"Dylan. You can come here whenever you want to. There's no barging in, okay? Tell me what's bothering you. Talk to me." I get up and fetch a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator.

He takes it thankfully and chugs down half of it. I look at him with an awed expression and smile faintly. He, indeed, is a beautiful young man.

I sit down beside him and the mere touch of my leg against his sends a spark through my body. What the fuck was that?