Our trip in New York was nearing its end. I remember being so happy to be in such a beautiful state. I couldn't even contain my excitement. Then things happened and I found myself longing to be in my bedroom. I barely left the hotel room. It had been a couple days but I was sure it was more. I just couldn't find confidence to face them – whoever it may be. I knew that somehow I was going to have to get out of this room and I was going to see Dallas and Abby and their group of friends that were probably in on the plan.
But I didn't want to.
It was so hard for me. I felt like an idiot because I couldn't find the strength to get out of the hotel room. If I did choose to leave, I would find myself bowing my head down so no one would notice me. That wasn't me. I wanted to fling the door open and walk out of this hotel with a straight and confident face on. For goodness sake, I couldn't even get my own food from the dining hall. I knew that they would be there. I didn't want to deal with the whispers and the glances and the laughter.
Sighing, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I took a deep breath and splashed some cold water on my face. I looked dead and I knew that wasn't me. I was disappointed in myself for many reasons. I was disappointed that I let Dallas deceive me, I was disappointed that I didn't stand up for myself for the way Dallas and Abby treated me, and I was disappointed for choosing to cower behind closed walls. I didn't want Dallas to do this to someone else. I didn't want him to hurt another girl – make her go through some of her best months and only to end in her worst. I'll be dead if I let that happen. I chose to look at the bright side of what he did to me, though. I got to see how much of a coward and an jerk he really was.
"You're better than this, Aubrey," I said. "You really are."
I then heard the door knock.
Grabbing a towel, I wiped the water off my face and exited the bathroom. I walked over to the door and checked through the peephole.
It was Dylan.
I opened the door.
Dylan held a bag in his hands. He cleared his throat and pursed his lips. "Your friends told me to give you this. It's food."
I slowly nodded and took it from his hands. "Thank you." I managed to shoot him a small smile. "Do you want to come in or something?" I smirked. "Or are you going to see Catherine?"
He rolled his eyes. "Not for hours." He stepped into the room and sighed, putting his hands into his pockets. I placed the food on the table and turned back to Dylan. He looked at me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm coping," I answered, smiling. "How about you?"
He nodded. "Fine."
I gestured towards the couches. I sat down on the armchair and he slouched on the couch.
"Can I ask you something?" I said after a couple of moments of silence.
Dylan nodded.
"When you...when you found out Catherine was cheating on you," I began, fiddling with my fingers. "how'd you deal with it?"
He swallowed. "I didn't." He shrugged. "I just spent it drinking. I drank a lot." His face grew stern. "But don't do that. It's not...healthy."
For the first time, which felt like in forever, I found myself laughing. I remembered the first time I saw Dylan drunk.
Dylan inhaled. "It doesn't solve anything."
"Drinking?"
He nodded.
"I know," I answered. "I guess people just wish to forget about their problems. I figured you never really got over it but I guess things are going pretty well between you guys. I'm happy for you."
He shifted in his seat. "How are you dealing with it?"
"To be honest with you, I guess I'm not," I replied. "I'm just waiting to go back home. I don't know how to deal with it. How do you get over something so big as this?" I shrugged and smiled. "But you're right. I won't be stuck in this situation forever."
He nodded.
"Now, come on," I said, getting up. I grabbed the bag of food and plopped down on the couch next to Dylan. "You're going to help me eat this. Unless you have to go. I'm not going to force you to stay. I think it's bad when people force other people to do things they don't want to do or are not comfortable doing..."
"Beatles girl."
I turned to look at him. "Hmm?"
He gave me a straight look. "Stop talking."
I grinned. "I'll let that comment slide but are we back to Beatles girl?"
Dylan shrugged. "Calling you by your first name is too serious."
"I don't know. It came to me as a shock when you called me by my name. It was nice, though. How come I don't have a nickname for you? Let me see. What would fit you? I think I'll start calling you...Captain Grouch."
"You are so annoying."
I laughed and picked up a strawberry and turned to look at him again. I smiled. "I know. But I also know you care about me, too."
"And when did I say that?" he sneered, his smile sarcastic.
"You don't have to say anything," I said, munching on the strawberry. I nodded at him. "I just know."
Dylan frowned, his eyes roaming mine.
"You do that a lot," I said.
"Do what?" he snapped.
I rolled my eyes and picked up another strawberry. "Your eyes. They dart around a lot – slowly, though. They just sort of move around, as if you're in deep thought or something."
He sighed.
"You also sigh a lot."
"Jesus Christ."
I shrugged, smiling.
