With all the press for American Assassin and The Death Cure, it was like I couldn't get away from Dylan. He was everywhere. He was every face I saw, every voice I heard, and it seemed like he was all anyone could talk about. I wanted nothing more than to forget about the relationship I'd fucked up, but it seemed the world was determined to make sure that I didn't.
I tried to call him in the beginning, hoping to work it out, but he never answered my calls. I tried for months, but I'd lost hope around month three. It'd been a year since then, maybe a little more, and I was trying to move on. I wasn't sure how I was going to be able to since nobody ever really moves on from their soulmate.
I'd seen stories of people who lost or didn't end up with their soulmates. It was awful. Most of them didn't make it past 40. Scientists don't really know why this is, but they assume it's because your soulmate is as much a part of you as the mark is, and going too long without them has detrimental effects on the body. Like a slow-building disease, it ferments in your body, and if you don't catch it soon enough, if you don't take the cure, it eats you alive until you're nothing but a vegetable. That's what they think anyway. I'd come to peace with this for the most part.
On instinct, I switched to a new channel on the TVs at work when Dylan's face popped up on them. I didn't look long enough to be sure, but I think he was doing okay. He was smiling at least. Last I heard, he had broken up with Britt, but that was months ago. Who knew what he was doing now.
There were a few objections to me changing the channel, mainly from the girls, but I ignored them. That, no doubt, would earn me a complaint to the manager, not that I cared. They wouldn't have been the first to complain about it.
I wasn't sure what Lucas was doing either, but I hadn't bothered to find or contact him at all since that night. I just didn't care. If I had, he most likely would've ignored my calls, too, considering he thought I cheated on Dylan with him. Which, I suppose, technically I did? I don't know. The whole situation still confuses me, but I just know it was wrong. I was wrong. And now I was paying the price.
Work passed like it had been for the past year: slowly. All I wanted to do was go home, get off my feet, and maybe read a book until I fell asleep. Which is exactly what I did. I was in my pajama pants with my hair up in a bun I'd prepared in two seconds and curled up in a blanket on my couch with a cup of decaf coffee next to me, my book splayed on the arm of the couch. I didn't watch much TV anymore because Dylan had a funny way of popping up on it, no matter what channel I was on. I was almost to the point of believing that if I'd been on a porn channel, his face would've appeared there, too.
I had just turned my page when three short knocks rapped on my door. I frowned because I wasn't expecting anyone and it was really late. My clock read 35 minutes past midnight, but I opened my door anyway.
Dylan was standing on the other side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was looking at me with uncertainty. His hair was floppier than I remembered, but it looked recently cut. I felt like my breath had been stolen right from my chest. He looked so different, yet exactly the same. He wasn't as muscular as he was before, which meant he was no longer working out to the extent he had been for American Assassin. But knowing him, he probably didn't work out at all.
He still had some muscle, but mostly he was just bulkier. Not that he didn't before, but he looked like a man now. Dylan's beard was gone, but he had a five o'clock shadow in its place. His Orion of moles was still glaringly obvious as Dylan pulled his lips to one side, chewing on the inside of them nervously. I was taken aback by how beautiful he was. I didn't forget over the year, but with him standing in front of me right now, it was hard not to get lost in him. Unless I was dreaming. That would make a lot more sense.
