When We Met

Thirty Five

|Donovan|

I stare at the young man sitting in front of me, his knuckles in a bandaged mess and his eyes looking for something I can't put my finger on. Seriously though? How did I end up with someone as intriguing and charming as Dylan Martin? I mean, he's a case of walking mystery just waiting to happen. The difference is that there's nothing sinister about him. He just makes you want to think more about what he's thinking about. Interestingly iconic, I'd say.

We are in a cafe, waiting for our coffee and sitting comfortably in silence. Dylan has retreated to his shell once again and somehow, it doesn't bother me (it happens very rarely and I've learnt to not let my curiosity pique to its highest. He needs some room, which he deserves to get). As a matter of fact, I know that he'll talk to me whenever he wants to and he knows that I'll be there to listen to him rant about anything and everything. So, with that peace made between us, we enjoy the calmness our silence carries.

A waiter puts our coffee on the table and buggers off as soon as he makes an eye contact with Dylan. I roll my eyes at his childish and immature behavior. Yeah, he turns into a possessive caveman whenever he is having his mood swings.

"Why don't you just go around scaring people for nothing?" I ask as I let the warmth of the mug run through my skin like a magical sensation.

"He was checking you out in front of me." Dylan mutters and I narrow my eyes at him.

"a) he wasn't, and b) even if he did check me out, there was no need for you to act like a fake alpha male."

"Fake alpha male? What the hell is that?"

"Doesn't matter. But my point is, you shouldn't project your anger on someone who is miles away from whatever that's bothering you. I know you hardly ever flip out, that's why this is the first time we're having this conversation. But, I saw an unusual face of yours today and it wasn't pretty. And I'm dead worried right now. So, please don't scare me off again. I want you to know that your sister will be fine. Yes, she will be. She has a brother like you, who else would she need anyway? So, stop worrying yourself so much. It kills me." I put my hand over his and feel the rough surface of the bandages against my fingertips. "She isn't alone. She will never be. Okay?"

What happens next takes me by surprise. He starts crying. Literally. I realise that the tears are a result of his pent up frustration and a past that he shares with his sister. I've known these twins for quite some time now and the one thing that I've come to terms with is the fact that they are inseparable. They've seen things I can't even dream of and ultimately, they've just come together with an aim of never being separated by anything or anyone. As an only child, I really respect that, but at the same time, I become jealous of the truth that I'll never have that bond with anyone.

So, when Dylan breaks down in front of me, I don't stop him. I don't make fun of the fact that he is actually crying, when this society has painted a very inappropriate image of men in our minds: that they shouldn't cry or embrace their emotions because it's too girly. Even though this discrimination appears to have been erased for good, it's still present as an amorphous entity.
Well, in all honesty, I'm more drawn towards guys who are emotional and tender at approach. I don't like the tough, poised and overly possessive guys, because they make women feel small and inferior in front of them. Sometimes unintentionally, but that aura of superiority is ever present.

I let Dylan cry because before being a man, he's a human being; a human being with a separate baggage of locked up emotions which aren't supposed to be inside a cage in the first place. He has the right to embrace every single ounce of an emotion that the society doesn't demand just because he's a man. Well, in my world, you're allowed to be as emotional as I tend to become. Maybe more.

********

The roads seem lonely and sad as I drive Dylan's car with utmost caution. Last time, I lost control of it, which calls for an extra amount of attention. I'm driving because I asked Dylan to get some sleep after his breakdown a few hours ago. I'm driving because the moment we left the cafe to get some fresh air, he held me close to him and said things emotionally, without actually saying anything. I'm driving because after a long evening of driving to nowhere in particular, I could see the saturation on his face. I'm driving because I know I have to steer the vehicle in the right, stable direction for him.

I had made him call Deborah, even though he didn't want to make things worse at the moment. I gave them some space as Dylan cried some more and ended the conversation on a good note. He told me that she was with a friend and wanted some time alone after it. So, Dylan drove with an expression as calm as an undisturbed ocean. I watched him intently, because he was the only star shining brighter than a constellation.

I'm driving because my face has morphed into one similar to his calmness when he was driving.

*******

We've reached his place, and he's still sleeping. His eyelids resemble two tender buds that haven't been plucked yet. His hair, which has grown longer, caresses the smooth skin of his forehead and his head is in contact with the misted window of the passenger's seat.

I look at him with a gentle smile on my face. He indeed is beautiful.

Deborah's car is parked very close to ours, so I'm guessing she is ready to have a one-to-one conversation with her twin brother. It's good for them, because she needs to tell him that he hasn't failed her in any way. Due to some bizarre reason, Dylan has convinced himself that he was extremely unapproachable to Deborah, and that's why she didn't tell him anything about Jace and his baby. However hard I tried, I couldn't make him understand that he was nowhere in fault. And the only person who can set this straight is Deborah. So, before it's too late, I decide to wake him up.

He stirs under the tender push of my fingertips. I rake my hand through his mop of brown hair and watch intently as he opens his eyes like a child pulled out from a happy dream. He looks around plainly and his tear-rimmed eyes land on me. Immediately, the blur and the confusion disappears and he lets his lips form into a small smile. I reciprocate.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." I say.

"It isn't morning yet." The sound of his voice is groggy and rasp, which sends a shiver down my spine. I love that sound so much and no matter how many times I hear it, the shabby melody makes me go weak in the knees every single time.

"It will be soon. There's a morning after every night, no matter how dark it was."

He loves it when I talk in metaphors, partly because he enjoys unraveling the true meaning behind the words. To be honest, I never thought I'd meet a guy who'd be willing to understand my chunk of pointless metaphors.

"I know." He smiles and leans in to kiss me softly. Even though the idea of making out with him in the car is tempting, I pull away quickly because I know that there is something else that requires his attention at the moment. His sister was in the picture way before I came in, and I will never allow him to keep me on the top of his priority list simply because I don't belong there. Deborah does. And no one will ever have the right to take that away from her.

He frowns when I pull away. I don't give an explanation, I just smile confidently at him.

"Go and talk to Deborah. Right now. If you need me after it, you know where to find me. I'm only one call away, you know that very well. But go and hear it from her how you've got nothing to do with this situation. That you aren't at fault. Just go."

"Come with me. I need you."

"No. You don't need me. You need to be with your sister right now. Go on, Dylan. You know that's what you want." I plant a kiss on his cheek and we step out of the car.

As I unlock my car, I see him get inside the dark building and hope that they settle things down as soon as possible.

********