When We Met

Forty Four

|Donovan|

The clearing is as magical as they show in those fantastical movies about hidden kingdoms and the world beyond today. I actually think that I'm a part of such a mind numbing movie. The panorama in front of my eyes has left me askance.

It's beautiful. It's majestic. It is pure nature.

I turn to look at Dylan, whose face looks a bit pale, and smile my biggest smile.

"Dylan," I start. "I've never seen something so naturally beautiful. Thank you." I unbuckle my seat belt and lean in for a tight hug. His shoulders seem a bit tensed and I gently caress them with my fingers. I know that something from his past has been bothering him. I'm curious, yes. But I respect his privacy and if he doesn't want to talk about it, I won't push him. This place holds some of his darkest memories, but some of his best ones as well. I'm gonna make sure he remembers all of them, sets them through, and makes his peace with them. The reason why I wanted to come here with Dylan was not because I was looking forward to a romantic getaway with my boyfriend. No. The moment he said he has some bad memories of this place, I made up my mind to help him deal with them instead of what he had been doing all along: burying them inside the deepest corners of his mind. That is not healthy in any way. Even though I am a mess of my own, I know I can help him untangle the mess he has been till now because of his buried memories. If Dylan Martin needs a shoulder to lean on, I'll be that shoulder.

"Thank you for coming with me. I know I'd never be able to otherwise."

I put my right hand on his cheek and smile at him. He's an angel and he should know it.

"Well, I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

"I know."

And he does.

*******

I park the car at that very clearing since the path reduces in girth as we go in further. From here, I can see the outline of the lake house, and the butterflies in my belly have just gone crazy as fuck.

We take out our bags from the back seat and head towards the house. It's quarter past ten and the weather seems perfect for an outing. The clouds are subtly trying to overshadow the sun, giving the sky a calm shade of pastel blue. The path that leads to the lake house is made of rough gravel stones, dried leaves and grass, which crunch beneath our feet as we walk hand-in-hand.

As we had pulled over at a local restaurant for a quick breakfast, Dylan and I had made a list of all the grocery stuff we might need for this stay. Suffice to say, we can now feed a tiny family of cubs with the ingredients inside the bag that I'm carrying.

We reach the threshold of the lake house, which separates it from the rest of the wilderness with the help of a giant wooden gate. I look around as Dylan unlocks the gate. This is not a lonely house, as I had guessed before. There is another one in this very lane separated by a fair distance. The tall street light kinda things stand in front of each house. Although I can't make out the designs of our gigantic companion for the weekend, I can pretty much assume that it is as majestic as the one right in front of me.

Dylan unlocks the gate and we step inside. There is a small stoned path that leads to the porch steps of the house, beside which lies a tiny garden with a bench and umbrellas. I smile at the sight. The wooden porch has an aesthetic boundary of a gazillion flower pots that are aligned perfectly.

Wow.

"You like it?" Dylan asks amusedly. I'm sure I must be looking like a second grader who just saw a multicolored butterfly for the very first time.

"Love it!" I start jumping up and down in excitement and Dylan chuckles at my expense.

"Wait till you see the lake."

"What's so special about the lake?"

"Well, it's beautiful. It's not as huge as it is supposed to be, but it's big enough to hold a swimming contest. And there's that half broken bridge I told you about. All in all, it's peaceful and aesthetic. I know you'll love it even more."

"Okay!" I look around again and spot the house closest to ours. "Do more people live here?" I can't help but ask. He follows my line of sight and starts laughing again.

"No, it's a private property. There are only two houses in this firm, and both of them belong to my family."

What.

I think my jaw hit the perfectly leveled ground.

"You own two lake houses?" What the fuck?!

"My family owns two lake houses." He corrects me and I refuse to pay any attention to what he says.

"Dylan Martin, are you a fucking billionaire? This place is simply gorgeous, right out of heaven, and you own two of them! Oh my God, you're so lucky!"

"Cher... I'm not really proud of them." He sighs. "I'd rather stay away."

"Hey?" I drop the bag on the ground and hook my arms around Dylan's neck. "Is there something you wanna let out? Coz I'm here and I'm listening, okay?" I caress his cheeks with my fingers and smile at him. All thoughts about this gorgeous paradise evaporate from my brain and the only focus right now is on the guy sulking in front of me. I wish I could just read his mind.

He looks at me with a pained expression and I do all it takes to not grab his hand and drive him back to the city.

No.

He needs this. He needs to face whatever that's bothering him. Hiding away from it won't be of any help to either of us. It has only made him draw walls around him, higher than before. I hadn't realised this till now, but since we've got here, Dylan's playful persona has vanished and discomfort is radiating from his body like heat energy. But behind this facade of walled emotions, I know that this place reminds him of good, happy memories as well. This was his childhood house, if I remember correctly. There are bound to be some peaceful memories.

Dylan closes his eyes for a second and composes himself. He opens them again and offers me a tiny smile.

"I'm sorry. Let's get going."

With this, he takes the bags and heads inside the house. And I try to not get upset with him for not even trying to open up to me.

I can't even wonder what's bothering him so much. And I don't understand why he keeps on calling this property his family's place. I know that his relationship with his mother has hit rock bottom, but how bad can it be? He refuses to link himself with anything that reminds him of his family. And to be very honest, something seems off here. I am so tempted to just call Deborah and ask her.

Is there something I should know about Dylan Martin?

********