When We Met

Forty Eight

|Donovan|

I sit silently, allowing myself to absorb Dylan's honest and heart-breaking narration. Even though it feels like my head's gonna explode any second, I don't react at all. Hell, if this is tormenting and difficult to digest for me, I can only wonder what it must be like for Dylan. He isn't cheating on me, and he wasn't cheating on Dina, but he was on the receiving end of that accusation both the times. My heart aches for him, and I have no idea how he actually is doing after all these years. Every time I thought that he is holding back, I thought he doesn't like me the way I do. But now? It is a completely different story altogether. 

It all makes sense now. 

Why, initially, he'd be all flirty and charismatic one second, and the next second, he'd just take a step back and use words like complicated. He'd refuse to make room for his actual feelings, and instead, he'd try to bury them alive along with the hurt of losing someone I might remind him of every passing day.   

It's complicated.

That's what he'd said when he first confessed that he isn't messing around with me. I didn't understand what he was trying to say, and chose to ignore those two words like plague. It all makes sense to me, finally. 

Dylan's sitting in front of me, his elbows resting on his bent knees and his head bowed low as he tries to not unsettle an already unsettled moment. If I look closer, I'm sure I'll be able to detect his slightly trembling bottom lip. He's trying to hide his emotions once again and I know why. 

I wipe my own tears and refuse to let my emotions get the best of me. This has been a nightmarish weekend for all I know, and I'm not going to let it make our relationship an ancient Greek tragedy. I sit up straight and focus on how to make things right. I was quick at assuming the worst, which lead to multiple breakdowns and the ultimate revelation of a painful past, which was necessary for the both of us. He called me Dina because I reminded him of her; I remind him of his past and I'm not sure if I like that. I want him to be genuinely happy when he looks at me, instead of thinking about how he wrecked everything up the last time he was in a similar place. No, I will not allow him to carry the weight of guilt on his shoulders. I will knock some sense into him, no matter how hard the task can be. 

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and for the very first time, he shudders at the touch and lets my hand drop on the mattress. 

It breaks my heart to a very certain extent, I must say. But I let it pass.

"Dylan?" My voice is calm, yet trembling at the same time.

He doesn't say anything, which paves way to the knowledge that he is, in fact, listening to me.

"Dylan, I'm sure you've heard this before," I start. "But I'll make you hear it again. It's not your fault. Do you hear me, Dylan Martin? I'm saddened at the thought of you burdening yourself with guilt that is not req–"

"You didn't understand a thing, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't understand it at all."

"Then make me." I take his hand in mine and intertwine our fingers. When he tries to let go of me, I refuse to back down. My grip only tightens and I shift closer to him. "You're not gonna tune me out. I won't allow you. Let me in for real this time, Dylan. Let me see what the heck is going on inside that head of yours. Let me help you."

"I don't need your help." His voice sends a chill down my spine.

"Yes you do!" I cry. "You fucking need my help, and it's high time you face the truth! You can't just pull a carpet over what's bothering you and continue to live like the world is a field of daisies with rainbows overhead, okay?"

He finally looks at me and there's a slight hint of amusement visible on his handsome face.

"I never understood your obsession with daisies and rainbows." He says and I frown.

"Hey! I'm not obsessed with daisies and rainbows." The back of my hand hits his arm.

We chuckle together, and for two seconds, everything slips into a light tone of normalcy. But it doesn't last long. Dylan's smile slowly fades away and a wave of sadness washes over him.

He looks away.

I put my hands on both sides of his face and force him to look at me.

"Talk to me." I impose.

"Why? Why do you even want to talk to me? I messed up. Again. That's all I do."

I think my blood is boiling, that's how angry his words make me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! You think you mess things up for others? Look around you, you fool! You've only made people happy, comforted them, loved them. Is that not enough for you? Because it certainly is for all those who are on the receiving end of your love, Dylan. I know that you blame yourself for Dina's death because you let her go. And I do understand where you're coming from. But you have to know that burdening yourself with guilt is not going to help anyone, especially not you. You have to let go of the guilt, Dylan. Do you really think Dina would've blamed you had she allowed you to give your side of the story?"

"That's the thing, Cher. I didn't give my side of the story. I let her walk away. I let my relationship go down the drain. Who says I wouldn't do the same again?" He laughs humorlessly and it breaks me further.

"I do. I say that you've only made our relationship stronger. We've made this relationship our home, together. We've faced everything together, so why won't you let me in this time? I respect your privacy, I give you the space you need. But that doesn't mean I'll willingly let you ruin yourself like this. Do you know why all this happened today?"

"Why?"

"Because you never told me about your past. You were so hell bent on pulling me out of my past that you completely overlooked everything that was bothering you. That's not healthy, Dylan. Not at all. If there's anything that'll mess things up for us, it's your habit of putting me first. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I came into your life much later. I shouldn't be your first priority. You are your first priority. Do you understand me?"

Dylan is crying, and this time, he doesn't hide his tears. He leans into me and lets me hug him close to me. His chin rests on my shoulder and his hold on my waist tightens as he gently picks me up and puts me on his lap effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist and smile.

"Answer me, Martin." I whisper. "Do you understand me?"

He chuckles and the sound reverberates through my entire body, that is moulded perfectly into his.

"I do." He kisses the top of my head passionately. "I make no promises of changing abruptly, but I do understand you."

"I'm not asking you to change, Dylan. I'm asking you to let me in and not keep things to yourself. We'll figure things out together. In case you haven't noticed, allow me to break it to you, sweetheart." He smiles at me when I say that, almost knocking the breath out of me. "We make a pretty good team."

His eyes sparkle and slowly, all doubts he must've had about us start to dissipate from his body.

"We do." He finally says and I think everything feels right again.

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