Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter seventeen: G O

Gabby

. . .

Since being dragged to dinner, days have passed and though I've made many trips to the bathroom, the food Dylan and my parents have gently nudged down my throat sits in my belly like a lead weight.

Eating is a necessary task. And for me it is far from fun.

You have to stop whatever it is you're doing to do it. Pause your breathing, give up on talking, or be considered rude.

But, you have to eat. For reasons of sustenance.

Now, I'm sure some people love it. At one point I used to.

Not anymore.

Right now, I could care less if I was chewing on tree bark instead of the apple slices my mother has placed in front of me.

She thinks I can't see her. But, I'm well aware of her cautious gaze as she watches me from the kitchen, pretending to wash dishes.

Not wanting to make her feel bad, I nibble slowly on a chunk of apple.She could talk to me, but she won't. And my father's even quieter than before. When I woke up, I heard the two of them whispering, a rapid fire conversation that my ears couldn't quite catch.

And now, my father is in my line of sight, planted firmly on his chair, and looking blankly at the television. He's not even watching it, if he had been, he'd have changed the channel by now.

Charmed wasn't his usual favorite. Least of all the reboot.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway pulls my attention. And the subsequent sound of footsteps on our porch causes a sudden bolt of unnecessary anxiety.

I'm not the only one who feels it. As I look over to my father, he stares more intently, though still unseeingly at the TV, his posture slightly more rigid than before.

There's a brisk knock, and I immediately stand, knowing that neither of my parents would have made a move to open it, just as they hadn't the past few days. Though, I suppose that's because we all know who it is.

Chapa follows hot on my heels, bounding out the door as it opens, weaving around the legs of the visitor.

Dylan gives me a smile and a wink, bends at the knees and kisses my cheek as has become routine. "Hey squeaks," he murmurs, passing me the bag of food he holds in one hand, as he picks up Chapa. "Hey girl."

He's always been family, but now he's begun to gently nudge the barrier of friendly, cuddling closer to me than before. I've been chalking it up to the effects of his break up with Stella, though I doubt I'd complain even if it wasn't. He was familiar and comfortable, and as dead inside as I may feel, I've loved him forever.

Of course my heart would still skip a beat when he tried to be close to me.

The thought brings a sharp pang of shame over me but I'm quick to kick it aside. I've been more traumatized than most, I'll own that. But, being ashamed of liking male attention-specifically safe male attention-would only drag me down. If this is how my damaged brain coped than so be it.

I just hope that my heart would be able to mitigate the inevitable fallout when Dylan either got back with Stella or found another trophy girlfriend.