Dylan’s at work today, but he wants to be here when Amelia arrives, so I asked Amelia if she can come a bit later. I’ve been on edge all day, wandering around the house looking for things to do. But nothing’s caught my attention.
Mom and Dad are both at work. They’re working half days for now.
I find myself sitting outside Tina’s door, just staring at it.
I start crying, feeling overwhelmed by so much. “I want to be angry at you,” I say to Tina’s door. “I want to tell you how mad I am that you chose him over us. Over me.” I wipe at my cheeks. “I loved you so much, and you went to him. Look at what he did to you.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m so mad. I’m mad at you, I’m mad at him, but mostly, I’m mad with myself. I knew what he was doing, and I didn’t do enough to get you away from him.” I close my eyes, and lower my head in shame. “Why didn’t I do more?” I lift my hands and begin tearing at my hair, punishing myself for not being able to get her away from him. I lower my hands, and look up at her door. I jump to my feet, and walk toward her door. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” I scream at the door. “Fuck you!” I bash at her door. Yelling and crying, broken hearted that she’s never going to come back. “Fuck you! You should’ve lived. You should’ve lived!” I keep screaming. “I hate you so much. You had everything going for you, you should’ve lived.” I beat the door so hard my hand goes through the door. Pulling it back, I keep pounding on the door. “It should’ve been me! It should’ve been me.” My beating on the door slows. My arms protest; my hand hurts. Leaning my forehead against her door, I cry and lift my other hand to place it on the door. “You could’ve lived, and I should’ve died.”
“Molly,” I hear Dylan’s deep voice. He’s standing behind me, not touching me.
Closing my eyes, I slide down the door, and lay heaped on the floor across the threshold.
Silently, Dylan’s strong arms scoop me up, take me into my room and he lays me on my bed. He walks into my bathroom, and turns the shower on. He returns to me, helps me up, takes my clothes off then leads me to the shower. The steam in the bathroom has already fogged up my mirror. The tears in my eyes make it all too fuzzy to see. Like a zombie, I stand at the shower, waiting for him to lead.
I turn to see him stripping off. He takes my hand in his, and guides me into the shower. He turns us so the water is running over me. Dylan holds me in his arms, my body trembling against his.
Although we’re both naked, standing body to body, this isn’t sexual. It’s so much more. But it’s still an intimate connection. Tilting my head, I look up to him. “I’m lost,” I say as the water keeps cascading down my body.
“I know,” he replies.
“I don’t know what to do.”
He leans down, and places a kiss to my forehead. “You have to learn how to forgive yourself so you can move forward.”
I purse my lips together, afraid of what might come out of my mouth. I tighten my hold on Dylan, and lean my head against his chest. We stand under the water until our bodies feel more like entwined souls. His lean frame wraps around mine, protectively blanketing me. I feel safe in his arms. Somehow, I know Dylan won’t ever hurt me. He’d do everything in his power to keep harm away from me.
“Dylan,” I whisper, my lips touching his chest.
“Yeah,” he replies in a low, pained voice. I know what my body is doing to him, but now isn’t the time to seal our connection.
“I think I love you,” the words cascade from my mouth easier than I thought they would.
“I know. You’ve said it before, but I thought maybe you weren’t really ready to say those words then. But I know, deep down, that you do.” He kisses the top of my head. He’s already confessed the same words to me. “I love you.”
“Those words frightened me when you first spoke them. Now, I’m not afraid.”
“Don’t ever be afraid of my feelings for you.”
I half-chuckle. “It wasn’t your feelings I was afraid of.” I feel his chest pull in a sharp breath. Stepping back, I look up at him and give him a small smile. “Amelia will be here soon.” I lower my gaze, open the shower door, and step out. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my body, and leave the bathroom.
Dylan stays in the shower for a while longer, and by the time he’s out, I’m already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on my bed. He comes into my room, with a towel hanging around his hips. I look down at my toes, then up to him. “Are you alright?” he asks.
“I’m sorry,” I reply in a small voice. “I’m embarrassed.” I lower my head again.
Dylan walks over to me, and kneels between my legs. He places his hands on my thighs, and gently rubs the top of them. “This will hands-down be the most difficult part of your life. You can get through this, Molly. We’re all here for you.”
“I know, but I can’t help feeling ashamed. And angry.”
“Angry at what?”
“At myself mostly. I should’ve tried harder to save her.”
“I’m not going to pretend to have all the answers, because I don’t. But what happened to Tina was not your fault.”
I look up, finally meeting Dylan’s eyes. His bare chest is distracting, but it’s his beautiful, deep eyes that captivate me. “The logical part of my brain agrees with you. But I can’t say the same for the emotional part.”
He nods his head. “When is Amelia coming?”
I lean over and lift my phone, looking at the time. “She’ll be here soon. Mom and Dad will back soon, too.”
“I better get changed, before they see me like this. They may think we…” He looks at me, and gives me a strained smile. “I don’t want them to think I took advantage of their daughter.”
“They like you too much to think that.”
He pushes up off his knees, grabs his clothes that I’ve folded and placed on the bottom of my bed, and heads back into the bathroom.
“How are you today, Molly?” Amelia asks.
Dylan’s sitting beside me on the sofa, holding my hand. Mom and Dad are opposite us, and Amelia is sitting on one of the armchairs. I look over to my parents, and I know I have to tell them I had a mini breakdown. “Does putting my hand through my sister’s bedroom door tell you anything?”
“You what?” Mom asks.
Dylan squeezes my hand tight, reassuring me. “I put a hole in her door.”
“What happened?” Amelia asks. She picks up her bottled water, unscrews the lid, and has a sip. “Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I lost myself. I was angry, and I beat her door.”
“You were angry, or you are angry?”
I half shrug. “Does it matter? It can’t change what’s happened.”
“What are you angry about?” Amelia asks.
“Everything. Tina shouldn’t have been the one to die. If there really is a God, then God chose wrong. He or she, should’ve put me in harm’s way, let me take what happened. Tina didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“And you think you deserve to die?” Amelia’s asking all the questions with a calm, non-judgmental tone.