Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sound of high heels woke me up.
For a split second, my brain, still caught in that groggy state somewhere between sleep and full awareness, did not register the sound as anything peculiar. And by the time it did, she had already starting shouting.
"What the hell is going on here?" Her voice broke through the silence, high-pitched and angry.
My eyes flew open and I hastily pulled the sheets up over my naked body. Beside me, Dylan was staring, wide-eyed, at the girl who was yelling.
"Amber…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
Amber, the girl I had assumed was his ex-girlfriend, was standing in front of the bed, arms crossed, looking very much like someone who was not actually an ex-girlfriend, but a girlfriend. A very current girlfriend.
My mouth went dry. He'd told me they'd broken up. Hadn't he? No, I realized. No, he hadn't. I'd only assumed. Because he told me he loved me and because he kissed and because he brought me back here. Why would he do that if he had a girlfriend?
I stared at Amber, feeling slightly sick to my stomach. All the wonderful feelings from a few hours earlier had vanished, replaced only by feelings of guilt.
She stood there, as Dylan stumbled through an explanation and apology, looking angry and sad and hurt all at once.
A part of me, the spiteful part, couldn't help but think that it was no wonder Dylan had chosen me over her. She didn't look like his type at all. Her hair was perfectly flat-ironed into place, a deep auburn color that may or may not have come from a bottle. She was wearing a pant suit, like she had just come from somewhere very important, somewhere with men in ties and secretaries answering phone calls. On her feet were heels that were much higher and pointier than anything I would ever dare put on my feet. In one hand she clutched a cup of coffee; in the other she held a briefcase.
I quickly pushed that thought out of mind. It didn't matter if she didn't look like his type. She was his girlfriend. And what we'd done was wrong. Very wrong.
"I told you that I had an interview this afternoon for the internship at the law firm, Dylan. I told you that we'd meet up afterward!" Her voice cracked and she gripped her coffee cup harder. "If you were gonna cheat on me, couldn't you have been a little less conspicuous about it?"
"I forgot," he said. "I forgot that you said you were coming over."
I felt stranded, lying there with no clothes on. I wanted to say something, but at the same time I didn't want to attract any more attention to myself. I just wanted to disappear, melt away and pretend none of this had ever happened.
"That doesn't make it okay, Dylan!" she snapped. "You cheated on me!" Then, to my utter horror, she turned to me, her green eyes flashing. "And you," she said. "Who the hell do you think you are? You think that it's okay to sleep with other people's boyfriends?"
"I… I thought… I didn't… I thought you'd broken up already. I wouldn't have… this wouldn't have happened if I'd known. I swear." I stumbled through the words, wishing I could make it through a sentence without a million pauses. "I'm so sorry."
She pursed her lips and turned back to Dylan. "I'm gonna go now," she said. Her voice was quiet this time, as if her anger had dissipated and all that was left was sadness. Regret. Heartbreak.
"Amber—" he started to say.
"No," she said. "We're done, okay? And I'm leaving." She spun around and I heard a small sob as she click-clacked across the room and out the door.
As soon as she was gone, I jumped out of bed and immediately pulled on my clothes. "Why didn't you tell me that you were still with her?" I asked.
He stood up and reached for his boxers. "I don't know," he murmured. "I didn't want to ruin the moment. I wanted to be with you."
"Well, the moment was pretty much ruined when your girlfriend showed up, Dylan."
"Yeah," he agreed. "It was."
"You made me the 'other woman', Dylan. I didn't ask for that. I didn't want that. You should have told me. I never would have done this if I'd known. Amber seems like a nice girl. She deserved better than this. I deserved better than this."
"I know," he said. "I know."
I sighed heavily. "I need to go."
"Go?" he said. "Why?"
"Because I can't be with you anymore."
"But Amber and I broke up."
"I know. But this is the second time you've hurt me, Dylan. I can't do it anymore. I can't risk that it'll happen again. My heart wouldn't be able to take it."
"I'm an idiot," he said.
I smiled a bit. "Yeah, you are."
"I just wanted to be with you. But I screwed things up again and now I can't."
I just nodded.
"Do you hate me?"
"Hate you?" I asked. "Merlin's beard, Dylan. Of course not. I love you."
This was one of those moments when my heart and my head were not agreeing. My heart was telling me—begging me—to stay. But my head was telling me to leave. I decided to go with my head. I would risk hurting my heart at that moment, in order to prevent it from getting hurt even more in the future.
"But you are angry with me, right?" he asked.
"Not as angry as you probably think. What you did was wrong, but I guess I understand why you did it. And I can't be too angry at you. After all, you did it because you wanted to be with me."
He just stood there, half-dressed, looking at me.
I walked over to where he was standing and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Dylan."
"Bye, Dom," he said.
I made my way over to the door. Before I turned the knob and walked out, I turned back around. "I forgot to mention this earlier, but I got a job. It's just a receptionist position at the Ministry, but who knows, maybe I'll move up."
"That's great," he said. "Congratulations."
I nodded. "Yeah, so I guess I see you around. Will you be coming to England this summer?"
He shook his head. "I have a photography internship this summer."
"Oh," I said, wishing that this news didn't disappoint me as much as it did. "Well, congratulations. Er, good luck. Not that you'll need it. I'm sure you'll do amazing. I know you will. You're gonna take the photography world by storm. Someday, I'm gonna open a muggle magazine and see your photos all over it for the entire world to see."
He gave me a small smile. "You think?"
"I know. You're going to be a fantastic photographer. You're going to be so happy and so successful. And that's good because I want you to be happy. So happy." I felt myself tearing up and I knew I needed to get out of there. "So, yeah, you'll do great and, er… you should stop smoking, you know. Because you can't be the most famous photographer in the world if you die of lung cancer first." I paused, well aware of the fact that I was babbling and that everything I said probably just sounded like nonsense. "Goodbye," I whispered, opening the door and stepping out of his dorm without a look back.
When I finally arrived back in England after an excruciatingly long plane ride, I somehow found myself standing outside Timothy Nott's flat. Before I could stop myself, I knocked on his door. I stood there for a moment and just as I had convinced myself that he wasn't home, that this was a stupid idea, that I should go talk to Liz instead, the door opened slightly and Timothy peered out at me.
"Well, well, well," he said, smirking. "Dominique Weasley. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Life sucks," I said.
He opened the door a little wider and I took a step inside.
"It really, really sucks," I added.
"You're right," he replied, shutting the door. "It does."
I laughed bitterly. "That's it? You're not going to give me some rubbish about how everyone as their low points and if I just wait it out, everything will be fine and dandy?"
He shrugged. "Why should I lie? Life does suck."
How comforting.
I followed him into his living room, where he gestured to a tattered couch. I sat down and looked up at him.
"So why aren't you at that freaky psychic girl's house?" he asked. "Isn't she supposed to be your best friend? Aren't you supposed to go to her when life's getting you down?"
I shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to hear all that psychic stuff right now."
He nodded, sitting down beside me and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Well if you want to talk, go right ahead. If not…" He trailed off, shrugging.
I found myself staring at him. He was a little too skinny. His face was a little too pointy. He was a little bit arrogant. A little bit infuriating. And yet, he didn't have a girlfriend. He wasn't far away. He was right here. And he was willing to listen. He was here for me.
So I found myself leaning in. He just looked at me for a second, but then he leaned in too. We met in the middle.
After a moment, I pulled away, staring at him to gauge his reaction.
"That was—"
"Horrible," I finished for him.
"You didn't like it either?" he asked. "Thank Merlin it wasn't just me. I felt like I was kissing my sister!"
"Let's never do that again," I said, shuddering.
"Don't worry," he said. "That won't be a problem."
I laughed. It started out as a quiet giggle and then turned into a hysterical cackle. I clutched my stomach, tears streaming down my face.
Timothy stared at me, a bemused expression on his face. "What's the hell wrong with you?" he asked.
I shook my head, waiting for the laughter to fade. Finally I was able to speak. "It's just… it's all so ridiculous. Why can't you choose who you're attracted to? I wish, with all my heart, that I felt something when I kissed you. Because you'd be so good for me. But instead, I'm in love with the guy who's broken my heart twice now."
"That's why you were laughing?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound particularly funny."
"It's kind of funny," I replied, "in a sad way."
"So, I take it your visit with Dylan went badly?" asked Timothy.
I stared at the wall, at the crack that started near the ceiling and ran in a jagged line halfway to the floor. "I slept with him," I replied. "And then his girlfriend showed up. I thought they'd broken up, but I guess not. So I had to leave. Because I couldn't let him hurt me anymore."
I imagined that my heart looked something like that wall. A crack down the middle. But, like that crack in the wall, it didn't reach all the way from the top to the bottom. It stopped somewhere in the middle. Dylan hadn't broken my heart completely in two yet. But if I'd stayed, if I'd given him the opportunity, then maybe he would have.
"So things ended badly again?" said Timothy. "My suggestion didn't work."
I shrugged. "I wouldn't say they ended badly. I was upset. I really wanted things to work out. I really wanted to be with him. But I wasn't angry when I left. I wished him the best. I told him I wanted to be happy. And I meant it."
I was going to be okay this time. I missed him, that much was certain. But I wasn't going to mope around for months, getting drunk and shagging random strangers to try to forget. As strange as it may seem, seeing Dylan again had offered some closure. I was glad that I'd been able to wish him the best, to end things amicably.
"So things are over forever between the two of you?" he asked.
"That is not a question that I can answer," I replied. "Because I have no idea what the future may hold. From what I've seen of the world, it's the people you least expect to ever be a part of your life that end up being some of the most important. And sometimes you may think a person is gone for good, but often they find their way back to you."
Maybe someday Dylan and I would have another chance. Maybe it would lead to my heart being completely broken in two. Or maybe it would lead to my heart being mended. Or maybe I'd find someone else and he'd be the one to the breaking. Or the mending. At that moment, I had no idea. But that was okay.
"Can I sleep here tonight?" I asked. "I don't want to go home. I don't want to have to deal with anyone right now. Especially not my parents."
"Sure," replied Timothy.
"Okay," I said. "Do you have a blanket or something?"
He just looked at me. "You're not sleeping on the couch, Dom."
"Well, I'm certainly not sleeping in your bed with you," I snapped.
"You're right. You're sleeping in the bed and I'm sleeping on the couch."
"I'm not letting you sleep on the couch in your own flat, Nott," I said.
"Yes, you are. Now get up."
I didn't budge. "I'm not moving."
He folded his arms across his chest. "Well, I'm not either."
I let out an annoyed sigh. "Well, then I guess we're both sleeping on this damn couch."
"Guess so," he said, picking up his wand and giving it a flick. All the lights went out.
I closed my eyes and curled up into a small ball. My face pressed against the arm of the couch and I knew it would leave a mark.
"Goodnight, Dom." Timothy's voice broke through the silence of the darkness, sounding amused. Of course, it was a pretty funny situation. The two of us, scrunched up on a tattered couch out of stubbornness. Either one of could have easily gotten up and gone to sleep in the bed. But neither of us moved.
"Goodnight, Timothy," I replied.
I figured that I should start calling him by his first name. After all, when someone offers to give up his comfort and a good night's sleep for you by refusing to budge from a threadbare couch, he deserves, at the very least, to be called by his first name.
I finally posted a picture of Timothy on my profile. So check it out if you're interested.
