I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
That Girl
"I would like to say you're insane for doing this but I see what you mean about that girl."
That girl.
Emma.
Dylan tried to stay cool.
"She's not my girlfriend."
Girlfriend.
Emma as his girlfriend.
Shut up.
Dylan Massett didn't have girlfriends.
He had girls that he thought were hot and then slept with that hung around for a while and then faded away.
But he didn't have 'girlfriends'.
Flowers and candy and cards and calls.
And cares and concerns and emotions and feelings.
Birthdays and anniversaries.
And holidays and groceries and cuddling.
It wasn't that he didn't want them.
It was just that he didn't really think about them in regard to the females he came in contact with.
It just didn't seem to come up.
Other, ahem, things came up.
Alot.
Dylan was a guy.
"It's not like that."
It's not like that.
I care about her.
As a friend.
But everyday life with vacations and to-do lists and sweet pecks on the cheek.
Long conversations and shy glances and waiting for that 'special moment' just never seemed to be part of the math.
He didn't really worry about it.
Long term committed stuff was something other people did.
With other people.
Dylan Massett was, by necesitative default, a here and now and move on kind of guy.
And it worked fine for all involved.
Don't hurt them.
Enjoy them.
Don't get too attached.
So, no.
Emma Decody was not his girlfriend.
She didn't fit any girl he had ever been with.
She was too good for him.
And . . .
Seriously?
. . . she was . . .
". . . seeing my brother."
Norman.
God.
"At least I think they are."
Truthfully, he didn't really know.
It was weird.
They never seemed to be together in any way.
They never kissed. They never touched.
Never showed any affection.
No secret looks.
No flying pheremones.
Just two people mutually inhabiting the same breathing space.
Norman didn't seem particularly interested in Emma . . .
Stupid.
. . . probably because he was always too consumed with everything about 'Mother'.
Those two are just unhealthy.
And Emma didn't seem that particularly interested in Norman either, really.
They hadn't sat together at Norma's dinner the other night.
Had barely spoken.
Emma had sat next to Dylan.
Talked to Dylan.
Laughed with Dylan.
Playfully ladled noodles onto Dylan's plate, not Norman's.
And he had been just fine and content to let her do so.
Playing it casual.
Putting her in a box of 'friend'.
Acquintance.
Whatever.
Loving the happiness he felt just having her near.
And paying attention to him.
Smoosh.
Stop it.
But he wasn't going to cross that line into thinking things that weren't real.
Like Emma.
Liking him.
That way.
What, am I, twelve?
No, I was never like this when I was twelve.
I don't think I've ever been like this.
Who could risk it?
And so, until somebody said something . . .
At least they haven't had sex yet, that's pretty clear.
Oh, erg.
. . . he wasn't laying a finger on her.
But he was . . .
"Thanks for coming with, man."
. . . gunrunning to Canada with Caleb to get money to get Emma a new set of lungs.
And then you can kick CF's ass. I hope.
Dylan usually doesn't say much so sometimes I gotta figure it out.
How did I do?
Thanks for reading and reviewing, WordWeaver81 amd Lana Brown!