Blues

11. Midnight Blues.

"Can't get no sleep
Don't know what to do
I've got those midnight blues"
Midnight blues by Gary Moore.

Chapter 11:

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Claire’s eyes ooze with searing daggers, waiting to be shot at the two of us. She plants her hands on her slim hips, aiming to look intimidating and confident, but her shaking hands demonstrate the opposite.

Dylan frowns at her, looking placid and unaffected. He crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side as he eyes her in complete nonchalance. “I can't read into your words, Claire. Do I need to take permission from you before I invite people to my own apartment?”

She doesn't look affronted by his brusque words at all, as if it's not the first time he speaks to her like that. “No, you don't. But why her?” she advances toward him, pointing her index finger in my direction without looking at me or acknowledging me in any way.

Dylan's stance never alters, as if it's not the first time they go over this. “It's not like I need to explain myself, but she's my friend.” He spouts.

“Friend?” her face screws up in revulsion. “Is this your type of friends now?” she keeps thrusting her finger in my direction.

Dylan glances momentarily looks at me, as though to contemplate her words, and I can't help but lash out in sarcasm. “Please, don't let me intrude. Keep talking about me like I don't exist.”

I swear the side of his mouth twitches, but he recovers quickly, his eyes landing on Claire once more. “Let's take this conversation somewhere else.” He puts a hand on her back, urging her toward the hallway.

I don't know why stomach lurches when I see him touching her. It aggravates me for some cryptic reason. It's a mere touch, Candice. Get a freaking grip, you dope.

“No.” She yells, jolting me. “I'm saying this in front of her. She's going to do part us, and you're letting it happen. Again." Her chest heaves in wrath, and she finally looks at me, her eyes falling to the large shirt I'm wearing, and I swear her face contorts in such hurt that I've never seen before. Or maybe I have, but not on her face anyway. I almost feel bad for her, but then remember what she said to me at Emerald. Her eyes meet mine, and her eyes are wide in anger and hurt.

She recovers, looking back at Dylan. “I will not let it happen, Dylan. Mark my words.” With that, she storms toward the front door, rushing out of it, and the booming slam of the door is the last sound that befalls, before everything goes mute.

Silence prevails, making me stomach go squeamish. They were separated before? By whom? His dead girlfriend? How am I going to divide them? Too many questions, but the answers are unreachable.

I saunter toward the counter he's leaning against, looking intently at me. I hate how self-possessed and collected he looks, as if nothing happened. And I hate how humiliated I feel, even though I'm not the one who felt casted out this time. I figure that it's better to dissociate myself before he decides to dismiss me, so I grab my bag from the counter, and pull it over my shoulder, ready to leave.

“are there going to be other lessons?” I ask.

I don't know what I should be expecting from him after his friend’s outburst, but it's not the silence he answers me with. I feel disappointed. Damn, I feel very disappointed. I don't want our lessons to end, and I sure as hell don't want him to drift away.

But why? Why do I care so much?

I approach the door, planning to leave, before I hear the one word that sets my queasy insides to rest.