Blues

The End: 51. Flying In A Blue Dream

'Greetings,

Dylan Evans

cordially requests the pleasure of your company

at his art exhibition

to be held at

LUXE

on Friday, July 22

at 7 o'clock.

Sincerely,

Dylan Evans.'

I stare down at the piece of cardstock paper in my hand, my eyebrows almost knitting together with bemusement. Art exhibition? Does that mean what I think it means?

The prospect alone draws a lavish smile to my face, and I can't help how my heart swells with pride at the thought of him finally flaunting his majestic work. Turning the paper, I find a written note:

I'll be waiting for you, Candice.

—Dylan

My smile falters, and my heart does an ardent vault at the thought of seeing him, let alone visiting Seattle again. If I have to be honest, many avowals might need to be stated, and though I feel like a part of my heart is missing, I can't concede to that case. I can't concede to him.

It's been months since we've seen each other, and I could never help that formidable feeling that kept haunting me; the scary thought of him finally letting me go. My head was infested with a pretentious wish for him to abandon me altogether, but the selfsame thought would never bestow any sort of felicity over me, almost sucking the life out of me.

But now I feel those butterflies returning in full speed, dancing and hollering with excitement, reminding me of what sort of a nonsensical fanatic I am, and every logical thought within me diffuses like smoke.

But I don't get to lose myself in the dreamy haze for long, a portion of nasty memories foraying into my head, mercilessly dispatching any sign of eagerness.

Chavez—what the bastard did to me is beyond repair, and what has been the City of Emerald to me once, has become a city of decay and affliction. Every beautiful memory I've had with Dylan is now cloaked with blackness created by the evildoer, and at the thought of him, my whole body aches, as if recalling how much pain he put me through, and just like that, any rumination on the matter is shut down.

"Are you still with me?" Interrupts a voice, causing my eyes to cast north. I have totally forgotten that I've been sitting with the fucker Ethan for two hours straight, my hands twinging from being balled into fists.

"I am." I snap. "What were you babbling again?"

He sighs. "For once, focus!" He huffs. "Now Magdalene had to die and leave the business to a cluck who isn't willing to learn anything!"

My teeth gnash together. "Speak to me like that again, and I'll make sure to cut off your balls and dump them into her grave."

He rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his perfectly kempt hair. "If I didn't owe the woman, believe me, I would've fled long ago."

"You should." I bare my teeth. "O-

Just before I spout another threat, his phone chimes in, cutting me off. I press my lips together as he swipes his thumb across the screen of his smart phone, leaning back in my seat to scrutinize my grandmother's boring office. White, pristine walls, black, leather seats, and a mahogany desk that withholds endless paper stacks and files, but my eyes wouldn't stop venturing to the invitation envelop, luring intoxicating thoughts into my frail head.