Losing you

C H A P T E R F I V E

This story was never  abandoned, I just didn't have the time to focus on it! I'm so sorry if anyone was waiting on the update!

Unedited.

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C H A P T E R        F I V E

It didn't take long for Kalie's mother to open up. Dylan had expected a fight, some sort of defensive reaction to the questions they were asking. But there was nothing, no fight whatsoever. Maybe it was the fact that Dylan was sitting in front of his girlfriend's grave and she felt sympathetic towards him. Maybe she just wanted to hear her own voice. Maybe it was because she recognised Jason.

Regardless of all that, she was talking to them. Just not about what he wanted to hear.

"It was a real tragedy," she was saying, seeming to have forgotten she was currently meant to be working. "Kalie told me about her. I was just as shocked as everyone else when I found out the news. Horrible, I tell you. I've tried to reach out to her parents but they were too grief-stricken to talk."

Dylan looked to Jason, seeking some sort of help. His best friend just grinned at him, taking a swig of vodka. Asshole, Dylan thought, knowing he was just going to leave it to Dylan to figure it out.

Although, it was probably for the better. There was only a quarter of the vodka bottle left and Dylan had only drunk a few sips of it. Suffice to say, Jason was drunk. Which was why he'd walked away to sit on the grass, because he'd been close to falling over.

As Mrs McIntosh continued to talk, Dylan looked back over. "I can't imagine how hard it was on you. I heard from Kalie how close you two were—"

"No offense, Mrs McIntosh, but I don't really want to talk about it," Dylan said, waving his hand. His voice was rough, his throat raw. "It's still fresh, y'know?"

"We had questions for you," Jason slurred, dopey grin still in place. "Dylan is just too much of a puss—"

Dylan narrowed his eyes at Jason, who didn't even notice him. "Shut up, man," he snapped. "Not helping. At all." Jason just gave him the finger in response. Dylan rolled his eyes, because he wasn't going to be the one waking with a killer hangover tomorrow. Then he turned to Mrs McIntosh, trying to look apologetic. "I'm sorry about him. He's clearly had too much to drink."

She rolled her eyes. "Clearly." She paused, before staring at him soberly, eyebrows drawn low. "You had questions?"

"Ah, yeah." Dylan cleared his throat, trying to think of a question. He came up blank. Clearly the vodka hadn't helped him either. "Look, I really don't know how to ask this . . ."

"It's nearly midnight. I just saw you drinking vodka—underage I might add—in the middle of a cemetery. Ask whatever you want, at this point I don't care."

Dylan appreciated the honesty. But he was still stuck. What was he supposed to say? I was going to break into your house to get a note—because I've already done it to someone else. But now you're here I don't have to. There was no way that was going to go over well.

He said the first thing that came to mind, not giving himself time to second guess. "Do you remember at sleepover at your house? It was a while ago—years possibly?"

"You'll have to be more specific. My daughter has had too many sleepovers to count."

Dylan swallowed. "Uh, well, she was there."