Losing you

C H A P T E R E L E V E N

Updates for all my stories will come soon! A few more days wait! *Sorry*

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C H A P T E R        E L E V E N

The house was easy to spot—completely different to the rest of the ones that ran along the street.

It was only early in the morning, so the street was nearly deserted. On a weekday, at nine in the morning, it would have been teeming with children on the way to school—but thankfully on a Saturday it was empty.

He parked the car along the street, putting it into neutral. As he eased off the petals, he collapsed back against the seat. After yesterday, his relationship with his mother had changed—for the time being. A week from now, it'd be okay. But this morning... they skirted around each other, neither of them mentioning yesterday.

Before he'd left this morning, Dylan had double checked his draw where he placed all the letter. They were all in there.

A little more than a month ago, he'd been preoccupied with drinking. Now he was searching for suicide letters.

With a rough sigh, he sat up and stared at the house. The lights were on and he could see straight through the front window. Oddly enough, he saw the kitchen—a mountain of stainless steel even from a distance. It looked empty from what he could tell.

Dylan hoped that wasn't the case. He'd already broken into houses—that wasn't the problem. But he'd had Jason with him, who was an expert on it after he'd spent a whole year with Andrew Reynolds, notorious for knowing the ins-and-outs of everything illegal. On his own, Dylan would somehow manage the fuck it up—

He caught the shadow of a figure walking into the kitchen.

Dylan released a rough breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Someone was home. That was reassuring. Whether or not it was Connor Jenkins was another issue all together.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, so much so, his knuckles started to go white.

The longer he waited, the worse it'd be.

Dylan opened his car door, all while undoing his seatbelt. At this point, Jason would make a joke about the situation; telling Dylan to grow a pair and walk to the front door. As he knew Jason, Dylan would find twisted comfort in the words. Neither of them explicitly said they cared about each other—and Dylan wasn't planning on saying it any time soon either. But it was Jason's way of wishing him luck.

His footsteps were soundless as he stepped onto the road. There were no other cars driving around so he didn't have to worry about moving out of their way.

Go. Just go.

He felt shaky as he made his way to the overgrown front lawn covering the front of this house.

Tomorrow marked exactly four months since the suicide.

Five months since he'd lost her.

Five months since he'd heard her voice. Seen her smile. Heard her laughter.

Five months since he'd been able to hold her in his arms.