Even After All

Part Forty Seven

She shrugged, “you can if you don’t give a shit.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brandy gave a half shrug, “you’ve let her go Dylan, I’m just surprised that’s all.”

He stood up and marched towards her, “really? What are you saying Brandy?”

Brandy’s knowing grin was enough to wind him into a fury, she could almost see steam pouring out of his ears in anger, and THAT was what she was waiting for, “at last! Jesus Dylan, this woman is the love of your life, you’ve screwed up...again, and rather than sort it out, you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. She is going to get a new job, she’s going to move on and you’ll never see her again. I just don’t think that’s what you want.”

“You don’t KNOW what I want!”

He snarled the words, looming over her, but she was never intimidated by him. Instead laughing she gave her head a shrug, “really? You are like a bear with a sore head, do you want my advice?” When he didn’t answer merely scowled, she laughed again, “well you’ll get it regardless, find her, and break a habit of a lifetime...LISTEN to her, talk to her, and understand her. Because you are the worst person in the world when it comes to sharing yourself.” She tapped his chest over his heart, “open that to her or you will become the man I met five years ago, cold, unemotional, and you WILL lose her forever. Because she deserves better than she’s had. YOU know that.”

                “And I deserve less? Is that it?”

Brandy shook her head, “she’s perfect for you, if you work hard, you’ll get her...and that’s exactly what you deserve!”

He made a noise that sounded like an animalistic grunt, then stormed out of the office leaving Brandy grinning in his wake.

He hadn’t been back to his London apartment since leaving Matilda there two weeks earlier, but now that he’d stormed out of the hotel he had nowhere else to go, he found himself outside the building, he had nowhere else to go. He hated that he felt dread going back there, this was a place that would always remind him of that amazing time they’d had the very same weekend he’d stormed off and left her. The day you became the man you’d always been, the bastard.

As he entered the apartment he was stunned to see six large boxes and bags stacked near the door, a note attached to them was adorned with Matilda’s familiar scrawly handwriting.

                “I’m having these boxes stored, just waiting to find out where I’ll be. Hope you don’t mind them cluttering your hallway for a week or two?”

Mind? He sighed with sadness, that was all that she had to show for her twenty eight years of life, a few boxes. Matilda had always been a hoarder, she had no greater pleasure than buying nick-knacks for their home, always filling their rooms with cushions and posters and that bloody ridiculous jug that she’d found in some antique shop that she had painstakingly cleaned then painted. Every week she filled it with fresh flowers, brightening up their home, it was a huge monstrosity that took over their tiny dining table but it was part of her, part of the influence on their shared home. But there was no sign of the jug, or her patchwork bedspreads, or the wicker baskets that she’d filled with toiletries. It had all gone; she seemed to be reduced to essential things only. How had that happened? How had she changed from organised chaos to efficient minimalism?