Like Gods

[34] distance

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He all but hissed when he opened the door and found Chris standing there. He was frowning deeply.

"Why aren't you at school? And why aren't you answering my texts?" Chris shot back, taking a step past him, into the house. Dylan didn't want to let him inside, but he couldn't get his body to stop the taller boy. 

"Why are you here?" 

"To talk," Chris replied, "you aren't answering my calls." 

"I don't really want to talk to you, Christopher." Dylan turned away, walking back into the living room.

"Why not, Dyl, what did I do? Talk to me," he pleaded, grabbing Dylan's wrist, but the soccer played yanked his hand back. "Is it about the college thing? Look, I know that you don't think I should go with dad's idea, and I know that it's cowardly, but I don't want to lose any more family members. I already regret Sam too much." 

It burnt like acid on his skin, in his mind, to hear Chris plead, because it sounded so sincere and real. But the images of him and Megan were like etched into his brain and that was all he saw, and he saw red. 

"Don't give that, don't mix Sam into this," he snapped. "Don't say that as if you don't know, as if I didn't see you." 

"See me do what, Dylan? I don't know! You have to tell me what's wrong, I can't read your mind," Chris exclaimed, throwing his arms out in a gesture that made him look completely hopeless.

"Oh, come on, Chris. I saw you and Megan at the party on Saturday!" He choked out, just wanting Chris to leave because this was bringing back the emotions that he'd felt that night and it hurt and he wanted it to stop. It was very unlike himself, letting his feelings guide an argument, but he couldn't stop himself.

"What- I," Chris ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room, placing the other hand on his hip, "I- me and Megan?" 

Dylan huffed. "Yeah, you and Megan. She was on you like a-" 

"Like a bug that I didn't want on me, Dylan," Chris finished, "I swear, we didn't do anything." 

"And I'm supposed to believe that? You have a reputation, you know. Maybe Ian was right after all." 

Real pain flashed across his features, and it shot right back at Dylan, a stabbing sensation quickly settling in his chest-area. "Ian? What the fuck does he have to do with him?"

"It had nothing to do with him, it has to do with you," Dylan snapped, feeling his eyes burn and lip tremble, but he would not cry, not in front of Chris. The anger that he'd felt was in a moment replaced- or not replaced, but accompanied- with sadness, a tight pain building in the pit of his stomach. "You didn't seem to not want her on you, and I know that I'm no girl and I-" 

"Dylan, I don't want a girl, I want you, come on," he took a step closer, but Dylan took a step back.

"No, I saw you with her and it hurt and I don't want it to hurt more. You know, you told me so many times that the rumors about you weren't true, but it sure as hell seems as though they are!" 

"Dyl, please, listen to me, I swear that they aren't and neither is what you think you saw-" 

"What I think I saw? You know what, I need you to leave. Right now." He walked forward, making Chris take a few steps back, toward the door again. 

"Babe-"

"Don't. Just leave! I can't do this if I can't trust you and I- I don't think I can do that." Dylan shut his eyes tightly, feeling some stubborn teardrops roll down his cheeks. Chris released a painfilled sigh, or maybe it was a huff, but he didn't open his eyes. It would break his heart too much.

"Okay, I'll leave if that's what you want," Chris whispered.

 "That is what I want," Dylan stated though it was a lie, trying to keep his voice steady, and he heard how Chris moved away. He kept his eyes closed until he heard the door shut, then all but collapsed onto the sofa. 

The world was on fire, and there was no stopping it. Everything was turning and the heart-wrenching and unwanted sobs that escaped him did nothing to help stop the room from spinning. He clenched his jaw, biting back the cries as well as he could. It was a lie, him saying that he wanted Chris to leave, but he couldn't let him stay.

Everything he could think about was the party, and how it wasn't fair. 

He dried his face by lifting his shirt and rubbing it against it, then took a deep breath and walked over to the armchair to get his phone. There were a lot of unanswered messages, but he ignored them and instead pressed on the small phone-icon beside Felicia's name. 

"Dylan Elliot Brooks, you have been ignoring my calls for four days straight, what is going on with you?" 

"Felicia, could you come over?" He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, hearing his voice break mid-sentence. Felicia was quiet for a few moments, but he heard shuffling on the other line.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," she hurried out, and he could hear a teacher asking why she was standing, to which she snapped: "It's a family emergency, I've got to go." 

"You can come after school, you don't have to skip," he said, realizing that it wasn't even one o'clock and of course, she was in class.

"I do have to come, Dylan, you obviously need me to be there... Do you want to tell me what's happened?" She asked softly, the sound of her footsteps sounding in the background.

"When you get here," he breathed, and Felicia hummed. He got off the phone and let it fall onto one of the sofa cushions. He sat down, his shoulder's aching from holding in so much tension.

It was all over, wasn't it? Like in the movies, and you think everything is going great and that it'll be a happily ever after, but then it isn't and everything comes crashing down like an overwhelming waterfall of emotions that you've never felt before. He stared at the wall as if frozen in place.

There was pain. There was doubt. It was all a mess and he couldn't get his mind to quiet down. He'd gotten so used to having Chris around, but now he'd thrown all that away. No, Chris had thrown all that away, and he'd just made sure that the football player knew it. It wasn't his fault, not entirely at least. 

Still, it stung. The pictures of the party played on repeat inside his head and made him want to curl up in his bed again, but he wouldn't do that. He'd done that for four days, and that was enough. He could do this.

The front door opened and he knew that it was Felicia just from hearing the footsteps in the hallway.

"Dylan?" She called into the house.

"In the living room," he answered, standing from his seat. She was there a moment later, her jacket still on and her bookbag slung carelessly over her shoulder.

"Dylan, what happened?" She came closer and he knew that she knew that he'd cried. He smiled softly.

"It's over between me and Chris," he breathed, feeling the familiar pressure in his throat and the burning sensation from behind his eyes. Felicia gaped.

"What? Why- oh, Dylan," she wrapped her arms around him, and he did the same, burying his nose into her loose curls and pressed her tightly against him. It was nice to have her there, and he took a deep breath to calm his quick heartbeat. 

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