Part One
Dylan stumbles through the doorway, slamming it shut behind him. I stand waiting for him in the kitchen.
He throws his head back and laughs ironically when he sees me then runs a hand through his oily hair, causing it to stick up wildly.
"I'm not in the mood for this, Harley." He spits out and brushes past me to get to the refrigerater. I cross my arms over my chest, agitated. Once again he disregards my existence. The only time he says needs me is when he wants sex. Talking is out of the question. I don't remember the last time I had a decent conversation with him. Yelling is getting tiring.
"You never are, are you?" With a simple twist of his hand he cracks open a beer and settles against the granite counter. He takes a long sip, then tilts his head to the side as he gives me a once over. I eye him and the beer wearily before also taking one out. After popping it open I stare into the bottle, gathering my thoughts for a minute, but I set it down behind me. Dylan observes silently, almost tentatively.
"So where were you, huh?" I keep my back to him and lay my palms on the counters. From behind me I hear him take another beer from the fridge, as if he hadn't already had enough. Like usual, he doesn't answer. The quiet is unnerving. I squeeze my eyes shut as they begin to water, I hate crying in front of him.
"Dylan why don't you answer me?!" I scream, not having the guts to look him in the face.
"What do you want me to say?" He asks calmly, always calmly. I spin around in anger. The tension of my jaw aches and I realize I'm clenching my teeth.
"Anything! Anything at all! Just say something!"
He's barely fazed by my outbursts, but his lips purse and his defined jaw tenses, hallowing his cheeks.
With a blank face he saunters out of the kitchen like he doesn't have a care in the world, even setting his unfinished beer down along the way.
Naturally, I storm after him, glaring at his retreating figure.
"This is what I mean! We never talk!" I yell, not suprised when he doesn't falter in his steps. He walks further into the apartment, heading to our room. I take bigger strides, desperately trying to catch up with his long legs before he reaches the bedroom.
"Dylan, where do you keep going?" I demand again, this time slighty calmer. When his steps become longer I pick up my pace. He rips open our bedroom door, slamming it behind him quickly to keep me out.
A low, guttural growl escapes my lips as I grasp the door knob and try to open it, but it's locked. From inside the room I can hear the sound of a Nirvana album being played.
Territorial Pissings suddenly explodes from behind the door. The raging music rattles my skull and I scream in angst, wiggling the door knob, willing it to unlock.
"Damn it, Dylan!" In an outrage I kick the door with my heel forcefully. Pain shoots throughout my leg, feeling no better than the burning in my chest.
"Why won't you talk to me?!" There is no response, just the swift change of songs.
"I hate you!" I scream as loud as I can.
"I fucking hate you!"
Still nothing.
"I wish I never met you! You're a poisonous son of a bitch and I fucking hate you!" Lithium blasts through the speakers, fueling my aggravation. Without Dylan standing in front of me it's easier to curse his very existence. Everything he's ever done to hurt me flashes across my mind. Every name, every empty bed, every time he's walked out on me. My vision blurs, and I'm seeing red.
"You are such a fucking coward! You surround yourself with music instead of dealing with your problems! You are a horrible human being! And I. Fucking. Hate. You." I sneer, kicking the broken door another time. Right as my foot collides with the wood a third time the door flies open, startlingly me.
Dylan bounds out with a murderous glare in his dark eyes. When I look in them I see war, the battles we've fought. His pupils fade into freckled irises, which are dead set on me. I refuse to cower in his presence.
"What did you fucking say you bitch?" He orders, his chest rising in rage.
I take a step closer and poke his chest with each word, "I said, you're a coward and I fucking hate you." My eyes are fixated on his as they narrow.
"At least I'm not a whore that sticks her nose into other people's business." Before the words can finish leaving his mouth I hurl my fist back and punch him in the jaw. Astonishment is clear on his face for a split second before it ebbs into anger. I raise my clenched fist again but this time he's expecting it. Dylan grabs my wrist and holds it down. I wriggle in his grasp and raise my right fist. He has that one too.
"Let me go," I demand through gritted teeth.
Dylan smirks down at me, "I don't think you're in the postion to make demands right now, Harley."
After awhile I stop struggling, he was much stronger than me anyway.
I lean my head back, exposing my neck and allowing my hair to fall away from my heated face. A pair of warm lips hover over my collarbones, the heat from his breath sending an unavoidable tremor through my body.
I sigh and wet my lips.
"I hate you," I exhale breathily.
When I bring my head back up I'm staring into Dylan's blank eyes. His guard is up again.
He pushes me away, and I trip over my feet clumsily before falling against the drywall in shock. My head smashes through the plaster, and I already know I'll be sore.
Dylan's eyes are desolate but other then that, he shows no emotion.
"Harley I..." He swallows loudly and rolls his tongue across his teeth, remorse shining in his abysmal eyes.
"Dylan, I'm tired of all your mind games. You leave without a trace. No calls. No explanations. What am I supposed to think?"
"You're supposed to trust me," He replies slightly louder, running a hand through his dark, messy hair.
"How can I trust someone like you Dylan?! I love you but I just-"
"Hate me?" His voice is void of emotion and he steps farther away from me, leaning against the opposite hallway.
With a bang he slams his head on the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
"Don't you fucking dare," I say evenly. "Don't act like you're the victim here."
I take a small step forward. "I'm the one who wakes up every morning to an empty bed. I stay here and wait around until you get home just so you can blow me off and focus on your guitar. I can't. take. it. any. more." I stress, gradually moving closer to him.
When I get close enough he wraps a calloused hand around my wrist once more and places the other behind my head. He pulls me as close as we can physically be. Gently, he lowers his lips to mine, moving slowly, passionate. I see flecks of gold in his irises as they close and his eyelashes tickle my cheeks. He pulls back when I don't respond. His forehead rests against mine, eyes still closed from the kiss.
"I love you, Harley. I fucking love you so much it messes with my head. I'd do anything for you. And I know it doesn't seem like it when I act like a bastard, but I'm so God damn afraid that one day instead me leaving in the morning, you do. I don't know what to do, Harley. Before I met you, everything was shit. But you made it so much better. I'm an asshole, a complete and utter asshole. I always have been, always will be. It's just who I am. I'm a screw up and a mess and a fucking disaster. I can't help that I'm against the world. But you, you're heaven from a view in hell. You understand me like no one else does. You make me feel like I can be somebody, like I matter. No one cares except you. But the point is, I'm desperately in love with you, Harley."
This time, when he lowers his lips to mine, I respond the way he wants me to.
"Are you gonna be my girl?" He murmurs as we pull back.
"Can't find a better man," I breathe, closing my eyes.
-
