The Designated Dorm Room

23. - Present

After 15 minutes or so, Dylan comes out with only his pants on, his hair dripping wet. I rub my eyes and stared at him, dumbfound.

“Are you checking on me?” Dylan smirks. I scoff.

“Right, checking on you. Riiiiiight.”

He dries his hair, “Well, you’re drooling, that proves something.”

I touched the corners of my mouth, then realize he just trolled me. I scowled.

“Dylan Carter!”

He chuckles and puts on a shirt. Then he sits on the bed next to me. I move away.

“You’re treating me like I have STDs.” He rolls his eyes. I laugh.

“Well, with the amount of girls you sleep with…”

He frowns, “Hey! I do not…”

I lift my eyebrow, “Oh yeah?”

He doesn’t answer. I look at him and then reach over for my phone. It’s almost 6.

“Let’s go for a drink. You said you’re paying right?” I wink.

“I never said that, Kaylie.” He gives me something that looks half smirk half smile. “But for you I’d pay.” He winks back my way. I roll my eyes and go to get my chapstick on the table.

“Let’s go, before I change my mind because you have STDs.”

“Kaylie Taylor…” He warns, I just smiled devishly and skip out the door, leaving him to follow behind.

We walk down the streets as I google on my phone where to have desserts in Vienna. Finally, I find a near Café shop called Souls (sounds kinda deep right? I know…) and I call Tiramisu and a hot chocolate. Dylan calls a milk coffee and vanilla ice-cream.

“Ew, you’re a guy and you’re eating vanilla?” I tease.

“Oh so there’s rules for eating ice-cream too huh, how ice-creamism.” He chuckles.

The desserts come out and we chat about random shits and teasing each other as we eat. No one mention anything from 3 years ago, it is quite relaxing and enjoyable. Being friends is fun, but whenever I think back to what he did 3 years ago, I couldn’t just treat him like normal, like nothing ever happened. Like, c’mon guy… he cheated on me.

After we – Dylan – pays, we scroll down on the streets of Vienna and go back to the hotel. Part of me reminds myself not to get too close to him, but the other part says it was less stressful being “normal” (or pretend to) with him. I push my thoughts away and drift to sleep.

. . .

I wake up to the sound of Dylan shouting, not my alarm – although my alarm was also beeping like crazy. Oh hell no, Dylan’s shouting and alarm, what a terrible combination of noises. I cover my ears.

“Kaylie fucking Taylor, turn that fucking alarm off.” He yells.

I roll on my side, still covering my ears, “How about you stop shouting and get up and DO IT.”

“It’s yours, mine’s not even until 8.”

I groan, turning over and try so hard to peak my eyes open to actually see where my phone is. Then I take it and slide the screen. The alarm stops.

“Thank God.” Dylan mutters. I silently cry because it is too early to wake up but recalling what Anna said, we’d have to be in the lobby by 8:30. I jump out of bed and walk with my eyes close to the bathroom.

I flash cold water onto my face and feel a bit more awake. I pick up my toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste. After finishing doing what I need to, I grab the towel and wipe my face as I go out. As soon as I take the towel from my face, I bump into something and fall to the ground before a pair of hands reaches out to grab me. I bounce right back up and hit Dylan’s chest.