17. Dylan
SEVENTEEN
DYLAN
Adrian and Freya’s first big fight marks the beginning of the end.
It’s a stupid argument that gets overblown because they’re both stressed and tired. Adrian’s busy at work and Freya has finals, and something small and insignificant gets blown out of proportion.
The fight itself isn’t important.
The fight doesn’t matter.
What matters is that Adrian storms into the hardware store just as I’m about to finish my shift, looking like a thunderstorm.
What matters is that after my shift we sit in his car, and the whole story comes out.
What matters is that he tells me Freya’s unreasonable and stubborn and doesn’t get it and…
What matters is that all the while, my heart starts beating faster and faster because all the while, the only thought in my head is: This is it. It was temporary after all.
And…
And I’m glad.
I want the fight.
I want them to break up.
Freya makes Adrian happy.
And I want them to break up.
Want it fervently, desperately, would-sell-my-soul-to-the-devil-to-get-what-I-want badly.
It’s the kick in the chest that seems to make all the air whoosh out of my lungs.
I can’t be this kind of person.
I can’t be this petty, jealous, selfish mess of a person.
Adrian’s never been able to stay mad at anyone for too long. He grumbles for ten minutes, then we drive home to change and go for a run to clear Adrian’s head.
Freya is waiting on the front steps of Adrian’s house. She gets up the moment Adrian climbs out of his car. They look at each other. Freya holds her arms out and shrugs, eyes brimming with tears.
Adrian strides toward her, and she jumps into his arms. He kisses her, and she leans her forehead against his, both of them whispering apologies.
I don’t exist anymore.
I tell them I have to change before dinner, but once I’m showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I don’t go next door. Instead, I sneak out of the house and go for a long walk. I barely pay attention to where I’m going, and I walk for hours, until it’s dark outside.
It starts to rain, but it doesn’t matter. Suits my mood.
I walk and walk and walk, and I think. About my life and who I am. What I want from life, and what kind of person I want to be.
And I come to a conclusion.
In some distant part of my mind, beneath my shitty attitude and heartbreak, is the faint, reluctant acknowledgment that this is the best possible outcome I could ever hope for.
Adrian with Freya.
My best friend with the person who accepts my role in Adrian’s life and doesn’t seemingly mind. They’ll carve out a place for me in their shared life. I’ll have a place at their dinner table, and I’ll be invited over for holidays and birthdays and celebrations.
Adrian will ask me to be his best man, and if they ever decide to have kids, those miniature copies of Adrian and Freya will call me Uncle Dylan.
I’ll still get to be a part of Adrian’s life.
Not… not for real.
Not in the way I want to.
But what I want is never going to happen.
For a moment, I let myself imagine that I opened my mouth earlier and told him. That I love him. That he’s not just the boy next door. Not just my best friend. That he’s so much more.
That to me, he’s everything.
Everything.
That my world starts and ends with him.
That where he leads, I will follow.
That what I feel is something so big and all-encompassing that it doesn’t fit inside me. It pours out of me in waves.
That it’s huge and loud and terrifying and uncomfortable and sweet and pure, and I’d give anything— anything —if he just felt the same.
That I want him to be mine. That the wish is desperate and fervent.
That I crave, and I yearn, and I ache, and I want.
Every day.
Always.
And that it hurts.
Hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
That I’ve loved him since I was fifteen.
That I’ve been hurting for just as long.
Years and years of pain. Not always on the forefront. Not always prevalent. Not always overwhelming.
But always there.
And…
I can’t take it anymore.
It’s too much.
I can’t handle it.
I don’t think I can stay here and watch him love somebody else. I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.
So I have to leave.
I don’t want to leave. The house next door, the people in it—they’re the only family I’ve ever had. They’re mine. A part of me. My roots are deep in the ground here, planted by Adrian and nurtured by everything he’s given me.
But staying means watching Adrian love Freya and build a life with her.
I can’t.
One day, maybe. One day when I’m older and smarter and have packed away all my feelings for him. One day when I’ve gotten over him. One day when this desperate love has dulled into a memory. One day when I can look back at this impossible, overbearing love with nostalgia and fondness.
It seems impossible right now, but there has to be a way to stop all of this. To kill the love.
The only way I can think of is distance. Not seeing him every day. Not talking to him every day. Giving up the casual hugs and touches.
Giving him up.
Cutting the cord.
I feel calmer now.
Numb.
I wipe the back of my hand over my eyes and breathe out.
I will stop loving him.
Because enough is enough.