9. Whiplash #4
Dylan dropped her head as the hand covering hers moved to her sternum.
The other, Greta snaked around her waist, pushing into her firm belly.
Dylan ran her hand up Greta’s arm, resting it over Greta’s on her chest, interlacing her fingers, squeezing them.
Greta moved her head to the side before completely drowning in the heady mix of Dylan’s aftershave and the smell that was uniquely her.
‘I want you, Dylan,’ Greta confessed quietly. ‘Fuck. I want you but I can’t—’
‘Don’t!’ Dylan whispered. ‘Don’t say anything else. You want me. That’s enough. That’s all that matters.’
‘It’s too big,’ Greta began, as the pieces of the dam barely holding back a tsunami of tears started to fracture. ‘I can’t ignore the things telling me no but…’ she inhaled a shaky breath. ‘I can’t ignore you. I can’t get you out of my head.’
Dylan squeezed her hand and began to turn in Greta’s arms. Greta tightened her grip, signalling that she wasn’t ready.
That she couldn’t face her, not yet. A few seconds passed as their breaths quickened, the heat between them mounting until Dylan began to turn again, more insistently this time.
Finally relenting, Greta allowed herself to be pulled forward as Dylan wrapped her arms around her, caging Greta's body as tightly as she could. With her head resting against Dylan’s warm chest, her ear pressed to the sound of each ragged, heavy breath.
Greta felt the delicate weight of Dylan’s chin pressed onto the top of her head.
A few moments passed as they held one another.
Sliding beneath Dylan’s jumper, Greta’s hands moved over her back, tracing over her muscles and unbearably smooth skin.
A stuttered breath escaped Dylan as the warmth met her bare skin.
Pushing her head backwards, Greta dared to lean into the touch of Dylan’s hands in her hair and the blunt fingernails raking over her scalp, as her splayed fingers ran down Dylan’s back.
‘I want you so fucking much,’ Dylan said gently as she cradled Greta’s face and held it to hers.
Faces agonisingly close, Dylan moved as if in slow motion to close the gap between their mouths. The dizzying rhythm of their breaths and the shared air between them made Greta’s heart batter against the inside wall of her chest.
She wanted Dylan. She wanted Dylan to kiss her. Her eyes drifted shut, her chest heaved as Dylan’s hand held her jaw, her parted lips hovering inches from hers.
Then, in a subconscious act of self-preservation, an autonomic reflex entirely out of her control, Greta whispered, ‘Omega.’
The three syllables landed in a breath on Dylan’s mouth, making her pull away immediately as though they had burned her. She frantically scanned Greta’s eyes that were glistening with apology. Dylan gently dropped her forehead to Greta’s.
‘Please believe me, Dylan,’ Greta cradled Dylan’s cheeks. ‘This is not you. I just…’ she exhaled a jagged breath. ‘We just can’t.’
With a soft nod, a look of reluctant resignation settled over Dylan’s features as if she were driven by sheer emotional exhaustion.
Watching her, Greta knew Dylan wouldn’t try to convince her otherwise—and on some deep level, Greta knew this was the right thing to do.
It wasn’t a film. There was no world that existed in which they could be together.
‘You should go,’ Greta said, her hands dropping away as she released her hold on Dylan.
‘What?’ Dylan whispered, unable to suppress the agony in her voice.
Greta stepped back, moving to the window to put the width of the room between them.
She took a few steadying breaths, tucked her hair behind one ear and brushed her hands down her clothes as if smoothing away any lingering trace of Dylan.
Pressing her hands to her hips she fixed her gaze on Dylan’s, watching as Dylan tongued her cheek. ‘Please don’t do this.’
‘Go, Dylan.’ Greta sucked her top lip into her mouth and bit down hard. ‘Please just—’
‘Okay,’ Dylan interrupted softly, her voice cracking as if she couldn’t bear another second of Greta’s agony. ‘I’ll go... Will you be alright? Can I walk you home first? I know it’s not far, but I could get you an Uber…I can come with you. I’ll walk home from your building. I—’
‘No,’ Greta interrupted Dylan’s desperate rambling attempt at securing a few more minutes with her. ‘Thank you. I’ll be fine.’
Dylan’s kindness tore at Greta’s heart. She was being cruel to her, she knew that, but what choice did she have? Jeopardising everything for a twenty-eight-year-old student still living at home with her mother was simply not an option, regardless of how she felt.
‘Will you at least text me when you’re home safe?’
‘No, Dylan. I want you to delete me, block my number. I am going to do the same. I’m…’ She hesitated as though what she was to say next had now lost all meaning, ‘I’m sorry.’
With her hands clasped together around the back of her neck, Dylan shook her head. ‘How can you do this?’ The words came out as a whisper before her voice gathered strength. ‘How can you rip open the truth, make me bleed from it and just walk away?’
Greta dropped her head with the force of Dylan’s question. ‘Fuck,’ she breathed barely audibly. Her gaze remained pinned to the floor. ‘I’m just so—’
‘Don’t—’ Dylan blew out a long breath, running the back of her hand under her chin to wipe away her tears now running down her throat. ‘Don’t say it again.’