20. I won’t panic #4
The word lodged in her throat, but the edges of the single syllable were so sharp, Dylan felt as though an artery had been severed in her neck. In the wake of the almost word, the fact that she’d just admitted to falling for her was completely lost in the moment.
‘Hooker? Wow,’ Dylan said. Her gaze was unwavering, but suddenly watery. ‘Are we even still saying that?’
‘I didn’t mean that. Fuck. Dylan, I didn’t—’
‘It’s okay.’ Dylan bit the inside of her cheek and let out a long, shaky sigh.
‘Dyl, please. I didn’t—’
‘I know, G. It’s fine.’
Greta turned her anger toward herself. ‘It’s not fucking fine! Of all the people I should be mad at...why do I treat you like this? Why don’t I know how to do this?!’
Dylan took Greta’s mug with her fingertips, putting it on the tray on the ottoman with hers. Sliding along the sofa under Greta’s legs, she reached out to cup her face as the tears started their familiar tracks.
‘Don’t cry, Greta. I can’t bear it. Please.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Greta sniffled.
‘It’s okay. I don’t know what I’m doing either, G, but I know what I’m not doing, and that’s pushing away the things that feel right.
I know you’re scared, I’m scared too, I’m fucking terrified.
’ She huffed out a breathy chuckle. ‘But I’ve spent enough time lying awake at night thinking about us to know I am not imagining this…
I feel the way your breathing changes when you’re in my arms. I hear you, and I feel you when we have sex.
I see how you look at me and I know how you make me feel.
I know I’m not imagining that we have something special… Am I?’
Greta’s shoulders shook, tears spilled down her cheeks as Dylan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. ‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘No, you’re not imagining it. Any of it.’
Dylan fished a tissue from her pocket. ‘It’s clean,’ she smiled as Greta accepted it.
‘My jumper will shrink if you get it wet again, and it cost me six pound fifty at Oxfam this… Aaand as you can see, it’s a nineties gem.
’ As Dylan wiggled her eyebrows a laugh burst through Greta’s crying, making her sob even harder.
She pressed the tissue to her eyes. ‘Greta.’ Dylan unfurled the word softly.
‘We’ll make a plan, okay? We’re not doing anything wrong.
You’re not my course lead. You’re not even my frigging tutor.
You did one lecture to fill a gap for Doctor McClure… you even refused to mentor me.’
Greta pinched her nose with the wet tissue, blowing hard. ‘That’s when I should have disclosed us, Dyl.’
‘Disclosed what? There was no relationship until I pursued you.’
‘That’s not quite—’
‘It is!’ Dylan’s voice rose to a level she immediately regretted.
She pressed her fingertips into her forehead.
‘It is,’ her tone softened. ‘You paid me for sex. Who in their right mind would go to their Dean and confess that when they thought they could bury it?’ Greta shrugged, her brow dipping heavily.
‘What’s happened since then hasn’t been a relationship,’ Dylan continued, sighing when Greta cocked a perfect eyebrow.
‘Well, okay, it’s… Fine.’ She canted her head.
‘It’s a thing. But they don’t know shit, G.
Deny it. They’re hardly going to shine a light in your eyes and get Jeremy Kyle out with a lie detector,’ she chuckled.
‘Whatever that busy-bastard-body-librarian saw was just me—a student, as daft as she looks, fawning over a ridiculously hot oncologist, in a ridiculously hot dress and getting a frigging fine for not returning the books she walked back out of the library with. That’s it.
Start, middle, end. Bish.’ She tucked the stray strands of Greta’s hair behind her ear.
Greta drew in a steadying breath. ‘I can’t blame you for all of it.’
‘All of what? They don’t have anything. Tell them I flirted and you resisted my charms. They might even give you a little medal for that.
’ Greta snort-laughed making Dylan finally smile.
‘Come here,’ she instructed softly, holding out her arm.
Greta climbed onto Dylan’s lap, straddling her thighs on the deep cushions.
Dylan smiled as she looked up, watching as Greta gathered her hair and moved it over one shoulder.
‘Kiss me, Doctor Vincent.’ Greta’s fingers stopped fidgeting with the wool of Dylan’s jumper as she leaned in, doing exactly what Dylan had asked—the only thing she wanted to do—she kissed her.
When they finally broke away, they kept their foreheads pressed lightly together for a beat before Greta pulled back, scanning Dylan’s face as she looked up at her.
‘I’m not going to tell you not to worry, G…
that would be patronising. But whatever happens on Thursday, I’ll be here.
’ She craned her neck to reach Greta’s lips again.
‘Even if you run, I’ll be here. I have the code and a key, remember?
So I’ll be here, even if it’s just to drink your fancy filtered water, watch the drunks in Sackville Gardens and warm my cold tootsies on this boujee fucking floor. ’