Chapter 40
Forty
always listen to your heart
Dylan
Another sunset has passed by the time I muster up the courage to press play on Max’s most recent video. So, while Tahlia’s
busy answering the door, probably for her five hundredth daily delivery, I make the move. It might bring me some comfort.
Stylistically, the video isn’t much different from last week’s. Sweeping shots set against intimate close-ups of unexpected
moments; closer to his old style. But there’s something in it that makes my heart ache. A melancholy, maybe, in the contrast
between the landscapes and the joy on all our faces.
I’m in it a lot. More than anyone else. Sometimes in the background, often centre stage, and my body warms at the realisation
that I like being there. I like seeing myself how he sees me. Because he’s always seen me, hasn’t he? Even when I could barely look in the mirror without turning away, those curious blue eyes bored into
me and saw every secret want, every dream, every long-buried hope, and then he shone a spotlight on me and broadcast me in
high definition. He told me to look at myself, to listen to myself, to trust myself, and didn’t I do that?
So even though things didn’t go the way I wanted them to, at least he gave me that. I didn’t get everything I wanted on the trip, but I got more from it than I ever dreamt I could.
‘Hey,’ Tahlia says brightly, stepping into my room, face amber in the glow of my lamp, expression half-guilty, half-mischievous.
‘So you know how you’re the best person in the world?’
I sit up straighter. Oh god, has she bought something ridiculous that we’re going to have to hide from Mum? ‘What have you
done?’
‘Nothing!’ She glances towards the hallway. ‘Okay, no. I did something. But hear me out. You never put yourself first, and
I think you deserve to. The thing is, I’m not actually that great at taking care of other people yet, but I know someone who
is. Or at least, someone who wants to be.’
My heart lifts, and drops, and lifts again, as Tahlia motions to someone out of sight.
‘Hey, Tiny,’ a low voice says, so familiar that it feels like a blanket’s been wrapped around my chilly shoulders.
‘I think I’ll go and walk the dog,’ Tahlia says, before her brow furrows. ‘I actually don’t know why I said that. We don’t
have a dog.’
‘You should probably work on your improv,’ I say, doing everything I can to temper the emotions bubbling in my chest at the
sight of Max in my doorway.
‘You and my drama teacher are in agreement. Anyway, love you! Good luck, or whatever.’ She gives Max a thumbs-up, but the
second she’s behind him, she points at him and fans herself.
I wait for the sound of the front door before I let myself look at him properly. Wounded as it might be right now, my heart
reacts the way it always does when I lay eyes on Max; like it might soar out of my chest if I’m not careful.
His hair’s even messier than usual, dark circles rim his eyes, and there’s a coffee stain on the sleeve of his jumper.
I want to be happy that he looks as wrung-out as I feel, like he might’ve also spent the past few nights tossing and turning in bed, going over everything that happened, but instead I’m overwhelmed by a sense of deep sadness.
Because despite everything, I just want him to be okay.
‘How are you here?’ I ask.
‘I found Tahlia on Instagram. Asked if she thought you would talk to me.’ He sighs. ‘Will you?’
I nod, then lead us to the small balcony off the living room; washing hanging out to dry, giant pots filled with dying plants,
dilapidated wooden table and chairs. But for once, I don’t care about how it looks. Max has seen all my mess before anyway.
I sit, but I don’t say anything. It’s all on him now.
‘I want to apologise, Dylan,’ he says at last. ‘For being . . . the worst.’
The old wooden chair creaks under me. ‘You hurt one person’s feelings. That’s not the worst thing someone can do.’
‘One person who’s very important to me. So yeah. It is.’ I force my head around to find him watching me warily. ‘I’ve been a dick and a hypocrite. You were right about that. I’ve
pushed you to be honest with yourself and what you want over the last few weeks, and I wasn’t honest in return.’
My palms sweat a little, but I still get the words out, because maybe I haven’t said everything I want to say yet, after all.
‘I put my heart out on the line for you, Max, after you made me feel like it was okay to do it.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of his shoes dragging against the concrete underfoot. Then
his voice slices the quiet, straight through my ribs. ‘Do you know how easy it was to fall for you?’ My breath catches, and
he continues, ‘I knew it was happening, and I knew I’d screw it up, but I kept going with it, because it was that easy, and
maybe reckless, and just fun, I guess. I liked it so much that I wanted to squeeze out everything I could from every moment of those six weeks with you,
just so I could experience what my life could be like, if things were different. It didn’t even feel like falling, in the
end. It felt like breathing.’
I swallow down the lump in my throat. ‘Then why did you run?’
‘Because you’re worth so much more than just right now, and I’ve always found the concept of the future kind of .
. .’ He frowns, eyebrows barely visible under the hair that’s grown out, and clears his throat to try again.
‘I find it difficult; the uncertainty of it. For a long time, I wasn’t even sure I’d have one.
I didn’t think I’d ever retire, or go grey, and I just—I don’t know.
It feels like the greatest act of faith to hope for the future.
And I’m not a religious man. I never learnt how to have that kind of conviction. ’
I pull my sleeves over my hands, but the shiver rippling through me isn’t because of the chill in the air. ‘That’s all I wanted
to know. I only wanted you to be honest.’
‘It’s hard to be honest with someone when you haven’t been fully honest with yourself.’
I run a finger along the wood grain of the table. ‘You say that looking ahead is hard for you, but you plan trips. Isn’t that
thinking about the future?’
‘In a way. When I was sick, I couldn’t even think about the following week. So when I started planning ahead; small, fun things that I could focus positive energy on, it felt like a massive breakthrough.
But eventually, it warped into something different. Less healthy. I realised that if I kept moving and pushing the boundaries,
I wouldn’t be in one place long enough for the shadows to catch up. It wasn’t the future I was planning anymore, but a place
to run to.’ He adjusts the fabric of his joggers at his knees. ‘And now . . .’
‘Now you’re out of breath,’ I suggest.
‘I’m really, really out of breath,’ he agrees through a sad, quiet laugh, looking out at the darkening sky, the dusky gradient
of night edging towards us.
‘So slow down.’ However much I want to keep my heart guarded, I can’t help it, where Max is concerned. I set my hand on his
on the table, and out of the corner of my eye his shoulders relax. ‘I’ll be walking, if you don’t want to run anymore.’
‘I’ve been slowing already,’ he says, turning our hands and swiping his thumb over the back of mine. ‘I’ve made such a big
deal out of living in the present, but since I met you, it’s like I see everything all at once. Past, present, future, all
mixed up together.’
Every second we’ve spent together flares through my mind, as fast as one of his videos, every frame something vibrant and thrilling. ‘What kind of things do you see?’
The breeze ruffles his hair, and then it spills out in a rush. ‘I see more morning coffees and walks. I see birthday traditions.
I see us exploring the world. I see you blushing and telling me I’m obnoxious when I say something inappropriate. I see myself
falling asleep to your snoring every night—’
‘I don’t sn—’
‘You do. I see myself waking up next to you, I see two toothbrushes and one toothpaste in the bathroom, I see me attempting
to make coffee and you appearing wrapped in a blanket and telling me to do the dishes while you take over. I see new routines
and old ones. All of the exciting moments, and the ordinary ones too.’ He runs a hand down his face. ‘The last few days without
you, I haven’t been able to think. My head’s been too full of all those images. I thought they were taunting me by showing me what I couldn’t have. But I think,
really, they were just letting me know how good things could be, if I was brave enough to try.’
I don’t say anything, just swallow against the feeling caught in my throat.
His free hand cups my face and I relax into the warmth, the familiar roughness of his palm, the pad of his thumb drifting
across my cheekbone. ‘Dylan, for the first time in a long, long while, I can see a future for myself. And I don’t see any
version without you in it.’
My chest constricts. I want to believe him, but I’m still wounded by what happened before, and I have to ask, ‘What happens
when things start to feel permanent? Will you shut down?’
‘I want to be there for you, and to lean on you, and I promise I’ll talk to you whenever I start feeling antsy. But I won’t
pretend I’m not scared, because I am. I’m terrified.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
He waits a beat before he speaks. ‘When we argued, you said I cut things off because I’m scared we’ll go wrong.
’ He looks at me, looks right into my soul, and his voice wavers when he continues, ‘I’m not scared of it going wrong.
I’m scared of it going right. I’m scared we’ll be happy, Dylan.
I know we would be. I’m so fucking scared we’ll build something great and I’ll feel as
bone-deep content as I did in Wales with you, and then in a couple of years I’ll get sick again, or worse, and you’ll have
to deal with the fallout. That’s what I’m afraid of.’