17. I can’t just fuck #2
Dylan stopped immediately. ‘I don’t want to fucking talk, Greta,’ she said, emotion filling her voice.
She scanned Greta’s face, her eyebrows knitted, eyes pleading.
‘I don’t want to…’ Dylan tried again, but the past forty-eight hours finally broke her.
She buried her face in Greta’s stomach. ‘I don’t—I can’t… I don’t want to fucking talk.’
Her shoulders began to heave as sobs rapidly consumed her. The unspent tears Greta had watched quickly gather in her impossibly gorgeous eyes were now pouring from her, wetting Greta’s belly.
Greta tugged at Dylan’s jaw again. ‘Look at me,’ she said softly. Dylan resisted the pull of Greta’s insistent hands, pushing her face deeper into her. ‘Dylan, please.’
‘I can’t fucking do it anymore,’ Dylan sobbed.
‘Do what? Dylan, look at me.’
‘Any of it. All of it. I can’t—’
‘Dylan! Look at me!’
Greta gave Dylan’s head a firm tug to finally bring their gaze level. Their eyes met briefly before Dylan’s slammed shut.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dylan whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’
Greta pulled Dylan on top of her. Dylan collapsed to her side, half-draped over Greta as she caged her with her limbs, wrapping herself around her and pressing her lips to Dylan’s head as her sobs gathered momentum.
‘It’s okay,’ Greta whispered.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Dylan repeated softly.
‘Stop saying sorry. Stop.’ Greta pressed her lips into Dylan’s hair. ‘Please, just stop.’
Reaching for the throw on the bed, she covered them both as she held Dylan’s head to her chest. Long moments passed until the sobs subsided and Dylan’s breathing became even.
‘Dylan?’ Greta said softly, gently pulling back her curls to kiss her forehead.
‘Hmm?’ Dylan hummed softly, as though she’d been pulled from a light sleep.
‘Is your mum okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Dylan sniffled and wriggled her head to nuzzle closer, pulling herself in tighter with her arm draped over Greta’s waist. ‘She’s septic. Her chest, again. She went off so quickly at the hospital, but they’re on it. Her oxygen demand is up, and she’s on IV antibiotics, again.’
Greta moved her hand over Dylan's curls, pressing another kiss to her head as Dylan began to cry again. ‘I’m sorry, Dylan.’
Dylan blew out a long shaky breath. ‘I shouldn’t have forced myself on you... I should have just gone home. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I’m so fucking ashamed of my—’
‘You didn’t force yourself on me! Jesus. Put that out of your mind, now! For fuck’s sake.’
‘I would never hurt— ’
‘I know! You didn’t hurt me.’ Greta’s tone was loud and assertive. ‘You didn’t hurt me, Dylan,’ she insisted more softly. She pulled Dylan’s face up by her jaw, finding her gaze. Dark circles sat under her bloodshot eyes.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you think you’d still be breathing if you had forced yourself onto me, or hurt me?’
Dylan huffed out a short laugh. ‘No. I’d be in a body bag.’
‘Exactly.’
They both laughed lightly as Greta held Dylan’s face to hers, dropping her gaze to Dylan’s lips before slowly dragging it back to her eyes. Her soft hand cupped Dylan’s jaw, urging her closer. With her eyes fixed on Dylan’s mouth she placed a kiss on her bottom lip.
‘I need to know what this is,’ Dylan whispered against Greta’s lips. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t just fuck anymore. I can’t—’
Greta cut her off with a deep kiss. Squeezing her face, pulling her closer. ‘I’ve tried to talk to you, Dylan.’
Dylan pulled away, resting her forehead against Greta’s.
‘I know. I know you have.’ Rolling onto her back, Dylan pressed the heels of her hands into her wet eyes.
Greta turned onto her side, propping her head up on a bent arm as she watched Dylan fight back more tears.
‘I need to know if you just want sex, or if you…if you can… I don’t want to pressure you, I just— ’
‘I want you,’ Greta interrupted before her brain could properly scrutinise the weight of the words.
Moving onto her side to face Greta, Dylan gently brushed her hair over her shoulder. ‘You want me?’ she asked softly.
‘I don’t know what it will look like. I don’t even know you, for Christ’s sake, but I want you. I don’t just want sex with you. I want you, Dylan.’
A single tear fell down Dylan’s face, her tattooed fingers scrubbing at it quickly. She draped herself over Greta again, resting her head on her chest. ‘We can get to know each other properly. We can date,’ Dylan said.
‘Date?’ Greta scoffed, tousling Dylan’s soft curls with the tips of her fingers.
‘Yeah, date. Like, I’ll date you, you’ll date me, we’ll date each other. Dates will be had, and dating will happen.’ Dylan’s hopeful smile pushed against Greta’s chest. ‘Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend. We can just—’
‘Well, thank God, because forty-nine is too old to be someone’s girlfriend.’
The numbers felt heavy as they left her mouth. She braced herself with a long, steadying breath.
‘You’re forty-nine?’
‘A-ha.’
‘Do you like dogs or cats?’ Dylan asked, without missing a beat.
‘What?’ Greta laughed at the unexpected question, making Dylan’s head bob on her chest.
‘It’s a simple question, Doctor Vincent. Dogs or cats?’
‘Dogs.’
‘Oh, thank fuck for that,’ Dylan breathed, rolling onto her back and splaying a hand dramatically on her own chest. ‘I don’t like cats.
Never trust something that will look you dead in the eye while it knocks your drink over.
’ Greta laughed as Dylan kissed her before wriggling closer again.
‘So that’s the important question out of the way. ’
‘That’s it? That’s all you need to know?’
‘Yep. You’ll come to know I’m very surface level, Greta,’ she joked. ‘I don’t need anything else. I know you’re a U-hauler, so we’ll have to decide where we’re living soon, and I know we’ll be adopting some dogs. I think that’s everything. Isn’t it?’