Dylan - Take Me Home
Dylan had spent a bit 'to focus the reality, when he awoke.
streaks of light filtering through the window - he was stretched in the warmth of the blanket and had yawned languidly, had half-closed eyelids. It was already
day, perhaps, or maybe just before dawn.
Maybe he was still sleeping and that sense of being lazy was part of a dream is not yet finished - maybe the world was a fairytale and he lived in it. Maybe he came home.
He blinked, staring at the immobile globe of the bulb.
He seemed to feel not so good a time as if something was incalculable but escaped in the meantime - as if a thin line of sand falls slowly to the other by a cone of the hourglass and the time waiting for him at some gate avventarglisi . What gap?
And that room was the one - where was Ash? Suddenly
was shot down on the mattress, he had stopped breathing.
Rosenfield - had realized immediately, feeling the muscles tense as strings. I felt my heart fall in her throat, her eyes widening in a vacuum.
Jude.
He had turned instinctively even before you connect that name to a memory, but the sheets appeared to be crumpled by his side, and the pillow seemed intact.
The empty room, all around.
And they arrived at that moment the images - whiter light blurred by sleep and fragments of whispered words while he was still dozing. Jude's lips pressed against his temple, the voice on the figures of a curved time absurd. Seven and a half, perhaps - a date with his sister and a kind of invitation. Lunch? A house? Dylan
That morning he had found it, the meaning of his life in the balance from one side of the mirror: voltage and abandonment, belonging and alienation.
The swirl of contradictions was almost dizzy and he had moved his eyes over his body only to discover the features of bare legs - the chest and hips and arms, white skin. The sticky thighs.
Rethinking the previous night had been inevitable at that point - nothing was served to make an effort to divert the mind or groped to focus on something more immediate. Light a cigarette or curl the hair between his fingers - biting nails.
was not working. Why in the memory
Jude had beautiful hands and he would never have thought that would stand out so much on her body - would never have thought it possible that one day someone would be able to touch it without leaving marks on the skin and can no longer get rid of the image his fists attached to the headboard. From the insistent Jude curved back of the vertebrae in the relief of vertigo and wonder how many times has Raven narrowed her eyes on that same perspective - the tickle of hair on the belly. The perception of his palms on the hips - on the buttocks.
is absurd.
Last night it all seemed just too while now regretting not having taken time to study the body of Jude is like a cry stuck in his throat - nostalgia that delves into his chest and slowly goes out each color.
not see him ever again, and can not even bring along a photograph of her hips.
would not be able to recognize it in the mapping, the scars, and has no idea what flavor would have his pleasure. He does not know anything about him.
yet never felt so close to someone during sex - never had let loose like that. Never had so much confidence given to someone else and never had the pleasure was so intense, amazing. The
would prepare the breakfast, if he stayed. A
Sometimes he did it for Ash in the morning and things are still missing from the die.
Maybe he could not wake him, while waiting for the coffee it warm on the plate, or maybe he would come close to kissing him on the lean side - maybe he would open his eyes, he would have caught on the bed. Maybe the coffee would be burned in the fire, meanwhile, would be burned directly or perhaps everything. Combining his eyebrows in an expression serious, Dylan sinks his cheek into the pillow.
After all it was better that Jude went off while he slept - was not able to stand by him without trying to contact again with his lips. It was already difficult before - now is something different again: the difference between breathing and suffocate - a clear boundary.
Definitive.
knows perfectly well that a single step - eyes meet by accident or accidental knee rub against her, the image of the hair inside his shirt collar. The desire to offset the tufts and press my lips on that strip of skin - walk in front to feel her eyes on him.
can not grant certain fantasies - just think about it is even worse.
And it hurts even to continue to set the phone hoping for him to call, afraid to do so. With the absurd illusion that it can do so Raven - which are together. That every problem has magically resolved in the night like the spell of some fragile fairy tale with a happy ending - a reality without the poignant nostalgia of it all. Without that lump in my throat.
would like something in which to lull now.
Something different from the perception of Jude's lips on the skin, however - an embrace less enveloping. Perhaps the company serves - to hear about Vivian and casually sinking a spoon in one of his waffles with ice cream. Maybe he needs his brother instead - Ash as it once was.
Ash with headphones glued to his ears and reassuring daily to pass by without the skin to Dimple chills, without having to imagine the hands of the photographer on her hips and feel the pressure on their own. Without fear of addormentarglisi close.
When the phone starts to ring, however, he finds himself standing in front of the table without knowing how it happened: the covers slip on the floor, her shoulders are tense. Rigid.
And the heart beats faster and her eyes settle on the square of the display, while the panic is thick in the chest as a gel that grows. As a bite.
"Jude," she whispers. Perhaps
lips did not move, maybe it was just a breath. The sound of his name repeated mentally bright and symbols of the letters to confirm that, just press that button to let loose again. Since its entry before - And then his hands.
just answer. Catching his breath
Dylan closes his eyes instead. Why the silence of Raven was too deep, that night - because if he had filed a kiss would not be served and would serve not touch him, stroke his hair. Even die on the seat of his car was no good - the only thing that can ever do for him. For Jude. It is not responding. The
knows this. Responding
di Non.
could not say how long they continued to riddle the ringing silence, then - only know that he feels exhausted, that is cold. A cold lucid. Strange. Back to
curl up in bed is not really a decision - the body seems to be trying just a den in which to hide and he realizes that he has worn the white jersey again only when he feels the fabric roll up the sides.
Would smoke again, if only to find the strength to reach the tobacco. If you find the courage - turn the phone off.
does not move, however.
It remains to fix the picture on the wall - their heads buried in the pillow - trying to imagine a sunny day and a country house, the hands of a painter.
not a painter by profession, though - an old railroad.
He worked all his life in the stations and now he paints still lifes - not much else to occupy your time. He did not stay too long, has no children or grandchildren. But as a young man was very handsome, dark hair and dark eyes of a deep black. A black unfathomable.
Raven.
tighten the eyelids, Dylan swallowed the urge to cry. The desire to still think of him - his mind browse the portraits kept in memory and play them mate again with the pictures of Jude.
We spent whole nights in that way, recovering from the memories and fragments of images by superimposing the contours of the body of the Raven chiaroscuro prints on the walls. Trying to draw a smile on her skin.
now only agony instead.
It turns around under the covers, trying a different location. Throw away the cushion and recovered after - you pull down on the mattress. Return to relax at times.
can not make it - is evident.
can not do it because it has taken over the phone to ring, and every sound is a punch in the stomach that prepares another - that eats up the tents will and the nerves like the strings. What
alert the muscles, preparing to shoot.
Dylan opens his eyes when he realizes that the thumb is already pressing the green button on the phone, but it is a waste of time - the rhythm of the sound stops and the lights suddenly turn off the display. A silence
almost unreal, suddenly.
Panico. After
, movements suddenly explode with the desperate frenzy of the energy contracted hours of waiting. Fingers that run faster on the keys and cuffs that tremble like leaves - suffused with the alternation of rings further away. Tears coming down, fast.
"Dee?"
Chris's voice is the same as always, it's like a nightmare that is broken in the unfolding of the lashes. Waking up at home, find prospects and landscapes.
find himself.
For a moment, the relief is so intense that it leaves no room for even a response - not even to breath.
"Dee, you hear me?"
Sa that should say something - the tone of the friend is already alarmed and months have passed since the last time you are seen. Months of messages to which he replied, registered office or abbreviated inside the confined space of an sms. Months of silence wanted. Chris
that phone call must be sealed to him like a cold shower but do not look angry - not even seem willing to hang up the phone in my face, strangely.
"Are you okay? What happened? "Question instead, again.
But he can only respond to a "Hello" broken before any other word is shattered by the pressure of his hand over her mouth. Before the tears threaten to melt against his own will, making him feel even more children. Even more stupid.
"Dylan," sighed the other, as if pulling your breath away. "There's something wrong, you've done?"
"I combined a mess ..."
"What a mess?"
"One of my ..." is the answer, almost incomprehensible. Confused.
But Dylan knows that it is sufficient to dispel from the mind of Chris every possible hypothesis bloody - there is hardly need to tell another to route in the right direction. Suggest the problem.
can not help but think that it is even reassuring to finally be able to talk to someone without being compelled by force to explain everything. Make sure that the other knows you well enough to understand that. Without words.
slipped along the wall sits on the floor, and then - pressed his forehead, taking a deep breath.
"Can you come?" Question.
In fact even realizes what he is asking - almost hard to navigate when he replies, calmly: "You're still Rosenfield? In the same board you've told your mother? "
" Yes, Rosenfield ... "confirms, almost surprised. It would be able to pronounce that name without thinking of Raven returns to close the throat - without the nostalgia of Jude falling apart with the violence. With the destructive capacity, scary.
"Can you come?" He insists, as if from its very survival depended. As if to be alone any longer meant to die or go crazy. O
collapse.
other side of the phone's friend seems to hesitate a moment too, though - a moment that Dylan falls in total panic.
It had never occurred to react so irrational, the first - ever so instinctive and illogical. Absurd.
"I have to fix a few things before," he hears say, cautiously. "Tell your family, and Alan, and I do not know what I can put in the car. Think you can handle this? "
" Chris, please ... "then moans in despair. Unable to restrain or to force himself - but could not shake.
In any other situation would hate to do so - but now he seems to have no other choice, simply. No alternatives.
"Could you please call me again," she sobs, dragging his feet. "Could you call me and I would answer this time, even before I was going to do it! I already had my thumb on the green button, you know? I had my thumb on the green button! "
"Dee, please, listen to me. Take a deep breath and try to concentrate on my voice, okay? Can you hear me? "
" No! "
" Well, it happens that you start to do that, then, "exclaims the other, his voice suddenly hard. "Why have you thrown into this mess alone and maybe if I had avoided full months I could be of help in time, but now the best I can do is put in the car to come and get you and I can not do this until you go to have a hysterical on the phone. Ok?
Silence.
"Ok, Dylan?"
Chris is rare that you talk with that tone - only happens when you do not find other means to force him to think and he knows it very well, knows that is not really angry.
Yet it is strange, because it always works: any approach that guy never fails to do so in an attempt to shiver, to make them shiny. Especially when it comes to Chris - he is normally only caresses her hair and strong arms that lulled. Words whispered in the ear, available in light smiles.
Closing my eyes, Dylan calls for calm.
"Okay," she whispers.
Sitting on the edge of the bed the receiver differs from the ear to remove the hair from her face, so you can inhale more thoroughly.
"Okay," he repeats.
"Perfect."
It is not really comfortable - not your shoulders relaxed and still feel cold but at least it seems that the tears have dried now, and that the voice of Chris is back to normal again. Less authoritarian, and certainly more sweet than a few moments before. More real, in a sense.
"Listen," he is saying, as he curls up in a sheet. "I do not really know when will I get there - I will as soon as possible, but it will take a few hours anyway. And I need to know that you do you'll be good to wait and not do shit - you think you potermelo promise? "
" Credo, " is the answer, just sketched. But slowly the breath is melting and the fact of the warning notice that is flashing a text message when the call ends, still manages to hurl furious anguish that characterized the last few hours. The heart in my throat
sketches as usual, but your fingers are shaking as he pressed the buttons to open the message. As I read, slowly, then closed his eyes on the name of Jude. On those four letters written in capital letters at the end of a predictable list of questions and how they affected. A little 'sweet and a bit' cowardly - to keep. * Very
he, after all. I'm fine
he says. The
run fast fingers on the keyboard and eyes still swollen with tears as the sentences are formed one by one, almost alone.
This time not crying, though - more like a kind of silent good-bye. The awareness of a separation that is still his responsibility - the most important gift anyone can ever do. Something precious.
I love you, Jude. I will love you forever.
Next, turn off the phone is like scratching the skin with your fingernails. How to remove only the breath - taking off the air. The rest of the morning
Dylan spends so, motionless on the bed staring at the window, unable to make any more conscious thought. Forget even the promise of Chris, the hours that run and move the clock, flat, one inch by one. A breath. After another.
almost catches him by surprise, decided to knock the knock on the door. The memory that focuses on the latest events, open to the infinite relief to find himself in front of the only person who would never have believed it possible to meet there.
In that city, in his new life.
"Chris ..." she whispers.
He wears a black jacket - a pair of brown boots - and seems to have Ash in the eyes of every smile, every pain and every silence. Any word on his lips - on the skin.
Suddenly, the nostalgia is so excruciating that Dylan feels almost stop the heart. Stop the world around him.
"Sorry, sorry if I never replied," I exclaimed, throwing her arms around him without the slightest regard for the mesh. To the guy who is going through the corridor in front of them, or it might appear that children react to the eyes of his friend. In the eyes of anyone, in hindsight.
"I wanted to believe him, especially in some evenings. You have no idea, Chris, sometimes it was hard as hell. I missed you so much ... I'm sorry for everything, even for not having greeted. Or have you not said anything, ever. I'm sorry for what I am ... I should not have to ask you to come, I'm sorry to be crazy ... I'm so glad you're here, finally ... "
love the smell - it is something so familiar as to make your head spin.
She loved him when he was little and be embraced in front of a horror movie - loved him when he was fifteen and that smell meant sex, the discovery of uncharted worlds. The illusion of being beautiful - they feel great.
"I missed you too," murmured the other, kissing his temple. "If you again bullshit like that I swear I'll come back just to kill you," adds.
But Dylan knows that it will not have to be submitted to resentment or reproach to move - he knows that speaks softly. That will take care of him - as always.
"Are you okay?" Demand it, pushing it into the room. And even that simple gesture is reassuring - to delegate the task to someone to direct your steps. Not having to worry about closing the door, either, because he has already thought of him. Because he always thinks of everything - all my life. Going
the shirt on his knees, Dylan just shrugs his shoulders.
"I am a bit 'out of practice, Dee, and then I'm afraid you'll need to translate," sighed the other dropping on the bed. "This is a silence at the 'I do not want to talk about it', or 'give me more specific questions'?"
"Hm ..."
Chris is also a peculiarity of that - the way he always manages to put a corner. Offer obligatory paths, simple choices. White or black.
The many shades of photos of Jude, from that point of view, seem inextricable labyrinth of paths. Breath, always.
"I think I'm wrong," he whispers, and think you would need to embrace it again. Think he would like to ask him to Ash, asking him as he is curled up against his body. In his arms.
But it's too soon, perhaps - perhaps the courage not have taken root quite solid. Or maybe that alone will never be able to addentrarvisi, Dylan, in the slippery terrain of the topic. Maybe now it's really too bad - does not have strong enough shoulders. A breath enough fluid.
floor shakes his head, swallowing hard.
"I do not know," is all I can conclude.
Chris is looking around in the meantime, and he realizes that at that precise point was also sitting Jude, the night before. What few inches to the right body had stuck between his legs - that may still be evidence of sex between the sheets.
Blushes suddenly, straightening his back.
"You must go to the bathroom?" Question, before he remembered that this is Chris and who has no hope of him up with that trick. So that will probably succeed only to betray - the friend who just look at him in the face to guess what happened on that bed.
"Or do you want a cup of coffee?" Seeks to rectify immediately. Quickly.
Why then is behaving with such confidentiality can not even explain it - he always said anything to Chris, especially when it came to erotic adventures. Sometimes he even wondered if the same is not true pleasure to report to him every detail, rather than the fact of living it. Exaggerated descriptions and giggle and see him turn his eyes to heaven. Now
Jude seems to be a very private matter, however.
And maybe even a little Dylan is' jealous - maybe some things need to keep for himself a few more minutes.
"I also have a can of beer, if you like ..." he stammered, blushing.
What Chris has already realized that everything is more obvious, but luckily it merely asks, lifting his chin in the direction of the pile of containers stacked on the floor: "Full or empty?"
chuckles, then, and Dylan is dropped on the mattress next to him.
"Okay," she sighs, glancing quickly. "My life is a complete mess."
"It is for the guy who was calling you this morning?"
"Although ..." he replies, before bending the knee and leg fit under the seat - before placing his cheek on his chest friend and felt his arm wrap the back.
Close your eyes and breathe in the smell - relax your shoulders.
is so weird being in that room with Chris - think of all the times that he wanted his presence and hear his heart beat against my ear now. Rosenfield also seems less alien suddenly - Dylan would go out with him and walk through the streets stopping at each window. You may want to play again in a few local to camp to smoke in the park. Playing recognized breeds of dogs in the street.
He realizes that if it were to take him to see the city do not know what to show in the sofa part of Jude - apart from its malaise continued and that one place of peace. That sense of belonging unmotivated. Illogical.
"So who would be the guy, what crime he committed?" Question Chris, drew back the tresses from her face. "It's straight? Married? "
" No, he ... "Hesitation. "He had a fight with her boyfriend, "comes the reply, almost in a whisper. "Why did not want to have sex with me ..."
"He had a fight with her boyfriend because not wanted to have sex with you?"
"It's complicated, Chris ..." he muttered, and is no longer even a matter of shame. It is not that really want to keep Chris out of that story - maybe it would change the way to tell, than usual, but open in front of his friend was always too easy. Natural, almost.
The problem lies in the fact that this business really is complicated - perhaps you need to have sunk in the eyes Raven's eyes to understand, or seeing how you define the muscles on his shoulders. Hearing him speak, the exact shade of her skin. His features.
So when the other sighs, resignedly: "Yeah, I guess. Which of the two did not want to have sex with you, by the way? He or his son? "Dylan can not find anything else to respond except for a faint:" Raven is an Indian. "
There is nothing more important than replacing his name with that vague term, because I felt called Raven her boyfriend is too weird. Why does not represent anything and dig a very clear cut between what was and what from now on will be her life without him. Without Jude.
And it hurts so much.
He is also a terrible fear, at times, as if it would make the gap not only physical but also deeper. As if last night there had never been and it was not for that kiss in the car with Raven - as if he had not smiled in that way, passing the joint.
"I mean, is not it just completely Indian," he feels compelled to show, while Chris watches him appalled. "Of course what else has more native blood in his veins, but ..." She stops, suddenly.
realizing he had repeated The exact words he had said the first night I had gone with him by surprise, but it is also the gaze of his friend to leave him baffled.
"Indians?" Question Chris, straightening his back. "... In the sense of Apache? Cheyenne? Hair and brown eyes? "
Shrugging his shoulders, he shakes his head slowly.
"I do not know exactly which tribe it belongs to," he says, and I think that's a regret to be added to the list of things left open: it has never taken the time to ask more questions, dig deep. All
slipped into the background, with Raven - his presence was enough for the world interaction focuses on immediate stimuli. He walked and walked the way you filled his mind - he spoke, and is enchanted to listen to his words. It was as if you snatched in some way - or if you are taking in it gently.
Slowly.
"But yes," he adds, strong biting her lip. "Native Americans ..."
Who knows why the very idea seems to have the ability to take away your breath - it always has been, from that memory. For some strange reason, the matter seems to raise Chris in a stupor almost absurd, to the contrary.
"Usually the Indians are not fair ..." is meditating, lost in thought.
Turning on his side, Dylan looks at him blankly.
"Mh?"
"It is stained, this guy?"
"Oh," he exhales, finally focusing on the issue. Hastening to hide her face in her hair, embarrassed. A little 'incredulous, too. The
is difficult now to recognize himself in the boy who cataloged the male universe based on hair color.
"Nono, it's not exactly fair ..." mutters, while Chris amused grins.
"Not really fair? And what it would mean, not exactly blonde ? "
But he does not respond, while the teeth sink even in the lip nervously. While the strings from behind dare look in the direction of his cautious, returning to blush again.
"Chris ..." murmured finally, very quietly. "You've never done it with two guys, you?"
"Me?"
"Two guys together, I mean ..." makes clear.
have no idea why that question is the way out, with no previous link with and without speech that he had almost expected.
There are things that even you are aware until you face someone who knows your weakness almost all - someone who knows your childhood and your reflection, the part of you that you left in another city.
Half fairer.
The question has always been there but there was Chris's chest on which to place his head and his arms were around her waist. There was the courage to ask if there has been something wrong with him that night - not to coordinate with the other two.
"I have proposed something like that?" But the friend request, and the heart starts beating faster. The discomfort grows - the fists are closed - and suddenly it's like the guy in the nightclub was there again. As though his breath still slip on the neck, ear.
whore.
A little 'effort to swallow him, quickly lowering his head to hide her face in her hair.
"I think it was me, actually ..." she whispers.
And maybe that's why Jude has fled - he probably did not know the determination of the balance and ended up stealing his part of the scene. Perhaps it is pushed too strong between them, only to confuse the already established roles and undermining interactions - by imposing his will on both. It did not do it on purpose.
barely was aware of what was happening that night - the body moved by instinct and mind seemed unable to connect the situation. The fact remains that has it all wrong, though. That feels like a kid who has played the adult without being able to do - a perfect idiot.
Someone you have to look after, rather than a potential lover.
"Dee, hey. Quiet, "says Chris, sliding his hand along his back. "There is nothing wrong, the important thing is that this is what you wanted and you will not be done by any force."
"do not know what goes through my head ..." is all that he is to meet because the pressing questions in her throat but just the idea of asking Chris if he thought he was wrong to put his hand between Jude's legs makes him feel even worse. It can not find the courage to tell him that if someone had dared to push it between her legs, a hand, he would probably come soon. That would have ended his personal contribution to the evening in the most embarrassing of ways and maybe that Jude should have guessed. What do you too bitch for the whore.
It's almost comical, basically.
"You want to tell?"
barely retains the desire to cry when Chris starts to move slow circles on her back.
"I do not know what to say, really," she whispered, shivering. "It seems that I always berm of the brain, with them ..."
"I really like them so much? Both? "
" Mh. "
Silence.
"And it's different," he adds cautiously, as if testing for the first time that concept. With a little 'fear, too - a kind of sacred reverence.
"I can not explain it, but Jude and Raven is something other than Jude or Raven," tries to explain a bit 'confused. "Not stronger, just ... different," he concludes, realizing for the first of not being able to say anything. To have only vaguely touched upon the point, and perhaps even seem completely crazy.
let out a frustrated sigh, shakes his head with disappointment.
"Different," again, but Chris is quick to nod.
"Okay ..." she murmurs, with the tone of one who is resigned to not understand it. "And are you sure that you can not resolve in any way, this mess?"
"No!"
Pause - tense.
A sigh, later, as groped by Dissolve the nerves.
"They were good, before I arrived," Dylan says, nervously. "Now Jude is afraid, however, and Raven does not understand it anymore. And they discussed, and said things that were not to say. And they also had to deal with me, in the meantime, and I do not want Raven to be nervous. I do not want Jude and I will not be afraid ... "
" And then you come home with me? "Comes the question, completely unexpected.
A stab in the breast - sudden start.
"With you?" He repeated, suddenly straightening his back. "At home?"
"Because what was your plan, sorry, I've called to do?"
But Dylan had no plan in mind - has no justification for asking Chris to get to the part of irrational panic an instant. Apart from the need to close it - let embrace.
For a moment the change of perspective is so quick to stop the heart - the instinctive reaction is to take refuge on the couch and Jude is a frightening vertigo remember that it can not. He can not do this again, that in every case has to go by Rosenfield and his brother, however, there is always waiting at the mouth of every street.
that all paths lead to him always end up, inevitably.
"Ash thing ... How are you?" Question, almost without a voice.
The time has come, and scary as ever.
As always seems to call him, instead, his eyes swelling with tears and softening the nostalgia. Making it soft and enveloping.
"He's fine," says Chris, and Dylan down in fast gaze. "I told you I was coming to get you, among other things."
"You told him?"
"I should not have?"
made a mistake and realize it only now.
only now realizes that was not logical to expect anything different - Chris could not disregard his brother or their city, from the past.
And there again, Dylan: the starting point.
With a few more scars and a new baggage of nostalgia, with the desire to come back really suicidal, at home. With the need to escape even further.
Abandoning his back against the wall in question is what is served, and the only answer he can give are the Raven's lips. Jude's hands on her body - the breath.
Nothing serves to calm the sense of vertigo, however - the gap is not filled. It is not enough.
"He said that?" She whispers, and her voice trembles as soon as her head is thrown back - while the eyes are closed plan. Too softly.
"He was worried. He knew he'd be back if something bad had happened and I think he thought of an accident at first. I reassured him that you were physically well. "
Ash - think Dylan. It is going to cry.
is about to cry because he was there to reassure him, and there has been for months. Not prepared the breakfast and fell asleep in their beds, no one is sitting nearby when she felt alone. Why would not I ever had to leave and it would not be forced to go back to him - because Ash is bad in every way, and it does not matter if there are other slaps on the face or if the pain will be closed in the throat as in a casket.
He never wanted to defend him - rather, he never learned how to defend his brother from himself.
And now he has no choice - just the thought that Ash is waiting for the close of every opportunity to be a reflection Rosenfield. Or even to leave - leave for other destinations.
Escape.
"I'm afraid, Chris ..." he murmurs, feeling the tears fall.
But it is impossible to explain that it is not just that - the desire to return is just as strong and that even that could kill. They do not know how to navigate through the boundless freedom of the eyes of Raven and the link with absolute Ash - between two worlds so different.
"Can I ask you just one question?" Chris mutters, and he is almost ready to shake his head. "I do not want you to tell me why you're gone, none of my business." Pause. "I just want to know if Ash had something to do. Just this. "
" Yes, "answered plan.
but nothing else because when you lack the strength to look in the mirror becomes important to recognize in the eyes of a friend, and when alone you can not move any step is essential that someone take your hand.
Why Chris is the only person with whom you can still feel innocent - feel clean.
And why some things you can not tell anyone - you can only hope to be silenced. Pretending that there is no place to pack and - get ready to go.
Perhaps there are ways to deal with the less cowardly fears.
But Dylan is limited to rest your head on the shoulder of Chris - and wait for him again, stroking his face and conceal the his shirt as he did as a child. To be embraced. And to think that eventually what is already a turning back - looking back and finding space for peace. Smells and antique gestures - relief. And fear.
Perhaps, indeed, the first step towards home.
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