Hold me [ Dylan Sprayberry Fanfic ]

Chapter 15

Dylan's POV
"Where are you going so early? You're usually not up until noon." My mother chimed, catching me on my way out the door. I silently cursed my delayed departure, and turned around on my heels, hands raised in surrender.
"To Bridget's house," I said casually, keeping my eyes level with hers, my expression vacant. I could've lied, told her I was just out, but I was tired of lying. My mother's eyes instantly lit up, a satisfied smile spreading across her worn face.
"And, why is that?" Her voice was high in mock-curiosity.
"He's taking her out on a date today; it's an all-day type affair." Crystal entered the corridor, a cup of orange juice in hand; her expression just as hollow as mine was played out to be. I ignored the heat rising against my cheeks, and silenced my pounding heart.
"Oh." My mother nodded hastily, winking at me. I could practically see the excitement blossoming across her face.
"It's not a date," I snapped, embarrassed. I was beginning to wish sisters and mothers didn't always make this bias assumption.
"Think of it as rehab." Crystal rolled her eyes, and scoffed.
"For what, exactly?" I kept my mouth shut, and pursed my lips instead. My mind flashed back to Bridget's crippled figure sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Premiere, her arms wrapped around herself-silently crying. My sister's sullen expression snapped me back to reality,
"You know," She rolled her finger across the rim of the cup,
"She didn't tell me." Her eyes were dark as they searched mine, looking for an answer she'd never find. I shrugged,
"She didn't know either." Crystal sucked her teeth, ran her fingers through her short hair angrily, and stormed off.
Eh, she'll get over it.

My mother watched her go with a concerned expression, and then turned to me, all worry washed away.
"Should I be expecting something?" She blurted out, stepped towards me.
"No...I don't know what you're talking about." I raised an eyebrow, but didn't meet her eyes. My mother giggled, and reached for the home telephone. She dialed like a teenage girl sent text messages, fingers on the key's and then, nothing. I lingered in the open doorway, twisting the blue bead bracelet Olivia's made me, around my wrist.
"Hello, Amelia? I'm putting another 20 dollar's on Friday," She said, twirling the old fashioned cord around her finger thoughtfully, then looked at me and smirked as I heard Ms. Holt laughing over the line.
"Make sure momma wins, honey."
I can't believe my mother was gambling, no-I can't believe I was a part of this bet. I stepped out the door then, and made my way towards my motorcycle. I grabbed the key's hanging off of their spot on the shelf, and slid on my helmet. Running a hand through my own hair, I wondered if I looked alright for the 50th time that morning. I'd decided on a black leather jacket, black jeans, a white t-shirt with button's running down the center, and the basic, sneakers. I checked the watch I never wore, 9:15.
I shoved the key into ignition, revved the engine, and backed out of the garage.

Seeing Bridget so miserable was hard to take-what was even harder, was processing the fact she was fatherless. I'd never known, because she never talked about it; I'd naively assumed that there'd been a divorce, or her father was a business man of sorts. I should've known, I should've realized it; it'd explain the absence of any of his things in the house, the fact-the only picture of him had been in Isabella's room. I wished I'd realized it before we saw that stupid movie. I gripped the handles, and slowed to a halt as I came up on a red-light. It hurt to see her so distressed, like someone physically punched me in the stomach. And I couldn't punch back. Never have I felt so hopeless, all I could do was sit by and watch her cry. But today, I'd assure my surprise visit would be nothing but care-free fun for Bridget, I was willing to put aside my own troubles.

I parked in the driveway of her house, and walked across the ankle-deep grass; making a mental note I'd come by, and mow it later. I took a slow deep breath, rubbed my eyes; and knocked on the door. Ms. Holt opened it, looking tired; but happy to see me; my mom must've told her I was coming by.
"Good Morning Ms. Holt," I felt the corner of my lip curve into a slanted smile,
"How are you?"
"I'm well-why have you come to visit?" Her eyes were mischievous slits, like she knew I was up to something.
"Is-"I cleared my throat,
"Bridget home?" Ms. Holt slid aside, and gestured for me to come in.
"She's upstairs in her room asleep, I think." I nodded, trying not to look too eager before walking up the stairs and making a bee-line for her room. I reached for the door knob, hesitating, and then knocking softly on the wood. I didn't want a repeat of the time I stumbled across her, naked. I still haven't told her about that. When there was no answer, I entered-instantly fighting back a smile. Bridget was stomach-first against the bed, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the blankets, her hands were resting on the top of her pillow beside her head, an ugly stuffed animal tucked under her elbow; a cascade of soft long black hair trailed across the length of the comforter.