Eight Letters. Three Words.

Eight Letters. Three Words - Ch. 29

Chapter Twenty Nine

Complete

It was nothing but a week later; seven days had passed. During that time my life had experienced a three hundred and sixty degree turn. At times during that week, I’d stay up at night. My head would rest on my pillow and I would replay each and every event that had occurred. My day would start by a small breakfast with Tom and my mother, and then Dylan would drive me to school. I’d see Ethan and Leela holding hands along the hallways; I’d catch quick moments alone with Dylan in between classes, and then spend the afternoon with him at the care center. I’d then go to his house, where I’d laugh along with Dexter and his mother, and finally return home, where I’d spend time with Tom, barely see my own mother and finally lay on my bed; where I’d replay it all again.

Sometimes I felt strange; like I wasn’t myself. I was watching a stranger playing the role of me in my life. Other times however, I wouldn’t realize things had changed at all.

                                                                          *

“Is that what I think?”

Dylan leaned towards me, as he parked the car in the school’s parking lot, and caught a glimpse of the lunchbox I was holding on my lap.

I pushed him off gently, “Yes, and they’re not yours.” I closed the lid, hiding the cookies Tom had insisted on baking the night before from him.

“Seriously? You’re going to tempt me, and leave me hanging?”

I laughed, opened the box and pulled a perfectly round delicacy, waving it in front of him.

“You are worse than a little boy,” I chastised him, grinning as his eyes followed the cookie’s every move.

He turned the power of his grey eyes on me, “Please?”

I shook my head, “No.”

“I’ll have to make you let go of it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Nothing you do will make me-”

But I was cut short, when he leaned over and captured my mouth in his. I attempted moving back; only to have him mold to me, and mimic the direction I took. I grunted, and heard him chuckle. His hand travelled the length of my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. His other hand caressed my leg, which-

“Aha!” he cried victoriously.

I gulped a breath of air, and turned my glaring eyes in his direction. Grinning like a little boy, he held half a cookie in his hand, the other half remained in my hand.

“That will be one cookie less for a kid at the care center,” I said, and fiddling with the seatbelt, managed to unfasten it, for the first time.

Dylan was still smiling cheekily, as he made his way out and placed my bag on his shoulders. He brushed his lips to my forehead, “You could always give me the other half…”

I stared at the leftover cookie in my hand. Broken, and missing a piece no child would want it, only Dylan was willing to take it. He was willing to take anything broken. It applied to the cookie, and to me. I’d learnt how nothing can be irreparably broken. The truth is, nothing ever is. We like to pretend however, that only one person in the world has the power to repair us, to fix us. When in reality, anyone can. If only we are smart enough to let them.

I placed the cookie in Dylan’s waiting hand, and stood on my tiptoes to brush a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” he smiled.