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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE " THE BEAUTY OF IT "
SHE WASN'T REALLY SURE WHY THAT MEMORY PLAGUED HER DREAMS. It was a few days before they went to Indianapolis or rather Carol, Steve, and Tommy would go to Indianapolis and Dylan would ditch to hang out with Reed and watch some double feature at the movie house.
The only significance of the dream was that it was probably the last good memory she had of the four of them and Carol and her had probably fought three times in it, minimum. But that was actually a low number for them.
There was also the fact that Carol had actually been right about something—a very, very rare occurrence. They had fucked, two months later, after he crawled into her bedroom window, upset over Nancy's subsequent betrayal. Then, nothing had come of it. Nothing. Except they didn't even talk. Dylan blamed herself for taking any of Carol's advice. But now things were different once again.
Their friendship had rekindled and now she lay in a bed, Steve snoring softly next to her, he always snored when he was drunk, and he had told Dylan he might be falling in love with her. Of course, he wasn't sober and she couldn't be sure he'd remember it when he woke up. Did she want him to? If she was being honest with herself — no. She wanted him to forget. She knew if feelings were involved, strong ones at that, she'd fuck it up. That was what she always did. Her and Billy were a prime example of that.
Looking back, she had probably been in love with him in 1983, during that blistering summer, that's why she had so easily jumped into bed with him, risking her entire relationship with him and Reed. But now it was 1985 and she still couldn't admit her feelings, not even in the privacy of her own mind. She liked to be careful with her heart, possibly too careful. Steve, however, was reckless with his—if he felt something he had to act, he had to say something even if he didn't really want to. Example: admitting he had feelings for Dylan in a drunken haze at some hole in the wall.
"Stop thinking so hard," he peeked through one eye. "You're hurting my head."
"Wow, you're an idiot." She scoffed, sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Her back faced him instead and he couldn't see her think.
"I know you're still brooding." He murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "It's radiating off of you."
"Brooding, that's a new one," she quipped. "Nancy teach you that word?"
"No," Steve grumbled. She felt him push himself up against the headboard, the wood cracking against the wall at his weight. "Learned it all on my own. Read it in a Reader's Digest. Dad keeps them in the bathroom."
"Glad to know your shits are so intellectual."
Dylan sighed, feeling guilty for being so brash the moment the words left her mouth. "Shit, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bitch right now, I'm just thinking about stuff."
