Living With The Player

CAMILLA RENÉE

“Athena.”

I roll the name over my tongue. The name of the girl who manages to *make* Dylan fall for her. Did she compel him? Was it willing? How long did it go on? I can’t imagine. I can not process this.

“Thank you.”

Dylan muses and for a minute it was just me and my impressions about the girl he’s in love with. Or was?

“When do you want us to start?”

I don’t mince how eager I sound. I’m done with playing behind bars.

“I’m accessible for the rest of the day. You?”

“I have an evening class, four pm. We have time to burn.”

“So you want to start now?”

I find my head boobing unconsciously. I don’t put the pen away this time. I reach in and grab my notepad. My fingers are trembling because it’s brand new. I didn’t require it till now.

I flip the first page and scribble his name over it. There aren’t any students. No classes. We can use it here. Barely three minutes I was indecisive, now I know what I must do.

Dylan hints at my decision and pulls a chair directly opposite me. I can ogle but there’s not much to see. Black sweatpants. Grey sweater. His hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in a day or two. He has done nothing sexual or hinted that he yearned to. It should make me relieved yet annoyance marks its way up my spine. I grip the table and steady my heartbeat.

“Athena.”

He murmurs, whistling underneath his breath. I catch the slightest flash of hurt in those eyes before it’s gone. What did she do to him?

“Do you want me to ask background questions if you’re comfortable or you’ll dive right in?”

I cross one leg over the other. Eager. Curious. Just spill everything out.

“You can ask a few questions. Build up the angst and by answering, you’ll learn the entire thing.”

“Okay.”

I whisper slowly. My fingers are still shaky. More fiercely even. He just handed me a universal key into his head. And now I can’t find the keyhole because it has caught my whole being off guard.

His calm features aren’t helping. He’s across me, staring lifelessly straight in the eyes, taking in my opinions which are still bare, but he does nothing. He says nothing.

It’s my move.

“Athena Williams. How old is she?”

I release a pent up breath, holding the next in fear of Dylan laughing. Talking about how gullible I am. How easy it was to tell me this sad tale and get me all riled up. He’ll laugh, get up, tuck his hands away and leave still chuckling.

“She’ll be twenty at this point.”

His icy tone cracks my imagination. Oh. My. I stare. He doesn’t stutter. Composure. His composure scares the shit out of me.

Not being able to read him appals me more than I expected.

“You dated?”

“Yes.”

He answers quickly. Sizzling again. But nothing in his eyes. No hurt. Anger. No shame. Nothing.

“She was my first girlfriend. My only girlfriend.”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

I shudder so intensely that my notepad slips off my lap. I lift my second leg and halt its movement then pull it back with my free arm.

When I look up, Dylan’s eyes are on my exposed skin. My thighs. For the first time in minutes, I see his eyes. I see his thoughts. I sense his emotions.

Desire. It’s gone again and we both clear our throats.

“Why did you two break up?”

I dredge the next answer. He said “was” meaning they’re no longer together, “She’ll be” meaning she isn’t dead. But – he also said “love” I need answers. Badly.

“We broke up years ago. I was around fifteen and a half.”

Dylan will be twenty-one early next year.

I don’t miss the Dodginess. I asked why. Instead, he gave me when. There’s a crack though. In that well-sought amour, he snaps. He tightens his shoulder blades and shuts his eyes. Then he shakes. He wriggles so harshly I want to run over there and hold him. He’s not crying, but his eyes have turned a darker shade of red.

Dylan looks like he just saw a puppy get murdered. No. That doesn’t do justice. He looks like he just saw a baby get massacred. No. He looks like he just slaughtered a baby holding a puppy.

“Dylan.”

I whisper, tentative. Frighten. Worried.

“You said your only girlfriend?”

I intended to repeat my former question. Purge for answers. But he’s looking at me. He’s looking at me! I’m not sure I want those answers. So I deflect. I switch to something else.

Fuck it’s selfish, but I ask that instead. I question him for my benefit.

“Yes.”

His voice. I swallow, clinging to my notepad. I haven’t penned a thing. I can’t hold that pen. I’m not sure I can form letters anymore.

This Dylan. I’ve seen kind. Funny. Angry. I think jealous. I’ve seen all shades. I thought I had seen all shades.

Not. Not. This Dylan isn’t numb. He isn’t sad. I do not think there is a word in any dictionary to describe this Dylan.

That makes me feel many things; Curious. Worried. Pity. Sympathy.

I sigh. I sigh thrice.

“Claire?”

I utter. My voice is as bare as his.

Then he chuckles. His eyes grow wide and he laughs. It’s not the type you let out when something is funny. It’s crooked. It’s calculated. It sends thousands of shivers down my spine.

“I’d forgotten about that.”

He chuckles silently. That? I’m lost.

“Claire is not my girlfriend.”

Five words. On Sunday I thought to myself, in a sick and demented way I found consolation in not being the only cheater.

I thought Dylan was in a relationship too. He cheated as well. Yes, it’s cruel, but I found solace knowing I probably won’t be the only one losing my mind.

I will not be the only one having to worry about him or her finding out. I thought he was with Claire.

Now he spits it to my face that he isn’t.

“What?”

My glare takes him by surprise. He’s knocked off balance and rises to his feet. I get up as well and we’re staring.

“What do you mean Claire isn’t your girlfriend?”

I repeat. Much slower this time. Careful so he heard and digest each word. And hell his next words better be better than the last six he just uttered.

“I mean we aren’t dating Camilla. I never told you she was my girlfriend. You saw us together at the cafeteria. She saw you and the coffee shop and that was her being overly dramatic. We aren’t together. We aren’t dating.”

I slip down to the chair. I’m immobile for seconds. And the first feeling I register is a relief. I’m a sick bastard. I’m relieved to know Dylan isn’t with anyone. But then I’m also a terrible person.

He kissed me knowing he had no attachments to anyone else, but I did. I still do.

Jimmy is kind. Jimmy is sweet. Jimmy is con free. I’m messing up something beautiful. What is wrong with me?

“You never corrected me. You knew I would think that and you just let me.”

I’m concerned about how I sound. Pathetic. That’s the word.

“Silence doesn’t always mean yes. I’m sorry for letting you think that. I guess I just wanted to know if the thought would bother you. It was Claire’s idea. The thought of me being with another. I wanted to know if it drove you crazy as it did me.”

I bottle down the fluster. I conceal one reaction to his words – blushing and focus on the other-annoyance.

He knew I thought they were together. He let me think it – for his own selfish needs. For himself.

“Camilla, I never meant to make a fool out of you. I never.”

I raise my hand and his lips clip shut.

“That’s not the topic for today. It’s also non of my business. Let’s continue.”

I sound as cold as Dylan.

“How did you two meet?”

“We met through our parents.”

He answers. Clip. Void of emotions.

I see. I want to murmur, but I watch instead.

I nod slowly, nibbling on my lips to keep them from shaking.

“Why did you two break up Dylan?”

I thread carefully.

“We broke up because she was using me. She only got close to me for selfish reasons. Every touch. Every word. Every phrase. Every kiss. All lies. Sculpted by her and aimed at me to control. To influence. And inevitably, to destroy. She was my undoing. They say there’s a fine line between love and hate, I’ve never related much to that sentence, I do now. Since I can’t tell if I hate or still love her.”

I crumble. His words are my undoing. I shake severely. I keep biting my lips but they can’t stop quaking. They don’t stop jerking.

I’m sorry. What? Are you? I don’t utter anything. I’m stunned for words. I-

I shake my head. Repeatedly.

“Maybe that’s enough for today.”

It is. This is too much information and it’s vague. I want to know everything, but what if it’s too much for me to bear.

“We’ll continue tomorrow, that’s if you’re up to it. Maybe we can meet…”

I can’t keep my eyes off his. What happened?

“We can meet at my place.”

He interjects, I face him in astonishment. It disappears easily and I have to clear the lump from my throat.

“Alright.”

I croak, picking my things up.

“You want my help, right? From our session today I’d tell you something. Take responsibility for your actions. Acknowledge your faults and the part you have to play in them. Goodbye Dylan.”

I slung my bag over my shoulders, angle my head and glance at him. He’s looking already.

I sigh. I sigh over again. I don’t quit sighing until I’m out the door and in the hallway.

*****

Thoughts?