yes & yes

Dylan did as he was told and stubbed out the cigarette. He ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed, fingernails picking at the skin on around his nails instead. Something to keep his hand busy. Especially after Emma drops that bomb and Dylan’s stomach sinks.

Leaving Melbourne.

‘What?’ He asks, turning to look at Emma. The thought of her actually going… away… somewhere, fills him with dread and horror, and he feels sick. ‘You’re . . .’ Leaving.

Leaving me.

‘Oh. I see.’ Dylan looks down at the floor and lets out a breath. ‘Well. Good luck with that, I guess.’ What else could he say? Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave. I know I deliberately piss you off but I don’t know how I’m going to survive without you?

She doesn’t know what kind of reaction she expected --- or if she expected any at all. He’s the first person she’s told, though, since she decided, and for a moment it almost feels like old times, where he was the first to hear all her secrets and her thoughts and her first reactions. Now it just so happens that he’s in the right place at the right time, when she’s drunk and tired and sad.

It’s not the same, but there’s a small part of her that holds on to the familiarity of it, anyway. “Thanks,” she replies, still not looking at him. “You’ll be --- good? With the rent?” She pries, knowing he’s unemployed at the moment.

Dylan sits by Emma’s side, pulling out a half empty packet of cigarettes and lighting one up. He offers the packet to Emma, just in case.

Legs cross beneath him and he leans back against the glass, enjoying the feel of the cool against his hot skin and his blue eyes close at her comment about leaving. Dylan didn’t know how long they have left on the lease. He hopes it’s forever.

‘Oh.’ Is all he says for a long moment, and he quickly puffs half of his cigarette away. The nicotine calms his jitters just a bit. ‘Do you…’ of course she does. Of course Emma has to. Living together didn’t work for them anymore. ‘Don’t forget to take your cat with you.’

God that fucking cat. Dylan hated it, and it hated him.

The sight of the pack of cigarettes makes her stomach swirl in distaste, even though her traitorous body feels the need to reach out and take them. No, no. She knows better. She’s seen the worst of it. “Can you please --- just, not smoke in front of me?” she asks, looking away from the pack. 

Emma huffs an unamused laugh. “I don’t think you’re getting it,” she says, because of course she’s leaving the apartment. It was a matter of time. “I’m leaving Melbourne.” She glances at him, then up at the night sky. “Just --- gonna fly out elsewhere. See what the world has to offer, you know?” she pauses. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“It might hurt to try. I’m pretty sure he hates me. Probably because I always call him Dilbert. But I’ll do my best, if only to get him out of here,” he smirked. Smirked. He couldn’t stop smirking, it was like a nervous tic. He probably looked like a cocky asshole with this smirk permanently stuck to him, but in truth, he wanted to smile. Which was worse. So.

Even after Zelda’s gone, Reno can feel Emma’s presence as though she’s touching him, even when she’s not. Like the tiny bits of them that have tentatively touched have burn marks because of it. Her foot. His calf. Her lips. His thumb. And his ears, from the phrase ‘you’d have to share a bed with me...’

He stands up, clearing his throat. “No, I should… I mean, I probably should get out of here. Shouldn’t leave Zelda alone too long. And I’ve got work tomorrow, and you know… dinner…” he said, checking his watch. It was 2:30pm. He cleared his throat again, and hesitantly met her eyes again. 

“I just… I can’t, you know. Do… this.”

“Yeah, the Dilbert thing might tick him off,” she smirks. “He’s a sensitive guy, along with being an angry one, sometimes. Mix those two together, and the scenario isn’t all too positive, but, you know.” She shrugs. “He won’t --- punch you out for offering him a job. At least, I don’t think he will.”

Emma’s a little taken aback by the abruptness of Reno’s retreat --- he’s standing and suddenly he looks like the man Emma’s most used to, the flustered, quiet man who doesn’t know what to do with Emma, not the man who’s been playing along this afternoon. She raises an eyebrow at his dinner comment, glancing at the oven clock, then looks back at him. She’s going to call him out on his bullshit, but then he confesses he can’t do this, and suddenly it’s a little clearer.

“Hey,” she holds up both hands, backs up a little physically to demonstrate her point. “We don’t have to do anything, you know. I’m sorry if I come on too strong, I’ve been told that’ll get me in more trouble than anything good. I don’t know if you know this,” she smiles a little sadly. “But I recently got out of a relationship and I still live with my ex. I’m in no position to do much of anything, either.” She shrugs her shoulder, feeling a little stupid, and a hell of a lot sheepish. “I didn’t mean to --- imply anything had to, if you stayed.”

“I watched a documentary on lifelong orgasms, they’re not so fun,” she smirked, knowing the drink was hitting her, because she’d never said the o-word out loud in her entire life. As far as she could tell, she wasn’t even supposed to have them. Women weren’t supposed to enjoy sex, they were just supposed to get pregnant, and Mae had failed on both accounts there. 

“But yeah, the… the first one?” she said, downing the rest of her drink and flagging the waiter again. She didn’t know how she’d explain to Jonah where this money was going, but she would think of something later.

“I’m in a beautiful cage, Emma. It’s made of gold and silk and marble and it’s the most comfortable, happy place I’ve ever been, and I love it, but it’s still… a cage,” she said, wondering whether Emma was too intoxicated to know that was a metaphor.

“No shit,” she laughs. “Send me that documentary. I need something new to masturbate to,” she jokes. She raises an eyebrow and tries to maintain eye contact with Mae, but she seems to be lost to whatever story she’s telling Emma. And it is just that --- a story, because she might be lacing it in pretty words and metaphors, but the truth of the matter is buried beneath that, waiting for Emma to see it through to the end.

Emma rubs at her forehead. “You feel trapped,” she simplifies. “Are you gonna tell me why, or are you gonna pelt my drunk ass with more metaphors? Because let me tell you, there’s only so much I can decipher in this state,” she assures Mae. “And I wanna help you, I do, but I can’t imagine what’s bothering you so much you can’t let yourself feel free. When it’s the easiest thing to feel.”

“But there are so many better things to want in this world,” Eli attempted to argue her thinking and then heaved a sigh. How did he end up in such a nonsensical conversation with a neighbour he hardly knew? Admittedly, it was kind of nice. “I think I’m out of comebacks,” he admitted in defeat.

Emma laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t feel too bad about it, bub,” she tells him. “I’m pretty much the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet. We could’ve been here for hours and I wouldn’t have let up.” She begins to peel the orange with her hands, glancing at the time on her phone. She’s late. “I have to, uh,” she gestures. “I’ve got to meet with someone, but --- what are you doing later, Orange Boy?”

“Yeah, you’d think that because we’re friends but if a stranger sees it, could be a turn off for them, you know.” She told Emma, knowing very every angle on how she can get rejected as if she was preparing for the worst already. Although, Nat gave her a sweet grin, appreciating her compliments. When she tried to express as if she was writing, Emma suddenly bursts out of laughter and she did so too, covering her face of embarrassment. “God, this is going to be so terrible for me.” She already assumed but still laughing at herself. “I’m smart, though, remember? I’d know how to turn them down if they just want in on some bed action.” She defended with confidence but Natalie knew herself that if she gets struck and blinded by charm, she loves hard. As Emma completed her profile, Natalie let out a sigh before shrugging. “I guess…that’s it. Time to swipe now, right? Do you think I’d find someone from the complex? That’d be weird…and awkward.”

“Listen,” she looks straight into Natalie’s eyes, eyebrows rising. “If they find that a turn off, you boot them. Off. Shoo. They’re not fucking worth it, alright? Remember that. You’re a fucking catch, Natalie Cohen. Keep that in mind through all of this.” She hands the phone to Natalie, knowing she’s the one who needs to swipe. “It’s all based on instinct,” she reminds her. “But I’m here to rule out the creeps.” She frowns, tilting her head to the side. “Just skip ‘em if you don’t want someone from the complex,” she says easily, but then pauses. “Unless...you want someone from the complex?”

Always self destructive; that was something that everyone Dylan grew up around described him as. Foster parents bringing him back because he’s destructive; he fights too much, he shouts a lot. That’s why he writes, to get it all out. There’s no other way he can get the emotion out in a healthy manner. Maybe he needs to dig deeper into the emotion to write something worth publishing.

Maybe he needs to do it as soon as he’s home.

And Emma is there like she always is, bringing him back down to Earth again. What would Dylan do without Emma?

‘Okay.’ Is all he says, and he pulls out his phone to load the app up. He’ll pay for it with what little money he has left in his bank account. Maybe he can extend his overdraft a bit more.

‘Thanks.’ He looks down, sheepish, feeling stupid for the explosion but it was uncontrollable. ‘It’ll be here in five minutes.’

Emma keeps her eyes trained on the creep that’s been following her all night as she leads Dylan silently towards the frozen yogurt shop. It’s closed, predictably, considering how late it is, but she leans against the glass window of it, pressing a foot against it and leveling herself out. She lets her head fall back on the glass and closes her eyes, tired of this. Of everything. 

She toys with the idea of texting her grandfather, but at this hour it’d probably give her even less favor than she already has with him, so she decides against it. Motel it is, then.

When Dylan mentions paying for the Uber, she opens her eyes again, rolls them. “Don’t be stupid,” she says, patting at her purse. “I’ll pay you back with cash. You need that money for the rent.” She lets her back slide down against the glass, then, sits on the cement below her, slightly uncomfortable, but it makes her less dizzy. Helps her think clearer. 

She glances up at him, then forward again. “I’m leaving,” she confesses. “When the lease is up.”

At that unexpected comment, Nick laughs out loud. “Oh, I absolutely cannot wait to hear that story. Fine then, no piggyback ride.” They make it to the exit and he holds the door open for Emma, but his eyes are trained on the guy following them. “You know him at all or no? Want me to have a word?” he asks. “Because I think talking to him is just a little less drastic than breaking his dick.”

“You’re not ready for it,” Emma shakes his head. “You’re not. It’s crazy. It’s unbelievable. It involves a skunk and a horse. I’m not kidding.” She follows him out of the bar, the fresh air hitting her like a ton of bricks, feeling the nausea in her stomach rise. “Ugh. Air.” She looks up at him and shakes her head. “There’s no reason to unless he comes any closer. I just want to make sure he’s not following me, y’know? And I’m trained in martial arts, thank you. I’ll be sure to injure his dick without breaking it, if it’ll make you feel better about the violence.”

‘Fuck me, I need a drink.’ Dylan gives up. Clearly he isn’t going to convince her to have a conversation with him and in the morning he didn’t know if he will want to. It was an open opportunity right now, and Emma wasn’t biting. Dylan looks around, spotting the man who was staring at Emma earlier.

‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ He asks, aggressive, to the man. Dylan’s angry now, and he just wants a fight. He turns back to Emma. ‘Fine. Finego back to your dad’s.’

Dylan turns back towards the bar but the bouncer is looking shifty like he isn’t going to let Dylan back in. ‘You were the only family I had and now I fucked that up. Just fuckin’. Let me know when you get there, yeah?’

He’s killing himself. The smoking, the drinking --- he’s killing himself. And to some extent, so is Emma. Or, she was. Or, she is. God, she’s drunk. Why do they keep doing this? Why is she so fucking broke? And why did all this bad luck happen to come at the exact same fucking time?

“Stop it,” she snaps, stepping closer towards him. She almost reaches out for him, the way she used to to calm him down, but she stops herself just in time. She looks at the man --- the fucking creep --- then looks back at Dylan. “Come on,” she says, gesturing with her head towards the building beside the bar --- ironically, a frozen yogurt place. “We can share an Uber. You need to get back, too.” It’s this again. It’s always been this. She’s always had to be the one who sobers up, who comes back down to earth, even when she was living with her dad. The tether. The strong one.

She ignores what he says --- because for so long, that was true of him, too. She has her dad, she has Natalie, but slowly that list is shortening, and she just --- doesn’t know what else to do. Doesn’t know where this is going anymore. Doesn’t know where she’s going. Where before Dylan was the only thing that no longer made her feel lost, now she feels --- gone.

Nick just smiles and shakes his head as Emma pats his face. It doesn’t make too much sense to really argue with a person as drunk as she seems, so he lets it go. “M’lady,” he replies and tips his imaginary fedora at being called ‘good sir’. He gets up and offers his arm to her to get up and steady her. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk? Because if not, I’ll have you piggyback since I’m twelve years old.”

Emma locks her arm with Nick’s, steadying herself as she does, and looks up at him rolling her eyes. “The last man to give me a piggyback ride ended up with an injured dick in the hospital, Nick,” she replies. “I think it might be a bad idea for you.” She doesn’t elaborate further, instead follows him through the crowd, heading for the exit. She keeps looking back at the man, who seems to --- be following? “Jesus Christ, this guy won’t give it a fucking rest,” she mutters, looking forward again. “I might have to injure his dick, too.”

Dylan doesn’t want to get nasty with Emma. He doesn’t want to explode at her rejection, so he just lets out a laugh and shakes his head, his hands on his hips now. He kicks the ground, running his tongue across his bottom lip. What did he say to that?

‘Shit–’ that was too much. He’s said too much. ‘No. Don’t just. Just come back home okay? I shouldn’t have said…’ Dylan sighs. He’s confused. He frowns, rubbing his forehead. ‘Would you just come home? I’m tired of this… shit.’ It was just going to be awkward in the morning. This needed to be okay.

Home. He keeps saying it like that’s what it is --- but it’s not. Not anymore. It’s nothing but an apartment they share, one she dreads walking into, thanks to all the memories that like to crawl their way back into her mind when she’s trying to sleep, Dylan’s presence outside the bedroom far too loud. “I’m tired of it, too,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m gonna stay with---” she’s going to say Natalie, but she remembers she’s now living with her parents again. And Emma just can’t go to her dad’s house. She can’t.

She thinks about Reno, fleetingly, wonders if he’d be kind enough to offer her his couch, but that might be...strange. After a pause, she crosses her arms over her chest and closes her eyes. “My dad,” she lies, not wanting to start anything else tonight. She’ll figure it out when she does. “We can --- once your head is back on straight, we can talk. Or not.” He might decide not to, once he’s sobered up. Close off again. And so might she, for what it’s worth.

‘I was only shouting because of the music!’ Dylan protested. He took a step forward, his arms outstretched to take her arms in his hand so he could hold onto her… like if he let go he’d lose her. ‘We’re going back to the same place. The same apartment.’ Dylan tried. ‘Emma. Sweetheart.’

He gave her that look. That blue eyed puppy look that always used to work when he fucked up and wanted her to forgive him. Dylan hoped it worked. ‘Let’s talk. Let’s chat. Let’s get it all out in the open.’ Dylan was so fucking drunk and this felt like such a good idea; to get Emma back.

She doesn’t have time for this. She doesn’t have space for this. And then he calls her sweetheart like he’s still allowed to and the alcohol coursing through her veins turns into anger, so deep and humiliated she has to take an entire step away from him, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Listen to yourself, God,” she laughs bitterly. “You’re wasted. You’re getting pissed at me for this but you’re --- you think---” she shakes her head. “I’m not getting anything out in the open in this state. Nor are you in yours. Go home. I’m gonna---” she thinks about it. “I’ll find a place to stay tonight.”

Natalie watched as Emma continued to scroll through her pictures, blushing a little when she would select a photo to add to her profile on the application. She thinks that was good? Hot? Pretty? Cute? Convincing? This was her best friend and sister like but to see someone think she’s beautiful on certain pictures was increasing her confidence. Once the pictures were selected, it was time to add flavor to the profile. “Mysterious? Maybe not. Smarter than them? I don’t want them to think I’m full of myself.” She laughed, running a hand through her hair as she thought of the proper words to describe herself as she would talk about a character in her stories. “A woman who wants to meet a guy that will…make me want to stay awake with the reality of him…rather than stay asleep to dream about who he could.” She said before smiling wide and turning to Emma. “Too much? Just say I’d like to try dating around.” She laughed out loud, settling with something more simple.

“The fact that you’re smarter than them is a fact, not a brag,” she reminds Natalie. “They’ll have to be okay with that when they meet you. You’re smarter than most people I know, anyway. But, alright, we won’t necessarily say that,” she grins as Natalie recites what she’d like on her profile, and Emma bursts out laughing when her friend does. “Okay, wow, way too much,” she says. “I love you, and that was brilliant, of course, but that’ll attract fuckboys who pretend to be smart and literate to get into your pants,” she assures her. “Here,” she clears her throat and begins to type, narrating out loud. “Natalie. Call me Nat. I’m a writer looking for inspiration in different places. Just feeling things out right now. Don’t contact me for ONS.” She looks over at Natalie. “Anything else you deem important enough?”

‘Emma wait!’ Dylan calls after her, following her outside the club to the fresh night air. ‘Em!’

He breathes heavily after running (too many cigarettes) and hopes that she stops. Dylan’s had a lot to drink and he is feeling open and honest and he wants to stop Emma from hating him so much.

‘I still care about you,’ he admits, eyes red from drinking. He hopes his words aren’t slurring. ‘I shouldn’t have ended it. I’m sorry.’ Is he telling the truth? Dylan doesn’t know; sober, he wouldn’t admit it but now? God he just wants to kiss her and it’s weird and crazy.

The air from outside hits her like a ton of bricks, and she has to stop momentarily before the dizziness makes her fall over. Bad idea, however, because where she stops, Dylan catches up, slurring words about how he still cares about her, about how he’s sorry, and isn’t that just great? Her ex-boyfriend pulling this shit when he’s drunk. When they’re both drunk.

She turns to look at him and shakes her head. “You’re drunk,” she repeats her thoughts. “I’m drunk. This is not a conversation we should be having right now, especially not after---” she takes a deep breath, willing her tears to stay in her eyes, for God’s sake. “Not after what happened in there.” She looks away for a moment.

“All I’ve ever wanted for you was something better, Dylan,” she says, and this time, her voice is quieter. “But you’re so scared of yourself, of what you’re actually capable of and failing that you pushed me away, and you don’t get to come to me and say you shouldn’t have ended it. Not now.”

It’s not hard for Nick to spot the reason why Emma approached him, not now that the guy is basically glaring daggers at them both. “Sh, you didn’t come here alone. You obviously came with me, we just lost track of each other,” he told her with a wink. “I guess coming alone is the best way to find some company, if you’re looking for that. Unless that company is creepo over there.” Generally, Nick wasn’t very confrontational or hot-headed and he wasn’t the type to get into bar fights, he’d rather go the other route. “I was here with friends but they left already. I was gonna go too just now, actually. Wanna come home with me?” His tone is joking and light, hopefully making it clear that he means going home to the same building, not the same apartment.

“Creepo,” Emma snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? You’re cute, pal,” she pats the side of Nick’s face as gently as she can manage when she has very little control over her movements, then feels her expression darken at the thought of having to go back to the apartment, where Dylan’s surely taken up refuge in the couch again. She supposes she can agree, however, if only to just be able to get out of the asshole’s eyesight, then they can go their separate ways and Emma can find...another bar. Maybe. So she smiles brightly, tilts her head theatrically at his suggestion. “Well, I thought you’d never ask, good sir,” she waggles her eyebrows. “Lead the way outside, please, and be slow about it, because the room is spinning.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe Natalie’s just too nice sometimes and that’s what hinders her from being real and writing authentically. But to her, kindness is important so whatever Carrie did to her back in school, she’s gotten over it. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that it hurt removing gum from her hair. But again, that was years ago and she’s just going to focus on the now. She laughed a little when Emma looked victorious that Nat has those pictures on her phone. She really hoped that using this app would help her find the inspiration and stories she wants to express on her book. When Emma mentioned the word wife, Nat laughed out loud and covered her face. “Okay, I’m not looking for anything that serious. I’ll go for one date…with the best guy we find and I’ll just see how it goes from there.” She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to get a good match.

“Mm, alright,” Emma says, hoping she sounds put-out, even though she’s only kidding. She continues to scroll through her pictures and picks out the ones she thinks Natalie looks best in --- though she wasn’t kidding when she said Natalie looks great in every picture, she does, and it’s hard to choose --- but when she finally thinks she found the balance between classy and smoking, she looks over at Natalie and raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Literary Genius,” she says. “What do you want these potential courters of your to know about you? You want them to know straight off the bat that you’re smarter than them, or you do want to be mysterious?” She waggles her fingers.