Chapter 12

Dylan

I feel her hand press against my shoulder as she sits down next to me, her perfume wafting toward me in the evening breeze.

“I know what happened, Dylan.”

I turn to face her slowly. She’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, or maybe it’s just that memories can never do justice to really seeing her in the flesh, here under the orange sun, her hair gently playing along the curve of her cheek.

“I figured you did some research. How else would you know I was here?” My voice comes out harsher than I mean it, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m too torn up right now to apologize, and part of me wants to jump off this cliff into the ocean and never look back.

Gemma looks toward the horizon, as if embarrassed at her intrusion. Taking her hand from my shoulder, she clasps her fists in her lap.

“I’m so sorry.”

I pick up a stone and fling it into the ocean, just to do something with the jolt of nervous energy that’s buzzing inside of me.

“Who told you? Ramona, right?”

“Yeah. About Cal, the Oscars, the kid – everything.”

“Not everything,” I say, whipping another rock at the sun and watching it fall into the tumultuous waves. “So she told you about the Oscars?” I ask, turning to her, searching for something in her eyes.

Gemma nods. “Yes.”

“Did she tell you about the call?” I take a breath. “No. She couldn’t have. She doesn’t even know about it.”

“What call?”

I turn back to the sun and close my eyes, letting the fading brightness cast an orange glow in the void. Letting the memories appear as vividly as photographs.

“The night I won the Oscar, Cal called me. I was in the limo on my way to the red carpet.” I can hear the tremors in my own voice. Heat rises behind my eyes, and I rub them with my thumb and forefinger, trying to push the memory back a little. “He didn’t know it was Oscar night, that’s how stoned he was, how far apart we’d become. He wanted to talk. I don’t know what about. I blew him off. I was more interested in the fucking speech, in how I’d come across, in whether I’d fucking win in the first place. All that bullshit…that was all I ever thought about…all I cared about…all that fucking bullshit…”

She winds an arm around my shoulders and leans into me.

“It’s not your fault, Dylan. You didn’t know.”

“I didn’t have to. I didn’t care either way. He didn’t die that night, he was dying for a long time before that – falling to fucking pieces. Tearing himself apart. And the only thing I worried about was whether he’d bring me down, make me lose all the fucking fame, and money, and acclaim. That was the only thing I cared about: my fucking pathetic career.”

Gemma’s hands pull my face toward her, her gentle palms guiding my eyes to hers, eyes that I can feel are now wet and red with anger and regret.

“Dylan. Look at me,” she says, and I open my eyes to a different kind of sunset, a different kind of light. “You’re right. You probably could have done more. Maybe you could have spoken to Cal and stopped him from killing himself that night. But who’s to say another night wouldn’t be even worse? Or that he’d ever be ready to stop with the drugs and the drinking and the personal shit he just couldn’t deal with? None of that was your job to fix, and there was no way you could have, no matter how much you wanted to. There are things to blame yourself for in life, and there are things to let go – this is one of them.”

“I’ll never let this go,” I cry, struggling to push the words out from my constricted throat, “never. I killed him. It was my fault. I left him in the dark, I was so selfish. I left him.”

“No! Dylan,” she says, stroking my cheek. “You didn’t. Cal killed himself. He had a wife, he had a kid. So he wasn’t getting acting work, and was struggling – big fucking deal! This is LA! The city’s full of actors who don’t make it. He had every reason to live, and he still did it – it’s not your fault, Dylan. It’s no one’s fault. Nobody could save him.”

“You don’t fucking get it!” I shout, pulling her hands off me and standing up. Gemma follows me, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me back around to face her.

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it, Dylan! Cal made a mistake. A dumb fucking decision – probably while he was out of his mind on drugs and booze. It’s tragic, it’s sad, it fucking hurts – but that’s life. You know, you’re always talking about focusing on what’s ‘real’ life – well, that’s real life. Bad shit happens, and it makes no sense, and you’d give anything to change it – but you can’t. You have to move on from it. Good people do shitty things, make bad decisions, and live lives full of mistakes. There are no happy endings, no easy way out when the shit hits the fan, and it’s never fair. That’s just fucking real life, Dylan.”

I watch the strands of hair flow over her face, framing it like a golden, glowing halo. The sky goes reddish-blue, casting whirlpools of color in her eyes. I gaze into them like gates to a better life, to freedom, to a place where there’s a younger me, still waiting to shed the miserable armor and distancing weapons I’ve been holding for so long.

“I wish it was that easy, Gemma. But I can’t just let it go.”

Gemma shakes her head, casting a lock of hair behind her ear.

“It isn’t easy, Dylan. That’s the point. Forgiving yourself, letting go of the past, is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. It’s easier to let the pain and the regret chew you up. To let yourself turn into a miserable, hateful person. It’s easier to fight every day, fight yourself, fight the people around you, fight the pain, because it feels like you’re doing something – but you’re not. You’re just treading water. It’s harder to stop fighting, and just let it go.” She moves toward me, placing a delicate hand against my chest, as if feeling for a heartbeat in this shell of a man. “You need to stop fighting, Dylan. I give you permission. You can let go.”

My head thumps and swirls, feeling so light that the gentle breeze makes me sway. My mouth goes dry, and I have to force myself to breathe. Something swells in me, powerful and long-dormant, a beast that I’ve been keeping caged for a long time, that’s been growing stronger and stronger, somehow fighting now to escape, to be released…taking the weight of years of pain and loss and grief with it.

I raise my hand to cover hers, still pressed against my chest. I touch the smooth skin, the delicate fingers, carefully and slowly, as if cautious not to sully them with my own rough, firm touch.

“Think of all the people you’ve hurt because of this, Dylan. All the people that you’ve pushed away and treated badly. You’ve spent so long worrying about what you did to Cal that you’ve been doing the same thing to other people over and over again.”

“Like I did to you,” I say.

I notice her gulp slowly.

“Yeah. Like you did to me.”

I brush her cheek with the back of my other hand, and she smiles slightly as she presses up against it.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, dropping my head. “Sometimes I look at myself and…I see Cal. The way he was towards the end. Just always looking for something to ease the pain. Sometimes I feel like I’m taking the same path he did. Treading in his footsteps.”

“Oh, Dylan…you’re not. You just—”

“I am, though. And I don’t know how to get out. How to do things differently.”

She takes my face again in her hands, and brings her lips to mine, gently. A tender, loving kiss. The kiss of someone who wants to share your pain.

“Then let me help you, Dylan. Let me in. You don’t have to do this alone.”

I almost shudder at the words. Almost fall to my knees. I didn’t know how much I wanted to hear them, but now that I have, it seems so fucking obvious that they’re the words I’ve needed to hear for a long time. A part of my soul seems to fall into its rightful place.

“Gemma.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you think I’m crazy if I told you I loved you?”

She breathes deeply a couple of times before speaking, and my heart ties itself into a knot in the silence before her answer.

“Yes.”

I hang my head, feeling like I just threw myself from the fiftieth floor.

“But I think I might be crazy too,” she adds, with a small smile. “Because I love you.”

I snort a laugh and we slowly wrap our arms around each other, pulling ourselves together slowly, like we’re taking care not to crush the beautiful thing between us. I kiss her, this time with love, with the firmness of a man who knows how special she is, a man who wants to change for her, a man who finally realizes she’s what he needs.

When we break apart, the kiss seems to continue inside of me, vibrating with a new kind of energy, a positive kind. An energy that makes me feel like I can take the world on.

“Why do I feel like I just transformed into a different man?”

“Maybe you have,” Gemma grins. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“If it means keeping you around, then no.”

She blushes, and I brush her hair over her ear for her this time.

“You might be the best thing that ever happened to me, Gemma. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to be without you.”

She laughs softly, her eyes shimmering in the dying rays of the sunset.

“Well, you don’t really have a choice. There’s still a month left of filming. And we’re behind schedule now.”

“Oh yeah. That.”

“Yeah. That,” she says, teasingly. “I’m supposed to be by your side at all times anyway. It’s in my contract, remember?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “I’m gonna see what I can do about getting that contract extended.”

We laugh and turn away from the sun, now in the final stage of its sinking trajectory, showing only its very top, in misted, fuzzy red waves that run along the horizon. It’s usually my favorite part, the few minutes just before the very end, but this time I’ve got something else to look at, something that I have a feeling won’t end at all.