Free Falling Sky by Lisa Swallow

to say that, but you’re welcome to.”
    “What thing then?” I ask.
    “Myf has been staying here. She’s away currently, in case you wonder why there’s another girl’s stuff around.”
    He doesn’t need to justify himself; we weren’t together, so I have no right to get upset about other women in his bed.
    “It’s your life, Dylan,” I say.
    A cloud crosses his face. “Is it?”
    “Yes.”
    He rests against one side of the doorframe, hands buried in his leather jacket pockets. The effect he has is the same as ever; a desire to touch and to be touched by this man will never leave, as if hardwired into me. The tired face is brighter than a couple of days ago, more sparkle in his eyes, but he’s still pale and something about him isn’t right.
    “Are you okay?” he asks.
    “Not really, I think I want some space. I’m tired.”
    “Yeah, I understand. Did you want me to show you where anything else is?”
    I shake my head. Despite all the crap of my life in the last six months, Dylan has been the only bright moment. Lily attempted to turn this into darkness, but the flicker remains. I realise I’m staring and Dylan’s eyes reflect the desire in mine, and I look away.
    “Let me know if you need anything,” he says.
    “Thank you.”
    Dylan quietly closes the door behind him, and I collapse backwards on the bed, staring at the bright white ceiling and spotlights set into the walls.
    A realisation overwhelms me. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and suspect the decision to leave Bristol is made for me. None of my family lives there anymore, I have nothing to keep me there. I no longer belong in the life I clung onto. I don’t belong anywhere.

    ****

    I fall into an exhausted sleep and wake in a darkened room with open curtains. Struggling to remember where I am, memories of my rollercoaster day return. Dylan’s home. The room is warm and my mouth is dry; I summon the energy to look for a glass of water.
    The kitchen is through a door opposite the metal stairs and across from a lounge room. The door to the lounge is open and a TV plays on low across the room. Dylan sits, bare feet on the coffee table watching TV. He looks up as he hears my footsteps.
    “Okay?” he asks.
    “I was getting some water.” I glance at the clock over his head. Two am. “You’re up late?”
    He makes a small noise of amusement. “Rock and roll lifestyle.”
    He’s in his rock-and-roll uniform from the summer; black t-shirt sleeves stretched across his biceps and dark jeans hugging his long legs. “You look tired, Dylan.”
    “I was waiting up, in case you needed anything.”
    His words melt my insides; the fact someone in this world is looking out for me in my fucked up life sends me rushing to the kitchen before the tears start. Shakily, I pour myself a glass of filtered water from the fridge then gulp it down. I refill the glass and head back toward Dylan.
    He’s sitting forward now, elbows on his knees as he watches me. “Are you okay?” he asks again.
    I waver between running back to the strange, empty bedroom and spending time with Dylan. Dylan wins, and I head into the room, perching on the opposite end of the sumptuous brown leather sofa.
    “Not really,” I say hoarsely.
    “I’ll do anything you need to help,” he says, “with your flat or whatever.”
    An ad for Christmas Day TV flashes across the screen, traditional English programmes and movies reminding me of past Christmases. Another kick in the teeth.
    “This is my first Christmas on my own,” I say softly.
    Dylan sighs and leans back, the sofa squeaking as he does. “Not a nice one so far, I suppose. With the break-in at your flat and everything.”
    The creeping fear and loneliness of the last five months seizes hold, the violation of my one safe space in life is the end of my ability to ignore how my life this year resembles the flat I left behind.
    “Everything’s a mess…”
    “We can clean things up; I’ll help. I know you won’t