Another New York Story: Mel Ch. 04

They parted ways at the station. Hugging goodbye, Mel noticed Isabel held her a little tighter than usual. She waved to Isabel from the uptown platform, watching as the downtown train came screeching in, and she was gone. Mel looked up at the electronic display to see when the next train would arrive. She was cutting it close.

She felt the buzz of her phone from inside her bag. A message from her director, reminding everyone of the time and place for tonight's rehearsal. Dylan replied almost immediately with, "Yay!"

Ugh. She tossed her phone back into her bag without replying. She'd be there. Of course she'd be there. She had to get her daily dose of Dylan, didn't she?

By some small miracle, Mel, who had no classical training whatsoever, had been entrusted with the role of Lady Macbeth in, you guessed it, Macbeth. The complexity of the language, the rhythm of it--it was dizzying at times. But, she was happy. It really was a beautiful play. And, anyway, it meant she got to spend a lot of time with Dylan, who would be playing the titular role.

On the first day of rehearsal, the two of them had bonded over a shared mobile game they'd both put way too many hours into, and since then they'd been inseparable, perpetually chatting during breaks, or between scenes. Dylan had medium length, blonde surfer hair that was fine--silky, like Mel's. His nose was sort of curved upward, with freckles, and he had white teeth and a crooked smile that would make you smile too every time you saw it. Mel had to admit she had a bit of a crush. But, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. They needed to establish chemistry, that is, if they were going to pretend to be husband and wife.

What puzzled her, however, was Dylan's behavior as soon as rehearsal would end. Before Mel could even pack her things, Dylan would already be out the door. All rehearsal long they would be chatting, giggling, and whispering to one another, but as soon as it was over he would vanish. Mel couldn't make heads or tails of it.

She thought about the previous week when Dylan had shaved his stubble into a mustache. She thought he looked so cute like that. She wondered if it tickled to kiss him.

Not something she should be thinking about. Unfortunately for Mel, Dylan was taken, and very vocal about it. He would talk about his girlfriend a lot with Mel, who would usually only be half-listening. She'd stalked his instagram once or, maybe, three times, and from what she saw she was not impressed. Mel decided Dylan's girlfriend could best be described as a "safe bet." She looked homely, maybe a little frumpy even. But, that was just Mel's opinion. Was her perspective skewed? Sure, she'd be the first to admit as much.

Mel had gotten on the train mechanically, not even realizing what was happening until they were already pulling into her stop. Stepping out, Mel couldn't fathom having to go to rehearsal. All she wanted to do was to take a warm shower, crawl under her covers, and watch some shitty television until she fell asleep.

Actually, she wanted to do all that, but with Dylan. Especially the shower part. The hot steam, the soapy water--she'd just slip him right in, her face pressed against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. He probably has a big dick, Mel thought, he certainly acted like it.

Stop that. Breathe. She felt frustrated. When would it be her turn? Michael had gotten a show, and Isabel had gotten a lot more than that--when would she be satisfied?

Mel thought back to the first day of rehearsal, when the cast and crew had sat down to do a table read. After they finished their first scene, Dylan put his hand on her bare knee and kept it there for a little too long. A subtle indication? It was the last time she'd been touched by someone other than herself.

Mel's phone buzzed again from her bag. It was Dylan texting her separately from the group to say he would see her at rehearsal later, and that he was looking forward to it.

Mel's palms felt sweaty all of a sudden. What should she say? Keep it simple. Something like... Cool. No. That's ridiculous. Maybe just a smiley face would do? Would that be weird?

Can't wait! That was good. Mel hit send. Her message was marked as read almost immediately. He had read receipts on? That's very trustworthy of him. She wondered if his girlfriend made him do that. If Mel were Dylan's girlfriend she wouldn't make him do that. She wouldn't make him do anything he didn't want to. In fact, Mel would let him do whatever he wanted all the time. Whatever he wanted to do to her...

Mel shook off the thought. She didn't want to come between him and his girlfriend. He seemed happy. But then, if he was so happy with her, then why was he giving Mel all this attention? He didn't treat any of the other girls in the cast like he treated her. She had been singled out. Maybe he was afraid to say anything? Maybe that would ruin the fun. If he said how he really felt about her, then it would become real, something they would have to deal with, and make decisions on.

Asuka still wasn't back from work when Mel got to the apartment. Likewise, Michael was nowhere to be found.

Nevertheless, Mel made sure to double check her door was locked before getting naked again--tossing the bikini into the ever growing pile of dirty laundry on the floor next to her bed. Subconsciously, Mel cupped her breasts in her hands, squeezing them like they were stress balls. She pinched her nipples, feeling a spark in her crotch. She looked at the clock. Well, maybe she should at least try and finish herself off, to get her mind clear before rehearsal.

Mel's vibrator hummed softly on her pussy as she sat back in the bed, trying to relax. The blinking light on her vibrator meant that it was low on battery, she'd have to be quick about it, not that she had all the time in the world before.

Breathing out, she tried to focus on Dylan. The thought of him. His strong, freckled body, tan from the sun, and muscular from surfing so much--rounded shoulder muscles rippling. He could pick her up, and she could wrap her legs around him and take him in her, light as a feather. He could fuck her. Cum in her little pink body. Feel it dripping out of her, his cock shrinking inside her.

The vibrator shut off. She clicked it back on, trying to keep the sensation building, but it was too late, she'd lost the thread.

From her dresser, Mel picked out a jean skirt, yellow tank top, and a flowy white button down to wear over it--before scrapping the button down, to just go with the skirt and tip instead. She didn't put on a bra, and, seeing the way the tank top hugged her body, the way it supported her tits (not that they needed much support), Mel decided she wouldn't need one. Even if it got a bit "nippy" in rehearsal, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. If anyone deserved to catch a glimpse of her it was Dylan.

With the addition of ankle high white socks with lace fringe and a pair of Doc Martens her look was complete. Slipping out the door, she felt a little better. She was catching her second wind, maybe because of how cute she felt. She didn't care if she was late.

Rehearsal was downtown in a dingy theater off St. Mark's Place. The street was packed with tourists, delinquants, and people like Mel who were just trying to get through, all meshed into a mass of bodies, flowing like water in a stream.

Mel hated this part of town. It felt so... artificial. The place reeked of weed, and the cheap bars and restaurants were no doubt home to some of the most well nourished rats in the whole city. It seemed like the only storefronts were bars, smoke shops, or tattoo parlors. Mel recoiled at the thought of getting a tattoo down here. She wouldn't trust it, personally.

It might be an alright place to buy pot. Not that Mel did that anymore, not since college. She had decided a long time ago that weed wasn't good for her. Or, maybe the problem was it was actually too good. Whenever she got high, all she would do was watch porn and touch herself for hours. The stuff made her body feel too good.

The cast was already huddled in the middle of the room when Mel arrived about five minutes late. She threw her stuff down and joined them, nodding to the director who, without skipping a beat, relayed to them the plan for rehearsal. Through the gaps between her castmates, Mel could see Dylan, standing with his head bowed, listening, a hand on his chin, like he was contemplating something.

The director dismissed them to warm up individually. As the group dispersed, Mel caught Dylan, now with his head up, looking at her with what she thought was a slight smile. She turned away, pretending not to have noticed. In her peripheral vision she could see as he stared at her a moment longer, before retreating toward one corner of the room to meditate.

Dylan never stretched or did vocal warmups like the others, instead, he chose to meditate, something else Mel found interesting about him. He was a real artist, Mel thought.

That day, they were working on Mel and Dylan's first scene together, in which Mel--Lady Macbeth convinces Macbeth to murder the king and assume the throne himself. It was not what she would call a glamorous role, but it was work, and work was always good for an actor.

They had to kiss in the scene, but the director forbade them from it, not until they got a bit closer to opening, to keep things fresh. So, instead, where the kiss would be, Mel and Dylan just held each other, looking into each other's eyes for a moment. It gave Mel butterflies in her stomach.

Dylan held her hand a lot during the scene that day, even stroking her knuckles softly once or twice. But on breaks he was elusive. Strange. He hadn't said a word to Mel outside of their scene. It was like he was avoiding her.

They'd gotten a lot of work done, so the director decided to call rehearsal early. Dylan, of course, slipped out in his usual fashion.

That's why Mel was surprised when she ran into him at the station. She found him standing on the bottom of the steps to the station entrance, off to one side, with a book in his hand. He perked up when he saw her, stowing the book in his back pocket.

"Hey," Mel said, unable to contain her smile.

"Hey, Mel." replied Dylan, his white teeth glinting with every word. "I thought I might catch you."

Dylan bit his lip. His foot tapped the ground impatiently. He seemed nervous.

"Are you going uptown?" he asked.

"Yea. You?" Mel said, trying to sound casual.

Dylan nodded. "I'll join you."

The train was pulling into the station when they got to the turnstiles. Dylan made it through, but Mel's card wasn't going through for some reason, she had to tap it a few times before the gates opened up for her. She looked up to see Dylan holding the doors of the train open. She jumped in as they shut behind her. The car was packed, Mel felt suddenly embarrassed she'd held everyone up. She thought they were all looking at her.

She was practically pressed up against Dylan, she could feel the muscles in his legs as they flexed and unflexed to maintain his balance in the moving train. The whole thing lurched, throwing Mel into him. He caught her with one arm, holding her until it was safe again. Releasing her, he bent down his head so they could talk.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry.

"Okay."

"You did great today." He said.

"Thanks. So did you."

"I think it's gonna be a good production."

"It's my first show in the city."

"Really? Woah."

"What?" asked Mel.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"That's, like, intimidating."

"Why?"

"You're so good. You shouldn't be that good yet."

Mel laughed. He was so earnest. She liked that. She realized she hadn't really laughed the whole day until just then. "You're just saying that," she said.

"No. Honestly." Dylan glanced up at the electronic screen informing them the next stop would be the last stop before his. "Do you want to hang out? Like, I mean, come over? To my place? Right now?"

Mel couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was Dylan inviting her over? That was unexpected, especially after he had avoided her all rehearsal long. Didn't he live with his girlfriend? What about her? Would she be joining them too? Dylan continued as if he read her mind:

"Lily's out of town right now visiting family back home. So, I've been kind of, um, lonely. I guess." Mel looked at him. She wasn't sure what this meant, if it was just a friendly offer or what? Could straight men and women be friends? Maybe that's all it was. But, then, why would he wait until his girlfriend was out of town before asking her over if his intentions were innocent? There was no time to overthink it. The train was pulling into his stop.

"Sure. I'd love to."

"Great." They smiled at each other.

Back outside, the cool air of the early summer evening made Mel feel refreshed and carefree. Dylan led the way, walking slightly in front of her. He was going on about Shakespeare, specifically about Hamnet, Shakespeare's son, who died the year Hamlet was written, and what that meant, and how it affected the story. Mel didn't really care all that much about what he was saying, she just liked the way said it: with passion and excitement, and that cute little grin.

Dylan unlocked the door to his apartment. It opened up directly into the kitchen, to the right of which was the living room, consisting of a couple windows, a couch, and television--while to the left there was a hallway leading to, Mel assumed, Dylan and his girlfriend's room. A wooden table and chairs (from different sets originally but with similar vibes) had been placed in the middle of the kitchen, and the walls of the apartment had been decorated in a tastefully eclectic fashion: a mixture of art, movie posters, and photographs.

Mel and Dylan kicked off their shoes at the door.

"Would you like some coffee? I'm gonna make some."

"Totally."

Taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs, Mel watched as Dylan went about making the coffee. The bittersweet scent of it soon filled the room, making Mel feel especially dreamy. She relaxed a little, trying to enjoy, just soak in the sensations.

"Are you hungry at all?"

"No. Thank you." Mel was starving, but felt like it would be too much for her to ask him to make her anything.

Dylan joined her at the table, kicking one of his legs up onto the seat of his chair. They looked at each other for a moment, not saying anything, until Dylan broke the silence with some gossip he'd heard about another couple in the cast.

Another couple? Is that what she thought they were? A subconscious slip. Mel had to remind herself Dylan had made no indication whatsoever that he wanted anything more than a platonic relationship--that is, if she didn't count the leg touch at the table read.

The coffee had given her some energy. They were sitting on the fire escape now, watching the people pass by on the street below, when Dylan offered to "smoke Mel out." She had to ask what that meant.

"Like, um, smoke together. I want to smoke a joint with you. If you want?"

Mel was surprised at how quickly she agreed to his proposition. It was unlike her to rush into something like that. That honor was usually reserved for Asuka. But, she couldn't care. She was surrendering herself to fate, and whatever came her way.

It made her cough more than she'd care to admit, and it didn't feel like it was really hitting her, that is, not until she got inside. Stepping back into the apartment, Mel realized her whole perspective had been shifted. Everything looked like it was at an angle, and it took all her concentration to place one foot in front of the other to bring herself over to the couch to plunk her petite body down onto it.

Mel flexed her fingers, stretched her toes, rolled her neck around slowly. She felt so loose. But also like she couldn't move if she tried. Her body was humming, like a running refrigerator. Her eyes felt dry.

"Here, drink this." Dylan said, holding out a glass of water for Mel. She took it, running her finger along the ribbed crystalline glass. Everything felt so good. She watched Dylan walk back to the kitchen, fill a glass of his own, and down it in one shot. Mel took a sip from her water. Everything came back into focus. Her body was still buzzing.

"How do you feel?" Dylan said, setting down his glass on the counter next to the sink.

Mel smiled stupidly. "Good," she laughed, "I feel, like... good."

"It's good shit right?" Dylan glanced down, then back up. Mel looked down to see her skirt had ridden up on her. Her thong was almost visible. She looked back up to see Dylan disappearing into the bathroom. Mel ran a hand down the back of her thigh to her butt. Her cheeks were completely out. They were sticking to the leather couch.

Standing up to adjust her skirt, Dylan reappeared, forcing Mel to sit back down before she'd gotten the fabric of her skirt back over her butt.

Thinking quickly, Mel grabbed the blanket resting on the arm of the couch next to her, throwing it over her lap. Dylan looked a little confused, but Mel thought she'd done it smoothly enough to appear natural, like she just was getting a bit more comfortable.

"You want some eye drops?" That's what he'd gone into the bathroom to get. He'd already used some by the look of it, his eyes were watery. How kind of him to think of her.

"Sure!"

"Tilt your head back." Mel did so, exposing her neck. The image of Asuka, arms extended, choking Mel till she was red in the face, flashed across her mind. Dylan cupped Mel's face in one hand to steady it, using the other to drop two drops of the cooling liquid in either one of her eyes. It was like she could see for the first time.

"Better?"

"Better," said Mel, with a smile, almost forgetting how nearly naked she was under the blanket. She could feel that the fabric of her skirt had ridden up even further, and would surely show her thong if she were to get up just then. She would have to find the right moment to readjust.

Flicking off the lights, Dylan flopped down on the couch next to Mel, resting his socked feet on the coffee table. He leaned over toward her. She could feel the heat of his body.

"You wanna watch something?"

"Sure." Out of her peripheral vision she watched his face, illuminated by the glow of the television. Is this why he had asked her over? Was this a "Netflix and chill" situation? What was going on here? What about his girlfriend? Wouldn't she be concerned with this kind of behavior? Inviting over strange women to drink and smoke and get comfortable with on the couch wasn't exactly what Mel considered to be the actions of a good boyfriend. Maybe they were in an open relationship? Those were big these days. Mel thought about whether she would be okay with something like that. Definitely as the third. If she was part of the original couple she thought she might worry too much. How couldn't she? Relationships involved so many feelings. Wouldn't one of them get jealous at some point? Bring the whole thing to a halt?

Dylan was scrolling through the documentaries on Netflix. "Anything look good?"

"Umm..." There was a new one she'd just heard about, about birds. Mel loved birds. She felt a certain attraction to them, spiritually. She loved walking through the parks, listening to them singing, seeing the hawks on the bare trees in the wintertime, the warblers in the summer.

"This looks good," said Dylan. It was the one she'd been thinking of. "I love birds."

"Me too," Mel said.

"I go birdwatching in the park. I even have binoculars." Dylan pointed to where they were sitting on one of the windowsills. "Pretty lame, I know."

"I love it," said Mel, "You're so cute--" Shit. She hadn't meant to say that. "I mean--that's so cute. I love birds. Um. Haha." She breathed out, trying to compose herself.

"Sorry, I think I'm high."

"Good," said Dylan. "Are you comfortable? You want a lighter blanket? It's kind of warm in here."

"No. Thank you. I'm comfy." And, just to show him how comfy she was, Mel tried to relax more, to sink further into the couch, only succeeded in hiking up, once and for all, her skirt so that now, under the blanket, she was completely exposed below the waist. Her thong was the only barrier left between bare skin and the tacky leather of the couch. What's more, the blanket was actually pretty heavy, Mel could feel the sweat accumulating on her legs.

Dylan pressed play. They watched in silence for the first part, which highlighted the mating dances of some birds of paradise in the Amazon or something. Mel couldn't really concentrate. Her head was still swimming, and she was starting to suspect she might be overheating.

Dylan had turned off the lights, the only source of it came from a candle on the coffee table. Otherwise, the room was dark. When he returned to the couch, he flopped down again, only, this time, much closer to Mel, so that his elbow would sometimes graze the blanket where her legs were.

He was definitely making a move. Mel was almost sure of it now. What should she do? It wasn't her relationship... but, that would make her a homewrecker. She didn't want to be a homewrecker. Of course, she was assuming a lot of things about Dylan and his girlfriend. She assumed they were monogamous, something that was increasingly rare. She assumed that he was sexually interested in her, which could not be proven except by circumstantial evidence. And, she assumed that Dylan and his girlfriend were in love, meant to be together, and that she and Dylan weren't. It was entirely possible destiny had brought them together. They seemed to get along. She liked what he had to say. His place was clean, even with his girlfriend away. He seemed to take care of himself. And, he was taking care of her, too, making sure she felt comfortable.

Dylan ran his fingers through his hair. Cleared his throat. "That's crazy."

"What?" Mel said, realizing she'd been staring at him.

"The way they do it. How they mate. It's, like, so quick. Do you think it feels good to them?"

"I don't think that's why they do it," said Mel, "they don't have time to, like, enjoy it. They just have to go." Mel suddenly felt faint. She reached for her water glass, bringing it to her lips a little too quickly, she spilled almost the whole thing onto her lap, soaking the blanket.

"Shit."

"Uh-oh," Dylan said.

"My bad."

"All good. It's just water. Here."

Before she could stop him, Dylan grabbed the blanket from Mel's lap and pulled it off in one swift motion. Mel's pale white legs appeared like beacons of light against the black leather of the couch, her baby blue thong clearly visible.

"Woah," was all Dylan could say. His face turned bright red as he hurried away from Mel toward the kitchen, averting his eyes.

Mel stood up. She could feel her ass was completely out. Her skirt was also soaked with sweat. She wrenched it down as far as she could, apologizing as she did so.

"It's cool, it's cool," said Dylan, still not looking at her, still red in the face. "Are you wearing pants?"

"Yes. Um. Yes. You can look, it's fine. They were just, like, riding up on me. I couldn't really adjust them." Mel really was embarrassed this time. This wasn't how she'd imagined this would go. Mel wished she could disappear.

"I'm sorry. Thank you for everything. I should go."

"Wait. It's okay. Don't go. You're not embarrassed are you?"

"To be honest, Dylan, yes, I'm a little embarrassed." Mel couldn't help but laugh at herself. "I just flashed you."

"That's alright," he said, turning around to face her, "We don't have to, like, make a big deal out of it."

"I've just had a big day. That's all." She was crying now. She could feel the hot tears falling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Everything's okay," Dylan said, soothingly. "Is your skirt wet?"

"Yes. But, it's fine."

"One sec." Dylan disappeared down the hallway, reemerging after a moment with a pair of gray shorts that looked like they'd been cut out from a pair of sweatpants.

"Put these on."

"I should probably just go."

"Well, you should wear them anyway. You shouldn't have to go home in a wet skirt."

It really was soaked. The skirt was plastered to her thighs. She felt like she would get a rash if she wore them any longer.

"Okay." Mel sniffled, wiping off the last of her tears, she breathed out, sticking a hand out with her palm up. Dylan handed her the shorts.

"You can just... I'm just gonna turn around, if that's okay?"

"You might as well watch at this point."

Dylan laughed. "Really?"

They were standing not so far apart from each other now. Mel was still holding onto Dylan's shorts. He swallowed. This was the moment, the one she'd been waiting for. It was like all the pent up sexual frustration from the day exploded all at once inside her, this flicker of a spark that erupted into a roaring flame, threatening to swallow Mel whole. She could feel hot burning desire collecting where her legs met, that tiny indent--pure sexual desire radiating off her like heat. Dylan could sense it. A change in the air. She didn't even have to say anything else, just unbuttoned her skirt, peeling it off, thong included, so that her lower half was completely exposed. Dylan's eyes went wide.

"Oops," she said. Mel turned around, bending over at the hip as she did, to reach down and grab her skirt and thong. Her butt was pointed at Dylan. He had a full view of it: the back of her thick thighs, the slit of her pussy, the crack of her ass. Before she could stand back up, Dylan had stepped forward, putting a hand onto her lower back to indicate he wished for her to stay where she was. Mel was all too happy to oblige. Finally, she thought, I need this.

She didn't care anymore about anything. She didn't care about what it all meant. All she wanted was to be fucked. Good and hard. To be slapped. To be choked. To be spanked. To be punished and hurt and made to feel small and weak and helpless. She wanted to feel the head of Dylan's penis scrape against the walls of her vagina. She wanted him to cum inside her and keep going until he came a second time. She wanted him to eat her out right there from behind, his nose brushing against her butthole with every lick.

After an eternity, with her field of vision reduced to the floor directly in front of her at the foot of the couch, Mel felt Dylan's hand make its way down her right thigh, before it changed course, back up, until it reached her pussy. She felt him insert a finger, testing the waters. It slipped in easily. She could feel it being gripped by her tight pussy. She contracted her vaginal muscles, squeezing them so that they constricted Dylan's finger a little, before relaxing again. A little indicator that he was on the right track and should keep going. Dylan took the hint. Mel felt as he inserted a second, and then third finger, all at the same time. She felt her pussy stretch.

"Ugh." She could still feel tears in her eyes as Dylan finger fucked her pussy: in and out, in and out, slowly at first, but building in tempo. Dylan gave her ass a spank.

"Mm. Ugh." She needed him to go faster. Mel could feel the blood pooling at her head. She lifted herself half up, placing her hands on the couch so that she was still bent over, but could look back at what he was doing. He was kneeling, his eyes were level with Mel's pussy. He had a funny look on his face, his jaw clenched in concentration. It made Mel gush even more. She started rocking back, pressing against his fingers as they reached their apex inside of her. She wanted to be split in two. She wanted to be fucked by one of those horse dildos she'd seen online. She wanted to be fucked in all of her holes all at the same time.

Her legs were shaking. She couldn't tell if it was because of how good she felt, or if it was because they were so worn out from the day, and were getting weak.

Mel pulled away from Dylan. His fingers slipped out of her with a wet pop. She turned, kneeling--she unzipped his pants, not taking them off, just pulling his half-hard cock through the slit in his boxers, out the open zipper.

His dick was smaller than she expected it to be. Maybe even below average. A far cry from what she had earlier in the park. Even when she got the thing fully erect, it fit quite easily into her mouth, the whole thing all at once. Mel didn't care. She was too horny to care.

Dylan grabbed Mel's face, using his strong arms to shake her head lightly, as she pulled away, drinking in air. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her head to pull her back in. She wasn't quite ready, but didn't fight. She let him back into the warmth of her mouth. Dylan start rocking his hips back and forth, fucking her mouth for real now. She was crying again, but from pleasure this time.

And then, suddenly, nothing.

Mel sat, blinking through bleary eyes. What happened? Was something wrong? She could just make out Dylan, but he was going away from her back toward the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" Mel's voice sounded distant and strange. She was still hurtling back to Earth after the high she had just experienced.

"I'm sorry," said Dylan, his back turned to Mel. "I just can't go through with this."

"Oh. Okay. Did I--"

"It's not you--"

"Is it your girlfriend?" Fuck his girlfriend, Mel thought. She breathed out. Trying to calm down. She was wired. Everything that had happened that day was crashing down on her like a ton of bricks. She just wanted to go home, climb into bed, and make herself cum once and for all. If she wanted this done she would have to do it herself.

Stop that. Be good. Relax.

"Kind of. We're taking a break right now, while she's gone."

"Like, a break from your relationship?" Mel didn't know exactly why she was asking. Maybe she was just curious at this point? Or, maybe she felt bad and wanted to help. Or, maybe she wanted to convince him it didn't matter, and that he should whip his dick out again and fuck her right there on the floor.

"It's sort of unclear. We're not talking."

"Okay."

"Sorry to bring you into this."

"No, no."

"It's just weighing on me."

"I get it."

"I like you. I think you're totally, like, gorgeous."

"Thanks."

"Seriously."

"I like you too."

"Thanks."

Accepting Dylan's offered hand with all poise and elegance, Mel stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes as she did. She found the grey shorts and put them on. Mel thought they must not look very long on Dylan's legs, but on her the shorts came almost to her knee. It was the most "clothed" she'd felt all day.

They hugged at the door. They'd see each other again at rehearsal in a couple days. Dylan said he was looking forward to it. Mel agreed.

The door shut. Mel stood alone in the hallway. More than anything, she was tired.

She was starting to come down. She could feel it. A crash landing. Sights and sounds weren't registering. Silhouettes passed by her in the street in a blur. Mel felt totally used up. All the way home she just stared ahead, in a dream world.