Fall of Rome

The next morning I awoke to the sound of the door opening, and Dylan greeting whoever was behind it. I stirred a little bit, shoving the blanket over my head to block out the noise, until the sweet smell of food had hit my nose. That morning I was hungrier than usual, and I think my growling stomach was the only thing that forced me to get out of bed.

I sat up, legs still tucked under the covers, and Dylan smiled at me when he saw I was awake. There was a small pep in his step as he walked over to me with a tray in his hand, and there was no telling what sort of dream he had to put him in that mood.

“Good morning,” he smiled, as he laid the tray on my lap. “I ordered you some breakfast.”

His smile as he sat on the foot of the bed was so genuine and so very like the Dylan that I remembered from before that it almost made me forget about everything that had happened. I wanted to forget – I really, really did – because I wanted to be half as happy as he looked.

“We’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” Dylan said, as he moved towards the desk across the room. He picked up a pile of brochures and began looking through them before pulling out a select few and stacking them up. “We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

I nodded my head gently as I tried to make a dent in the amazing food that was laid out in front of me. Even though I felt like I was starving, it was so difficult to push food down my throat, and it felt like there was a permanent hole in my stomach.

As I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth, I watched as Dylan combed through the brochures he had already looked through three times since I had been awake. His eyes were so focused, like he was trying to memorize the world.

When I couldn’t stomach anymore food, I jumped out of bed and got ready as quickly as I could – less than forty five minutes, which had to be a record for me. I wasn’t quite sure how to dress because I didn’t have a clue where we were going, so I tried to match Dylan, who was wearing jeans and some catchy t-shirt he had bought when he’d had a cast interview at Comic-Con.

Dylan was still smiling when I made my way across the room and told him I was ready, to which he tucked a few brochures in his back pocket, looking like the skilled tourist he was, and guided me out the door.

The streets of London were about as busy as I expected, and it would have been the perfect time for a couple to hold hands so they wouldn’t lose one another, but that was something I wouldn’t have been able to handle, and Dylan must have known that.

Dylan pulled one of his brochures out of his pocket and flipped it to the map on the back. His eyes were focused like a Navy Seal who was trained in the art of tracking, and I knew Dylan well enough to know that hunting things down was the kind of thing he lived for.

I was beginning to think we were lost as we moved in and out of the groups of people, until Dylan looked over at me with a smile.

“Right up here on the left,” he said, before speeding up his gait at least two paces. I was still able to keep up, though, and Dylan looked behind him every few seconds to make sure I was there, as if he’d lose me if he had his eyes off me for too long.

When we turned the corner, my eyes landed immediately on the iconic clock tower that England was famous for. People were crowded all around it, looking up as they flashed their cameras. Families stood in groups to get their photos taken while others stood in line to get snacks and souvenirs from the different vendors. It was everything that I would have guessed it would be.

Dylan and I looked up at the tower for a long moment before he turned to look at me, giving me a small smile. “Do you think we could take a picture together?”

I bit my lip nervously, thinking about it for a moment before I nodded my head. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

Dylan gave me an even wider smile before he flagged down the nearest tourist and asked them to take our photo. We stood in front of the tower, a few spaces apart, as the tourist looked at us through the screen of Dylan’s phone.

“Scoot closer,” the tourist said, waving his hands together to motion for us to stand side by side.

A rush of nerves fell slowly over me, as my feet moved of their own accord to stand next to him. Dylan seemed just as surprised as I did that I was the one who had moved, and I saw his lips curve up a bit more. Our bodies were just barely touching, nothing like our old photographs where we would have our arms around one another, but at least in that photo it would be obvious that we had arrived at Big Ben together and weren’t just strangers who had unfortunately snuck into one another’s photos.

“Thank you,” Dylan said, as he took his phone back from the man, turning it around so I could look at the photo. It was strange to see how happy I looked, because I did look happy and that wasn’t how I felt at all.

“It’s a lovely photo,” Dylan said to me as he took a look at it for himself. “You look beautiful.”

My cheeks blushed, just like they always did when he gave me a compliment, and I’m sure it was more instinct than any sort of embarrassment, but I gave him a small smile before looking away. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had told the other girl how beautiful she was, and I hated that.

We walked around the tower for the better part of an hour, trying to make our way through all the groups of people who were there on tours and the families who appeared to have hoards of children.

After it became obvious there was nothing left there to see, we walked to the edge of the attraction and Dylan pulled out another brochure. I didn’t know what he had planned next, but he knew exactly what he was looking for and flipped the brochure to the back before I could see any distinct markings on it. He looked around at the street signs around us, then back to his map, before turning to me.

“This way,” he said, as he began walking in the opposite direction of the tower. “And no peeking,” he continued as he pushed the brochure up against his chest and away from my prying eyes.

We continued down the road for a while until my feet began to ache and my stomach had started to growl. We had been walking far too long for Dylan to still no where he was – he and I both knew that – but I fed into his fantasy for a few moments longer before I piped up.

“Do you think we should ask for directions?”

He turned to me with wide eyes, as if I had just asked him to kill his mother. “No, it’s okay. I know exactly where I am.”

There was one thing I knew you couldn’t argue with Dylan about, and that was directions, so I just gave a slight nod of my head. “If you say so.”

Dylan let out an exasperated sigh before stopping dead in his tracks, turning to me as he shoved his brochure back in his pocket.

“Okay, I’m lost,” he admitted, looking at me with his lips pursed. “But I’ve got a plan.”

“Does it involve asking for directions?”

Dylan’s lips turned into a small smile and he shook his head. “Just trust me.”

Trust was the exact opposite of what I was feeling for Dylan at that moment, but he and I were thinking of two totally different versions of the word, and his version I was willing to buy into for the time being, especially if it involved getting something to eat.