Before I can decide which direction I should go or where the hell I am, the door opens and Dean comes out with a garbage bag in one hand. Three dogs are loping around in the background and the whole thing makes me want to smile and puke and cry at the same time.
My face feels like it cracks, and I don’t realize I’m crying until Dean just stares at me, his mouth tight and his eyes boring into me, maybe to search for the good in me.
“I don’t know what happened to me Dean. I- I- I don’t know what happened to me…” I sob, trying to cover my mouth.
Chapter 16
Dean’s expression rivals a certain deer-like creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Oh yeah, been there, done that. He looks like he’s never been presented with a crying woman, and I don’t mean the prettiest of tears that glisten like beads of crystal.
I mean snot and mascara runs that make me resemble a certain scavenger with a striped tail. Looking bad is the furthest thing from my mind right now, in fact, with all the alcohol swimming in my veins, I’m not sure how I came to be here, or why I chose to.
Dean Carter hates me, and I’m not exactly in the frame of mind to deal with that right now.
Or maybe that’s exactly what I need, a giant fucking wake-up call, because that’s what it feels like. It feels like I’m so low nothing will ever convince me of seeing daylight again.
Dean ushers me inside his apartment with all the delicacy as if I’m a grenade that he doesn’t know is dead. Three different whimpers cut through the silence of my stupid heels clicking against his floor, followed by swishy tail movements. Man, I could use some canine affection right now – instant anti-depressant.
“Gimme a sec, I’ll be right back,” Dean tells me, voice all quiet and soothing enough that I hiccup and nod back at him. Right, he was going to take out his trash.
Dean closes the door, but I’m stuck staring at his flat-screen nestled in a giant bookcase where every single inch and crack is crammed full of the stuff. He’s got DVDs and some comics, too, but the space is mostly dominated by books, tons and tons of books.
I never knew this side of him, or I didn’t care to know. After all, Dean was my distraction from my home life, and everything centered around us getting hot and heavy. I don’t think I ever knew what his favourite food was, or hell, who he roots for when the Canadiens play. I haven’t even met his parents, or his younger brother – I mean, I think he has a brother, the younger part I’m just guessing.
The tears won’t stop, and this awful pain in my chest is a continuous ache that makes it hard to breathe. It burrows deep inside of me, winding its way into my fingers and toes, until every inch of skin is a slice of pain. I want to crawl onto Dean’s couch and sleep forever – I could do with never waking up again.
The alcohol in my system makes my steps uneven, and with the three dogs winding their way around me, over and over again, it’s really a miracle I make it to the couch and plop myself on it. My dress is riding up my thighs, like really riding up, but I don’t care. Not like Dean wants me that way anyway.
My eyes flutter closed, and one hand drops to the carpeted floor in Dean’s living room. It gets attacked with slobbery puppy kisses, and my mouth twerks up a bit. I feel like absolute shit, just miserable down to my bones and soul, and a happy lick from a dog who doesn’t know how much of a shitty person I am, well, it takes away the sting of what happened tonight.
Just a little.
Oh, God, what have I done?
The door opens, and if it’s an intruder, I should just wave him over and have this all over and done with. It’s only Dean, coming in to the living room, and crouching low so we’re somewhat at eye-level.
I can’t keep my eyes open, but he looks...sad. Did I make him sad? Does he not want me on his couch, in his apartment? Hell, I bet he wishes he had some permanent neurological damage after I hit him with Roxie.
Dean blows out a breath, and his green eyes bore into me once more, like I’m the missing vital piece to a code he’s trying to figure out. That, or I’ve got something on my face, like awful ruined makeup and he can’t look away at the train-wreck I’ve become. More tears leak out of my eyes, and I’m too tired to brush them away.
Let him see, what’s the point of hiding anyway?
“I shouldn’t’ve said what I said. I got angry, and stupid shit came out of my mouth, and I’m sorry, Kat. I’m sorry I said those things.” Dean hangs his head down in shame, and it’s a struggle to keep him straight in my gaze. I’m so tired now, just so, so tired.
I hum, end up clearing my throat. “You were right, you’re right about me, Dean. I’m... I’m not what I was.” I sniff hard, brushing more tears off my face.