God, my chest hurts, my chest really hurts, and my throat burns and I wish this was all over, I wish I didn’t have to feel like this about everything. I wish I was stronger, I wish I was better at coping with this shit.
I wish I didn’t care at all.
Dean looks at me, and moves his hand, so, so slowly, and pets my hair, slow and steady, and it makes the ache in my chest crack even wider, splitting me open even further until I’m sure, so sure, there’s all of me spilling out, and I have nothing left to hide, and nothing left to shy away from – it’s all there for him to see.
I sit up a little, covering my face with my hands, and end up curling in on myself, not caring if I show my ass to him, lying sideways on the couch.
“I’m an awful person, Dean. I know what I am, I know I’m like that, and everybody else does, too. No one gets hurt, but today... Today was a bad day.” I hiccup through it all. Dean gets up and walks away from me – that makes me sob harder until I start hyperventilating and can’t get some air into my freaking lungs.
“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he soothes, handing me some Kleenex. I wipe quickly at my cheeks, and cringe when they come away all black.
“Ugh, how-how-how can you even look at me right now?” Deep inhale. “I’m-I’m disgus-sss-ssss-ting.”
Dean smirks while I try to get my breathing under control. He gently takes the tissue away from me and starts wiping my tears away from himself. Why is he being so gentle with me? I don’t deserve it.
“You and I have different definitions of disgusting. Beautiful woman breaking down in front of me not caring what she looks like and zombies eating brains in full dental detail are two very different things,” he says, still using his quiet voice on me.
“I really am sorry about what I said. I’d like to say I was momentarily possessed by an asshole, but you know I wasn’t.” He sighs and continues wiping at my cheeks.
“I thought it would make me hurt less if I hurt you, you know? Man, humans are some fucked up creatures. I mean, we go from thinking embarrassing thoughts that happened ten years ago day after day after day,” Dean pulls in a sharp breath, “then I get hit by a car by the very person who gave me those embarrassing thoughts for me to dissect and piece together and try to repress as much as possible. And it fucked me up – high school fucked me up.
“It took me a long time to realize I was good enough of a human being to move on with my life and stop living in the past. So I did, I got a job I love, and I surround myself with things that I love. I’ve got three best friends who are shit-ass crazy to see me every time I come home, and I thought I was okay. Turns out I’m not, never was. And I wanted to take that out on you and I’m sorry.” Dean pulls in a deep breath, then comes to sit beside me on the couch, helping me sit up.
“Can you forgive me?” he whispers, and puts his arms around me, so my face is all smushed up against his chest, and his heart beat is the most comforting sound I’ve ever heard.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I say, trying to make myself stop crying. “D-D-Dean...” I gasp, “I’m going to ruin your shirt, maybe-”
“Contrary to popular belief, even as a man, I do know how to operate my washer and dryer, thanks. But you’re sweet. How about we catch some old reruns and stop the crying? Something hilarious will work,” he tells me, and sets out by using his impossibly long arms to snag the remote from his coffee table and going through the channels.
The I’m sorry gets stuck in my throat. I owe him a sincere apology for what I did when I was younger. God, was he really thinking about it all this time? Going over it, over and over again? I deserve to have Malcolm as my step-father, and his asshole kids for step-siblings.
I deserve for Sera to never speak to me again. I deserve to be left all alone and to rot with my anger and selfishness and misery.
“My parents were fighting all the time,” I whisper, hiccupping every so often, now. “And you were a distraction – a really good distraction. You made me happy at school, and you made the times after-school like little pieces of heaven.”
Dean shushes me and puts the volume louder. He strokes my hair, undoing whatever style to it there was left, and sinking his hands into my scalp and massaging. There he is, still giving me pieces of heaven.
I open my mouth, and don’t say, You told me you loved me, and I knew nothing about love but what I saw at home. I saw how my parents loved each other, how they fought and threw things and yelled, and screamed, and there were tears. And then my Dad told me I was just like my mother, I was just like her. Then I found out she was cheating on him, and I kept my mouth shut like a good little girl, hoping that by me keeping her secret, she’d stay with me, that she wouldn’t leave me behind for another family.