Never Been Nerdy(57)

And you Dean, well, I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t make a fool of you like my mom made out of my dad. So I had to end it – in the worst way possible – so you’d hate me. If only I knew how much, I wouldn’t’ve done it. I would’ve lied and told you I loved you, and the relationship would eventually fizzle out like all of them do.

And I have this curse hanging over my head, my bad luck poisoning everything I do. I hope it does, or else that means the poison is me, and you should run, very, very far away, Dean.

You need to keep away from me. I don’t want to hurt you again.

Dean laughs, a sexy rumble under my ear, and I’m moved around on his body with his movements. We’re watching The Big Bang Theory and Sheldon said something hilarious but I missed it, saying without saying the words that absolutely need to be said. Dean needs to know how very sorry I am, how much I wish I could take it all back. He needs to know that I couldn’t give him anything more – I don’t have a heart to give; I made sure of it.

It’s just a divorce, you’ll tell me, Dean. And I’ll tell you: it’s just a lie – marriage and love are just lies so we don’t have to face the loneliness without someone holding our hands, even if we hate the person we’re with. It’s all just bullshit – and you deserve better than that.

You deserve so much better, Dean, so much better than me.

Dean continues to stroke my hair, lazily, like he’s forgotten he’s doing it. His chest rises and falls underneath my ear, his heartbeat drowning out the dialogue. I could stay here forever.

What’s the fucking point? What’s the point in pretending? What’s the point of staying with a man and your daughter for so long and then ripping them apart when you upgrade? What’s the point of love at all?

If I could, I would love you, Dean. I think I would.

Dean rumbles another laugh, and my eyes flutter closed, still in half-awake, half-asleep mode, listening to Sheldon and Leonard going at it. They really are the main couple of the show – everyone else is there for kicks.

I tumble into sleep slowly, with Dean still petting my hair, and for a second, I can imagine what it’s like being cared for.

I can see why so many people would kill to have it.



***



I jolt awake when something cold and wet squeezes between my neck and shoulder, followed by hot breath and tiny licks. That doesn’t feel like a human tongue.

I struggle to open my eyes, but they feel like my eyelids have been exchanged for lead traps, and no matter what I do, they stay closed. Little whimpers come to my ear; when I move fully onto my back, leather creaking, and get more licks over every inch of my face.

The urgency of the whine has me sitting up, head swimming with pain lancing its way behind my eyeballs and into my brain that I let out a likewise whimper and clutch at my head to keep it from blowing to pieces. Oh, God. Why, why, why did I do this to myself?

Because alcohol makes you into SuperBitch and you needed your A game last night.

A yip feels like a whip’s cracked, and pain sears my ears and jackhammers my skull.

Fantastic, I’m going to have a mother of a hangover.

I get up on unsteady legs, and thank God that I don’t feel nauseous or that the room is staying in its non-spinning state. So far, so good.

“Come,” I say, voice rough like I’ve been running it over sandpaper. “Let’s go outside,” I say to the little prince, and scoop him up into my arms. No sign of the other two yet, and I’m going to make my getaway when I can. I fumble with Dean’s lock, the freaking thing goes against logic and when I finally get it open, I stumble into the staircase and take the stairs as quick as possible before I get puppy urine all over me.

Sunlight spears my barely-open eyelids, and I let Tiny down with a groan. Fuck, I wish I brought my shoes or a jacket, the concrete beneath my feet is numbingly cold, and the crisp late-October air is doing things to my nipples and making goosebumps appear all over my bare arms and legs.

Great, now I’m going to catch a cold because I’m too hungover to think straight.

Mom would be so proud.

I cross my arms tight over my chest, and try to erase any memory of last night. I willfully keep my mind blank and concentrate hard on Tiny taking a pee, followed by winding, winding, winding and popping a squat to pull a number two. Great, I’ve got no bag, and it’ll be just my luck if a police dude or the city comes by and sees me without one, and wham! Three hundred dollar fine.

I jump from foot to foot, shaking in the morning air, and whisper encouragement until the little guy comes trotting towards me, mouth open, and tongue out like he’s smiling at me for a job well done. Well, it is the little things that are supposed to make us happy - or so I’m told.