10. Dean
DEAN
T he grime that covers my hands adds to my annoyance.
I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like when my hands are dirty at all, but?—
It’s not oil or grease from the shop. It’s not even dirt on my hands from pulling weeds out of the ground at my house.
It’s blood.
I hold my hands up in front of my face. There’s not much light—just a streetlight and the moon—but the streaks all over my hands look black. My heart beats a bit faster at the realization.
That’s blood.
There’s more of it all over me. On my jeans and my shirt. I pat my face. Blood on my face, too, but I don’t think it’s mine.
I checked myself over. No wounds. I’m sore, but nobody stabbed me or shot me. I’m sure I would feel that.
Where did the blood come from? There’s a faint light that spills into the alley way. I look around as my vision clears, searching for clues.
I feel like I’ve been running. I can’t catch my breath. My lungs burn like I ran for miles, but?—
Where am I? Fuck!
I flex my hands again. My knuckles are sore and slightly bruised. My entire body aches, actually. My thighs hurt and my core. What did I do? Get tackled? There’s nobody here with me. I wait a moment, listening, but all I can hear is my own heavy panting.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, making me alert and awake, but why?
I check again, searching up and down the alley. Nobody’s here. It’s quiet aside from the sounds of cars far off. There are some very distant voices that sound like people coming out of the bar.
I blink harder, trying to get my bearings. This is an alley near my house. Closer to the bar, though. A few blocks past. I could’ve walked here.
Did I walk here? If I did, I can’t remember it at all.
Jesus. Why am I so out of breath? Did I run here? Was I running from someone or chasing after someone? I hunch down, my palms on my knees. And as a couple walks past the opening, I hide in the shadows. What the fuck happened?
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I had to be doing something here. Did I go to the bar? My tongue doesn’t taste beer, so I probably wasn’t at the bar, or if I was, I was there hours ago. I don’t feel like I usually do after a drink with the guys.
Jesus. What day is it even?
“Dean?” Her voice startles me.
Shit. I wipe my hands down on my jeans, and turn my back to her. “Yeah?” I call. “You okay?”
“Dean, what—” Her footsteps move closer. “What are you doing here?”
“I know, I?—”
A woman I know walks out, her hair pulled back and her eyes wide. The girl my Dad wants to meet.
Her gasp cuts me off. “Dean, what happened? Oh my God. Did you hurt yourself?” Concern is etched in every syllable.
She reaches out frantically and takes my hand. It’s still covered in blood. Wiping it off didn’t do any good.
She turns it over with a gentle touch. “What happened?” I watch her face, filled with shock as she glances between my hand and my shirt and then finally looks me in the eyes. I swallow thickly.
“I don’t know,” I admit. Fear washes through me. Fear of what she’ll know, of what she’ll think of me… of what I’ll have to do.
Her eyes move over my face and my clothes and her mouth presses into a thin line. Just then the dark sky opens and a light rain gathers. She pulls her light jacket tighter around herself. The dew drops gathering on her coat and in her dark brunette hair.
I don’t know how, but understanding passes between us.
“Let’s go,” she says quietly. Keeping my hand in hers, she leads the way out of the alley and quickly down the street. She hustles to keep up with my gait and we stay on the sidewalk on the opposite street that’s mostly residential, lacks streetlights, and barely a soul is out on this side of the street.
Questions race through my mind. It’s all too much. It’s like a whirlwind in my mind with nothing sitting still long enough for me to think clearly about anything.
What was I doing over here? How did she know to find me? Who’s fucking blood is on me?
I don’t ask any questions. I just go with her, matching her fast, determined pace. She looks all around us as we go back to my house. Her hand is tight on mine.
Protecting me. Her… protecting me. My gut twists and a voice in the back of my head screams that I’m pathetic. It sounds like him. Like Mr. Jay and the other guards. Their voices chase me down the street, urging me to walk faster and get home. Where I can lock the door and just try to think. Try to remember.
Nobody’s following us that I can see. Although the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes my hands tremble.
I’m still a little shaken up about finding myself in that alley by the time she opens my door, and once we’re in, she closes and locks it. I watch her as she stares at the locked door a moment longer and then faces me.
My chest is still heaving and I don’t know what to say or how to explain a damn thing.
I try to remember her name and at this moment, I can’t. That causes more panic in me, so much so I can’t help but to bring my hands to my hair and walk away.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Her hand brushing my shoulder makes me pull back and I swallow hard before turning to face her. She’s a good foot shorter than me. Those wide eyes stare up at me, still riddled with concern. Her nose wrinkles with sympathy.
“Come with me. It won’t do us any good to stand here.”
My eyes roam over her face as she takes my hand in hers. What’s her name?
I remember her head tossed back against the wall and the arch of her throat and the sounds she made as I filled her again and again. I remember the way she said my name and how her fingernails bit into my skin through my shirt.
In the bathroom, she flicks the light on. We both wince. I look even worse in the mirror. There’s a lot more blood than I thought.
Where did it come from?
How did I get this much blood all over me?
My pulse pounds in my ears as I wait for her to ask questions I don’t know the answer to. But she doesn’t.
“Okay,” she says briskly. “Let me help you out of your clothes. We need to get you cleaned up.” She drops her coat first, and wipes her hair back, slightly damp from the rain.
She starts the shower for me and sticks her hand in to make sure the temperature is right. She nods to herself. She’s going to take care of me.
I stand in disbelief for a moment and then start to unbutton my shirt. The flannel is damp at my shoulders.
She glances down at the ground at my shoes. I follow her gaze. They appear clean. No blood that I can tell. “That’s good, I think. You can hop in, and I’ll deal with your clothes.”
I strip down, watching her watch me and it’s eerie how I’m able to compare between then and now. When I was just a kid and had to do the same.
The memories haunt me and I try to push them away, but they scream at me to remember. How could I forget? What’s her name?
She has my bloody clothes in a little bundle in her arms. I wonder if she’s pretending to be okay.
She looks into my eyes and offers me a thin smile as steam from the shower flows into the room.
“Get in,” she says gently. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
She leaves the bathroom for a few minutes, and then the door opens. I can hear her rummaging around in my medicine cabinet.
Water sluices down over my hair and my body, tinged red. It flows down the drain. The blood is disappearing before my eyes. Once it’s all gone, I hope it’s like it never existed.
“Do you have any cuts?” she asks from outside the curtain. I shake some water out of my ears and add shampoo. “Should I get some Neosporin? It doesn’t look like you have any in here, but I think that place on the corner is open all night. I bet they’d have some.”
“No,” I answer, my throat tight with emotion. “I’m okay.”
The water stings my knuckles, but that’s it. The sore muscles I have could be from work today. My memories of that are fuzzy, but it was probably like any other day. None of this seems like something to worry about.
Except the blood. That obviously wasn’t mine. Is she still going to be this calm when she comes to the same realization?
Thump, thump. My heart pounds.
“Let me help you.” She leans in through the shower curtain and takes my hands in hers. She has a washcloth and runs it gently over all the spots that might be sore, concentrating hard. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” she murmurs. “I know how much they hurt your hands.”
She looks down at my body and doesn’t say anything. She simply continues to wash me down.
I murmur an answer, “They’re okay.”
“They might be okay now, but I don’t want to cause you any more pain.”
“I know you don’t.” As the spray comes down I meet her eyes and there’s nothing but compassion there. “I’m alright.” I give her a smile. “Just need to wash up.”
I shampoo my hair twice and scrub every inch of myself with tons of suds. The water is running clear over me by the time I turn off the shower.
When I pull the curtain back I see she left a towel for me on the towel rack.
It’s warm to the touch like she put it in the dryer. And on the sink there’s a set of clothes.
“You all dry?” she calls when I open the bathroom door. “Here. Give me your towel.”
I hand it over but don’t let go and her eyes meet mine as she tries to take it.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “This can’t be an easy night.” She takes my towel and goes up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. I almost ask her what happened. I almost ask if she knows but I don’t. I just let it be. I slip on the fresh T-shirt and boxers and she’s still standing there, watching. I know she sees that I’m not the one who bled all over me.
She doesn’t say anything though, not at first.
“Just give me a minute, okay? I’m going to take care of the bathroom.”
I’ll give her whatever she wants.
She disappears into the bathroom as I head to the kitchen. I get a beer out of the fridge and crack it open. It’s pitch black out now and I only realize that when the light from the fridge fills the room.
I pause after closing the door and try to remember.
There are soft noises from inside my bathroom—liquid pouring out of a container. When she comes out a few minutes later, she smells like bleach, and her face is calm.
“All clean,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. “Everything’s all good.” Her voice cracks slightly but she keeps her expression warm.
She comes to where I stand at the kitchen counter and stands, waiting for something, and I open my arms. She snuggles into my chest, pressing her face into my shirt.
“It’s alright,” she whispers, “everything’s just fine.” She wraps her arms around my waist and holds me tight. The scent of her washes over me and I kiss her hair. My heart beating in time with hers.
We stand like that for a while. I don’t like not knowing what happened. My body doesn’t like it, either. It shakes in response to my nerves and I weather a few more waves of adrenaline.
Flashes of what feel like memories resurface but they’re gone before I can make sense of them.
Haley holds me tighter and murmurs things in my ear.
Finally, she takes a deep breath and squeezes me close, then leans back so she can look into my eyes.
Her eyes hold so much emotion.
“I know this is hard,” she says. “But you know I love you, and?—”
I cut her off with a kiss.
Her arms come up to my neck, and she lets her weight hang off me. I need all of me closer to her, so I put my hands under her ass and lift her up, turning us around so I can put her on the counter. I want to get lost in her touch. Lost in a night of pleasure and lust and whatever else this is that I feel.
She lets out another gasp as I go for her clothes. The denim rubs against her thighs as I get her pants down and off, and then her panties, and then I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her deep while I find her clit with my fingertips.
“You’re already wet. God, you’re perfect.”
She moans, the words muffled by our kiss. “Please. Please fuck me, Dean. Please. I need you.”
I shove down my boxers, meaning to take her the second I can, but instead I drag my crown through her folds, teasing the both of us and using the tip to put pressure on her clit.
She makes low noises in the back of her throat, squirming on the countertop, clinging to my shoulders.
“Please,” she moans. “Please, I’ll give you anything you need. Please, I just need you.” She slips her hands up my shirt and her nails scratch along my skin. Fuck, I need this.
I nip her bottom lip as I line myself up and push in.
She’s heaven on earth. So tight and wet that the feeling of her body erases every thought from my mind. I stop worrying about the blood and the alley. I stop worrying about where I was beforehand and how I got there.
All that exists is the sensation of her hot core around me. She rocks her hips and moans, long and low, her pussy clenching around me as she comes.
Then she lets go and rides me, crying out as she comes again. I thrust into her faster, deeper, the heat between us getting stronger until I’m inhaling her moans and exhaling grunts.
“Come inside me,” she begs. “Dean, I need to feel it.”
She gasps as I start to come, balancing against me so I’m buried as deep as I can be. The pulses are blindingly good and steal my breath as I pump myself inside her, letting my body take control.
Fuck. I lose control and come buried deep inside of her.
I pant against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin while she runs her fingers through my hair.
“I love you,” she whispers. More heat swells through my body. “I love you. I know it’s so hard, but don’t forget, okay? I need you to remember.”
“I will,” I promise, even though I know it’s not a promise I can keep. “I could never forget you.”