Chapter 9 : Wet Dream

by

The silence was everything to me. It was better than any white noise, crickets on the farm, music on the radio, or even the sound of children's laughter. It was soothing, and it was safe, and my favorite time to enjoy it was the earliest part of the morning on a day off when you were still in bed, soaking up the last bit of comfort that surrounded you because you knew that you had nothing but time.

This morning was not one of those mornings.

No, this morning would have been so much better if it hadn't been for the sound of Dean's peaceful breathing in my ear. I'm sure any other girl would have loved to have awoken with their body pressed firmly into his, their legs intertwined and his arms wrapped tightly around you, but me - I'd much rather wake up with a severed horse head at my feet.

The more I tried pulling away from him, the firmer his grip got. He groaned softly and held me tight as I tried to pull his hands off of me, but with an aggravated huff, I leaned back into my pillows as I debated tossing him off the bed.

I glanced down between our tight bodies, and my stomach flipped as his shirt rode up to his stomach, leaving my eyes to follow the perfectly defined v all the way down to his tight-fitted briefs.

"Are you checking me out?" He asked.

I dropped the sheer and glared up at him. His eyes still closed, and a slight grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he basked in my uncomfortableness.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed Dean?"

His eyes fluttered open, and he pulled his hands away from my waists, instantly rubbing away the sleepiness. He stretched his arms up, his biceps lexing a way into my soul, and sat up slowly as his tired gaze fell on me.

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You don't remember anything about last night?"

I groaned loudly, not remembering much. There was my computer, a bar, a tattooed guy, and then Dean walking into the hotel room with more beer.

"You freaked the hell out last night," he said, getting yo and making his way to the coffee pot.

I nodded, not denying his words. There was a reason I usually drank myself into a slumber, and the look on his face had only proved I was a little more screwed up than I wished he had realized, and I instantly felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

"What?" I snapped at him. "It was just a nightmare. We all get them, whether you want to admit it or not."

Dean looked me over one last time before walking over and handing me a steaming cup of coffee. I blew on it gently until it was cool enough to sip and downed it, desperate for the pick me up.

"Hey," he said, his voice a bit softer. His face was stone, but his eyes held an emotion I couldn't decipher. "You're okay right?"

Was I okay?

I wish I knew the answer to that.

"Are any of us really okay, Dean?" He gazed back down towards his black coffee, and I left him contemplating every hunter's biggest question as I hopped in the shower.

It didn't take long for my morning moodiness to disappear. Once my hair was washed, my second cup of coffee was gone, and I realized I could actually pull off a little more than just a bit of mascara. I was ready to finish this job and forget about the fool I made of myself last night.

He had gone to get breakfast about an hour ago, and I had found myself digging through my backpack, searching for my favorite black v neck so I could finish getting ready.

I stared at myself in the mirror, and for once, I couldn't help but smile at the natural waves that hung at my shoulders. I usually looked a crazy mess with my hair pulled back and my nail beds stained with blood, but I somehow managed to level myself up a few notches, and I gripped the collar of my leather jacket as I heard the Impala pull up outside.

I sat down on the bed as I slipped on my leather boots, but I couldn't help but overhear his conversation from outside the open window.

"And then she comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a fricken Guns n' Roses shirt and starts cleaning her gun."

I watched as he ran his finger over the length of my bike that I had parked in the lot after he left, and a twinge of anger flooded through me as I watched him throw his leg over it. A part of me wanted to run out and tell him to get off of it, but the other part wanted to hear what he was talking about.

"Hold on," he said, and he set the phone down on the hood of his car. "You there?"

"Yeah," an unfamiliar voice spoke over the speakerphone.

"And she ate my fricken pie."

The guy on the other end started to laugh hysterically, and Dean threw his head back in frustration. "Dude, it's not funny."

Dean scoffed sarcastically. "Yeah, she's a walking, talking wet dream."

"Too bad she's crazy."

Sam laughed.

"No, like serious issues, Sammy. She freaked out in the middle of the night, and I had to hold her down until she fell back asleep."

"Not like that we don't," he said.

"She was begging me to put a bullet in her head."

"I wish I knew why Dad needs her so badly. The girls a lost cause."

My head swirled as his words took me down a few notches. I knew I had my issues, but he didn't know me. We had spent less than twenty-four hours together, and all of a sudden, I was crazy. He hadn't even seen my crazy yet.

"Really? That's all your gonna say?"