Despite disliking his choice to lie to me, Dean is the closest I have to home here. And a part of him, even the ones I don’t like, feels comforting.Familiar.
There’s a dent between his brows, a wrinkle beneath his eyes shaded in worry, but he stays largely quiet.
I wish he’d say something,anything. Even though I’m mad at him and would give him a taste of my pettiness until he says sorry, I want him to ask me how I am, to approach me in front of the cameras and simply take care of me.
His silence irks me the heck out.
Which is honestly fine because it gives me something else to focus on instead of the pain.
Dean doesn’t glance away, not even for a moment. He watches me, analyzes me, and carefully tears me apart. There’s knowingness in those eyes of his, something cathartic, catastrophically abnormal to my soul.
It bleeds into my lungs and renews me.
Everyone else melts away as we stare at each other. He’s sitting in the corner furthest away from everyone, harbouring a scowl, andmaking the armchair uncomfortable with his large frame.
A wave of warmth travels south and all I can do is stare back, because if I look away he’ll know, and I’ve given him enough power of knowing me.
I’ve never been good at staring back. I’ve always wandered, looking at the ground and talking, looking past a person, channelling one of my multiple personalities to communicate with someone.
But right now? Here, at this moment? I’m me.
And it’sunnerving.
Another zing of pain caresses my neck. Squeezing my eyes shut, I push against the pain with my palm. Pressure or whatever, something that never works but I do anyways in hopes of it suddenly having a hundred percent success rate.
When I open up to the world again, Dean’s hardened expression is swallowed by overflowing softness. He speaks in silence, his gaze the screen, his breath the sound, his body the language. And I understand it.All of it.
Multiple buzzes vibrate beneath my butt, including my own suffering my deathly grip.
“We got a text,” Kat’s already typing away.
“For what?” I ask because I haven’t opened the chat yet.
“Next date,” Hina stuffs her face with a croissant—not even sure when she got it. “Today. Message. ASAP.”
Turning to look back at Dean, he’s the only one who isn’t looking at his phone. He lounges against the chair. He doesn’t plan on opening the chat.
There’s a hint of challenge in his cheek, the subtle smile that I shouldn’t notice in my state, but I do because it’s him. How did I go from barely noticing Dean to suddenly being hyperaware of him?
“We don’t have to do anything today if you’re not up for it,” Rhysmoves from his spot beside Hina to me. His thigh brushes against mine, a hand back on my arm.
Dean’s eyes narrow at the touch. His jaw clenches and shoulders stiffen with a look that could make birds stop chirping and crickets go extinct.
Who isheto behave like this? Acting like anyone showing interest in me isn’t allowed when he didn’t choose me.
Firmly, “No,” I say to Rhys but not looking away from Dean. Let him see that merely looking at me doesn’t solve thehurt. “It’s nothing popping an Advil can’t fix. Plus,” Rhys turns to face me when my voice goes up an octave. “I’d like to spend the day with you.”
It’s petty, I know it is. But I don’t care.
My mind is blurry, my heart is racing, and I’mpissed.
Silence becomes a weapon when Dean gets up. The armchair noisily scrapes against the hardwood floors and backs into a wall. His shoulders hunched back, I catch him running a hand through his hair before turning a corner towards the kitchen.
“If he wasn’t sexy, I’d be scared.” Hina mutters.
“You went on a date with him,” I say to Kat. “Does he talk?”Did he talk to you the way he talks to me?
“Honestly? No. The most I got out of him was his favourite flower.”
