Page 76 of Dean

If he were still here, the pang of discomfort wouldn’t be so bad, but because he’s gone, it makes me feel worse. He went to work this morning to avoid me.

A sniffle leaves me and my nose whistles very unattractively. Oh god, what if I snored and he hated the sound? I don’t know whether I do or don’t, but it’s mortifying to think about. I rub my nose and move to the bathroom to scrub at my teeth and wash my face. Then I carefully pull my hair into two buns on the top of my head and swipe on some mascara and eyeliner before deciding that despite him leaving this morning, I’m not going to sulk about it. Instead, I’ll find something to keep me occupied until he comes home.

And then we will talk about it.

I will fight for whatever this is between us, dammit. I won’t let him go so easily.

Pulling on some clothes, I move toward my car and cringe when I see the state of it. “Shit, I need to wash you,” I murmur, deciding to go to the shops first to grab food for the week before taking a hose to my vehicle. It’s appalling. I really let it go to shit. But then again, I haven’t been thinking about my car. Not when Dean is around. All I can think about is him and how to get his engine going.

I slip inside the musty-smelling cab of my Corolla and turn the ignition on with an actual key. Nothing fancy here. No suave button or key fob. This car is old as shit and has been with me through a lot. I refuse to get rid of it until it actually dies on me. And even then, I’d revive it. Bring it right back to life.

As I go to put the gear in reverse, my phone lights up and I see a message from yet another unknown number. I glance down at it and my jaw tightens.

Unknown Number:

You have four days to return the money.

Or else.

I swallow and, without thinking, I tap out a response.

Me:

I don’t have your fucking money. Maybe ask Linc.

I don’t get a response, so I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and try to put it out of my mind.

Without another thought, I pull out of the long gravel driveway and head into town, trying to keep my spirits up about Dean.

“This doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you,” I tell myself when I find a parking spot. “It just means he had to go to work. That’s all. Maybe an emergency came up…”

Even with the lame pep talk, I still wander the aisles with slow steps, looking for the ingredients I need for the week while mentally telling myself to calm down and think about this rationally. I’m so in my head that I almost run into an older woman who is trying to reach something on the top shelf.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. I almost barreled over you. Do you need help?” I ask, and she sighs, turning her gaze to me.

“Yes, please. Why do they put everything so high? I’m old and shrinking.”

“Fuck if I know. Everyone is gigantic apparently.”

She lets out a small laugh and then grins when I hand her the bag of flour from the shelf.

“You’re a gem. What’s your name?”

“Avery, and you?”

“Agatha. I have a brood to feed back at home and this was the last ingredient I needed. So thank you, Avery. You almost running me over was perfect timing.”

“You’re welcome, Agatha.”

“Hopefully we run into each other again while in the grocery store. I could use someone with long legs.”

“I hope so.”

She sends me a wave before meandering away, and I’m left staring after her.

I glance at my full shopping cart and decide it’s time to go home. There’s no need to draw this out. And if he’s still not there when I’m back, I won’t take offense.

I really won’t.

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