It's Our Secret

by W Winters

  “I’m just sorry,” I croak out and Dean pulls me into his lap. It’s odd with the wheel behind me but he’s quick to push back his seat and I find myself tearing up. I haven’t cried in years and I’m embarrassed.

  “Shh,” Dean shushes me, and I hate myself. He’s the one who has a right to be angry, to be upset, yet he’s comforting me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, angrily wiping at my eyes and refusing to cry.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers, petting my hair as the air hits my heated face.

  “I don’t know why I’m being like this,” I tell him and wrap my arms around myself. It doesn’t stop him from pulling me back into his chest and I instantly melt into his warmth.

  “It doesn’t matter, I’m here,” he tells me and for the first time, it feels like those words carry weight. Like nothing else matters, as long as he’s here.

  I know it’s not true, but for a moment, it’s nice to feel like it’s real.

  None of this was supposed to happen.

  I wasn’t supposed to fall for him.

  Chapter 24

  Dean

  * * *

  I knew she was breakable.

  The moment I saw her, I fucking knew it.

  She was hiding something and barely holding herself together, still is.

  I could feel it in my bones.

  After all this time, I still don’t know what it is that’s going to break her though.

  The door to the hotel room opens slowly with a creak and I have to glance over my shoulder to see if she’s still with me. Her eyes are distant but she’s there. She tucks a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear, but it quickly falls back to where it was, and she doesn’t bother with it again.

  “Home sweet home,” I say more to get her attention than anything else and push the door open wider. Her smile is weak, but it’s an offering I take.

  “Thanks,” she says beneath her breath as she walks in, hitching the strap of her duffle bag up her shoulder.

  I grit my teeth. Even in this moment, with her little head messed up and something dark slowly consuming her, even now, she won’t let me hold her bag.

  I walk in behind her, listening to the sound of my heart beating in rhythm with her soft breathing. As the door closes with a loud click, the air conditioner turns on and blows the curtains, making Allie jump.

  She reaches up to her collarbone with her hand and then lets out a small laugh.

  “You alright, Allie?” I ask her for the third time since we got out of the car. I already know the answer, even as she swallows thickly and lowers herself to the bed, all the while nodding.

  “You seem a little shaken,” I tell her. “Something’s bothering you.”

  “I’m fine,” she says again with a sharp defiance in her voice.

  The corner of my lips kicks up. “And I’m the Pope.” I turn my back to her, picking up my bag to put it on top of the small dresser and unzip it but I just leave it there.

  “You’re not thinking about running, are you?” I ask her partly joking, partly serious.

  “I’m just sorry, okay?” she says to my back and I turn to look at her, but I don’t say anything.

  She clears her throat and the soft lines of her bare neck get my attention as she talks. My eyes travel to the dip in her throat, then back to her lips.

  “Sorry for getting all worked up,” she says.

  “You can do what you want,” I tell her and pull the shirt over my head. It’s hot as fuck in here and as I ball up my shirt I look for the thermostat, finding it on the other side of the room. She talks as I walk past her.

  “Sure, I can.” As I dial down the temperature I see her flop down on the bed, her legs still over the edge but her back flat on the mattress. “It doesn’t mean I should though,” she whispers.

  “I’m happy you let me in a little,” I tell her and my chest pangs with pent-up emotion. Maybe it’s pain, maybe it’s gratitude. It’s hard to tell the difference.

  “You don’t look so happy,” she barely says the words.

  “Is that why you’re all upset?” I ask her, stopping at the edge of the bed and towering over her. Upset’s not quite the right word but I don’t know how to say it. “All because I’m pissed off that my mom is… the same she’s always been.” Again, the air clicks on and her shoulders shake slightly from the noise.

  “I’m not upset,” she says but the words come out sounding more like a question, her eyes searching mine.

  “Ever since we walked in here, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I tell her. “Like you’re on edge and waiting for something bad to happen.” I stand my ground and the faint light from the sole window in the room casts a shadow of my form over Allison.

  “Bad things always happen,” she answers after a moment of consideration.

  “You look scared, Allie. And I don’t like it.”

  “I am scared,” she admits in a hoarse whisper.

  “I know my mother looks like shit, but I promise she’s not as scary as she looks,” I joke with her and she finally breaks a smile although the second she does, she closes her eyes and her face crumples. Goddamn, it hurts. It hurts to see her like this. It’s even worse because I don’t know how to make it better.

  The bed groans and protests as I sit on the edge and pull her small body into my arms. I don’t talk as her shoulders shake. I just kiss her hair and rub her back.

  Her body molds to mine for a small moment. A tiny but significant moment where she lets it out.

  I’d swear she was crying if she didn’t peek up at me with glassy eyes but not a tear leaving her. “I’m okay.” She mouths the words more than speaking them and pulls away from me.

  My fingertips brush over her shoulders and she catches my hand in hers as she sits cross-legged on the bed. “I’m sorry, I just…” She doesn’t finish and shakes her head instead.

  “Is it because of your mom?” I ask her. It’s all I can think of. There wasn’t a damn thing said that seemed to set her off. It was after, the silence in the car and the time to think. Sometimes our inner thoughts are our worst demons.

  “No,” she answers me with a sad smile and sniffles. She gives me a smile and even though the light in her eyes is dimmed, she almost looks normal. Like she can bandage up her pain and hide it. I suppose that’s what she’s used to and my body stiffens as I debate what to do. Push her for more, not let her hide? Or just try to ease the pain and go along with this facade.

  Her thumb brushes along the knuckles of my hand she’s holding.

  “I think I do want to text her though,” she says and swallows. The nervousness in her voice reflects in her eyes. She chews on her lower lip and searches my eyes again.

  It looks like she’s lying.

  That’s exactly what it looks like.

  I don’t know why or what’s gotten to her, but she’s fucking lying to me.

  “You should,” I tell her absently and let her hand fall as I walk back to the dresser. “Unless she’s like my mom, in which case, fuck it.”

  “It took a lot for you to go to her.”

  I only nod at Allie’s words. I don’t look behind me as I slip into sweatpants even though I can hear her crawling on the bed.

  “I would say I’m proud of you, but who am I to say that,” she says sarcastically. That protective armor of hers is sneaking up again.

  “It makes me feel good that you’re proud,” I tell her bluntly.

  Her gaze catches mine for a moment before she rubs the exhaustion from her eyes.

  “I only did it because the shrink said to,” I admit to her.

  “You still did it,” she says softly, so soft I almost didn’t hear but then she raises her voice to add, “It’s hard to go through with things sometimes.”

  “Like what things?” I pry but she doesn’t answer.

  I wait a while, grabbing the pile of binders on the nightstand until I find the one with the menu in it. And she still hasn’t answered, so I drop it.

>   “You want to split something?” I ask her, and she nods weakly.

  “I’m not too hungry, but if you order fries I’ll probably eat some… or all of them.” The small bit of humor forces the start of a smile on my face and I pick up the phone to place the order.

  A burger with all the fixings and two orders of fries.

  Setting down the phone, I still don’t feel right. I never thought bringing Allie out here would wind up like this. With me feeling A-fucking-okay and her looking like she’s been beaten up.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” I tell her as she picks at something on the pajama pants she slipped on while I was on the phone. She lies on the bed, stretching out and tells me it’s been a blast, again making the tense air lighter. She’s good at that. Good at playing shit off like it doesn’t matter. Even now while she’s breaking down right in front of me.

  “Can I ask you something, Allie?” I say the words and then turn around to see her texting something. She doesn’t stop until she hits send and then looks up at me.

  “Whatever you want,” she tells me. Before I can say another word, the screen of her phone lights up and pings. She tries to ignore it, but on the second ping, she has to look down to silence her phone.

  “I can wait,” I offer her, but she only shakes her head in response, tossing her phone onto the nightstand with a heavy breath and tired eyes.

  Something is killing her inside. And it fucking hurts that she’s hiding it still.

  “What is it you wanted to ask?” she asks with a soft and kind voice, one that begs for mercy. Our eyes lock and there’s a shift between us. One of vulnerability. One seeking refuge in me.

  “I just don’t want you to ever lie to me.” I don’t know why that’s what comes out. But it’s all I’ve got for her. “You don’t have to tell me shit,” I begin but pause when her expression falls and she fails to hide the sadness there. “You don’t have to tell me shit, but don’t lie to me.”

  She nods once and then agrees in a small voice, “No lying. Can do.”

  “You alright?”

  “Yeah,” she replies but doesn’t look me in the eyes as she pulls the covers back.

  “And that’s the truth?” I ask her, reminding her of the assurance she just made.

  “As alright as I can be,” she answers me, and then slowly raises her eyes to mine. “Just a lot of things happened when I was younger, and something reminded me of a promise I made but almost broke.”

  “What promise?” I ask her.

  “Can we just eat and go to sleep?” she asks and chances a quick glance at me, again picking at some nonexistent fuzz on her pants.

  “It’s not that late,” I tell her out of impulse. It can’t be any later than nine.

  “How about we just cuddle and watch something funny?” she asks me, and her voice is stronger, more hopeful.

  “A comedy? I’m always down for that.”

  Crawling into bed beside her feels right. Like that’s what I’m supposed to do right now. Before I even have a chance to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me, she’s already nestling her ass into my crotch and getting comfortable.

  She reaches behind her, looking back at me and takes the remote off the nightstand. Before getting back into position she gives me a quick peck and then picks up my hand in both of hers.

  “Your hands are so small,” I say absently as she traces the lines on my hand with the tip of her finger. It’s soothing and gentle, but it stops when she kisses the tips of my fingers like I did with hers.

  “I wish things were different,” she whispers back at me. There’s a sincerity there, a fear too.

  “Like what? My mom?”

  She shakes her head and settles her back against me, letting my hand fall to her waist.

  “Just circumstances,” she answers me without looking back.

  With the remote in hand, she searches the channels while I watch her. The light from the television brightens her face.

  I see every detail. There are moments in time that don’t seem like they mean anything at all. Moments that hold no significance at the time.

  But later, those moments are burned into your memory.

  The way the light hits her hair, the way she blinks away the tears that threaten to fall. The way she smiles up at me with the sound of some movie playing on the television in the background. Some moments are burned into your memory forever, and maybe it’s because deep inside we wish it could stay like this. With her nestled in my arms, knowing she’s safe and that nothing bad is going to happen tonight. Not tonight.

  Chapter 25

  Allison

  * * *

  “Sam,” I call out her name again and my voice echoes in the empty hallway.

  There’s no one in school. The deserted halls mock me as I move from room to room looking for her. “Sam.” I barely whisper her name.

  It feels odd as I open the doors. Almost like they’re expecting me, they open so easily. They creak open slowly though, making me wait as I hold my breath.

  And each room gives me nothing. They’re empty and dark and it scares me to move beyond the door. So, I just look in and whisper her name. Quietly, praying she’ll hear me.

  Door after door, I keep moving through the hall. Waiting to see her. I can picture how she used to sit on top of the desk, cross-legged with her book in her lap. I keep waiting to see her there, smiling back at me. But there’s nothing. Just empty rooms, each one darker than the next. The halls grow cold and I forget why I needed her.

  I thought I was following her. I swear I heard her call for me.

  She needs my help. The reminder makes my body freeze as a chill flows over me and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can feel it. Deep down in my gut, the pain twists and turns, writhing into a coil that crawls up my spine.

  She needs me, and I’m failing her.

  The last door opens before I touch the knob. The light flickers on and off and then settles dimly in the center of the room. On Sam. But she’s not seated on the desk. She’s slumped against the wall, sitting on the floor by the closed, dark window.

  Her eyes are sad and her face hollowed.

  The darkness around her makes her seem pale and colorless.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  * * *

  My body jolts upright as the silent scream tears through me.

  My heart’s racing and sweat covers my body. I can hardly hear Dean as he grips me harder, staring at me and pushing the hair out of my face. I can’t see or hear anything other than Sam.

  It was like I was really there.

  Like she was right there.

  “Allison,” Dean’s voice pierces through the memory. “Are you okay?”

  He’s breathless, his fingers digging into my shoulder and his dark gaze pinning me in place. It takes me a long second before I realize he’s here with me. He’s here now. His palm brushes against my forehead again, pushing the loose strands of hair away from my face. He’s so warm and my body’s freezing.

  I blink away the vision of the night terror and try desperately to calm my breathing as his grip loosens and I bring the covers up closer to my neck.

  Her voice was so clear.

  My breathing won’t calm. My chest heaves violently as I wipe my eyes and pull away from him.

  “Talk to me,” Dean commands me but that’s just not possible.

  Slowly the sound of my heart racing calms.

  “You were having a nightmare,” Dean tells me as if he’s shocked or like I don’t know what happened. “It was just a nightmare.”

  My head nods of its own accord as I slink back beneath the covers, seeking their warmth.

  I can still feel the cold metal of the doorknob.

  “Sometimes I have bad dreams,” I tell Dean to get him away from me. To stop his questioning.

  “About what?”

  The words slip from me immediately. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I haven’t ha
d a dream like that in a long damn time.

  I haven’t fallen asleep so easily in just as long.

  “Are you okay?”

  He’s asked me that so many times in the last twelve hours.

  “I’m fine,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he tells me and it’s only then that his expression comes into focus.

  My heart melts, slowly but with a heat that’s undeniable. “I just want to make sure you’re alright,” he tells me as he brushes my hair from my face. In this moment, I’m weak with want for him and his touch.

  I didn’t know until this day what I’d do for him and how much he meant to me.

  Maybe that’s why she came back to remind me.

  To remind me of the promise and why I’m here.

  “I’m fine,” I remind him. And I know it’s a lie. A lie and a broken promise I’ve only just made. I should feel guilty. But I don’t.

  Not while I cup his cheek in my hand and brush my lips against his.

  Not while I let him hold me.

  Not even as he whispers he loves me into my hair when he thinks I’ve fallen asleep. And that’s what it is. Love. I feel it too. I’m not blind to it. I even accept it. But I can’t have it. I can’t have Dean. This has gone on for far too long.

  It’s not okay to be okay.

  That would be the worst tragedy.

  Chapter 26

  Dean

  * * *

  “Bottoms up!” Kev says over the sound of the music echoing off the walls of the room. The bass pounds through my veins as I toss the shot back. Partially to let go, partially out of anger.

  Allison fucking ghosted. Hasn’t been to her classes, isn’t returning my texts.

  My fist clenches around the empty shot glass as the whiskey burns down my throat.

  I should have known better than to pretend she was fine.

  I should have seen this shit coming.

  “Ah,” James hisses as he shakes his head, slamming the glass down on the coffee table. His face is scrunched even as he yells out, “Whooo!” as if he’s having the fucking time of his life.