Miss Me Not

"We'll wear you down, and before you know it you'll be an open book," he teased.

"I hope not," I thought, shuddering at the mere thought. His parents would shit a brick if they ever found out about my formative years. I should cut my losses now and head out before the warm smiles I'd been given were replaced with looks of disgust and concern for their son's well-being.

"How about a tour of the house?" Dean asked, draining the last of his milk.

"I'm thinking maybe I should head home," I answered, edging toward the archway.

"I don't think so, slick," he said, reaching out to snag my hand.

"Sheesh, you're always manhandling me," I griped as he dragged me toward the hallway beyond the kitchen.

"Well, if you weren't always trying to dart off like some skittish rabbit, I wouldn't have to. Come on, I want to show you something anyway."

I grumbled under my breath about men and their hero complexes. My grumbles were cut short though as I took in the hallway walls.

"This is our family tree hall," he said, proudly pointing to the walls that ran along the hallway.

I gasped in awe, taking in the sight of the wall plastered in a sort of mock wallpaper that was comprised of hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Someone had obviously taken great care to cut and piece each of the pictures together into a gigantic collage that lined the entire length of the wall, creating the most unique wallpaper I'd ever seen. It was like a work of art. Starting at one end, I slowly walked down the space, taking in each of the photos. There were pictures of birthdays, births, weddings, graduations, holidays and everything in between. Each chronicled section was situated in its own space, divided by three sets of doors on each side of the hall. Adorable pictures showed the twins visiting the Magic Kingdom and being held by Mickey Mouse. I caught a glimpse of a much younger Dean happily straddling the frame of an obviously brand-new bike. Another picture showed Dean with his arms around a girl that I knew by just looking at her must be his sister Trish. As I continued my way down the hall, I found countless pictures of Dean as they chronicled his life from birth to present.

Reaching the end of the hall, I turned around, making my way up the opposite wall. I'd never seen so many pictures in my life.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, stepping up beside me as I reached the end.

I shrugged, acting nonchalant, but the truth is, I had to swallow a large lump in my throat. I looked everywhere but his eyes.

"I didn't show you this to upset you," he said, once again seeing through me. "I wanted you to see what's on the other side of the coin. Not everyone lives like your mom. You could become an adult, get married and one day display your own family on your own walls."

It was as if he could see into my very soul. How did he know that I feared I would turn out like Donna? Death itself would be a welcome choice over turning out like her.

"Life is what you make it," he said quietly.

"Stop trying to psychoanalyze me," I replied to his shrewd analysis.

"I'm not," he denied, looking hurt as he took a step closer to me.

This was why I don't do the whole friend thing. People began to expect things and we're both bound to be disappointed.

"I just always feel like you're trying to save me," I said, trying to get past the anxiety I felt over his close proximity.

"Not save you. I just want to share things with you. I like you, Mads, more than I can ever remember liking anyone," he said, stepping even closer.

"You don't know me. You'd hate me if you knew the real me."

"I'm looking at the real you. Anything else was a facade. I don't care about facades. I only care about you," he whispered a breath from me.

My breath hitched. I knew he was going to kiss me. I needed to step away and break the trance that had gripped me. I couldn't kiss him, it wasn't allowed, but I couldn't get the words out. I felt myself leaning in as if we were two magnets that were drawn together.

"I can't kiss you," I pleaded.

"Okay," he said, placing his hands on my hips and dragging me even closer.

Everything in me hummed. This was so wrong. I'd buried this part of myself years ago.

"You don't have to kiss me, but I'm going to kiss you," he said, eyeing my lips.

All my excuses fled. I shouldn't want this, but I did. My eyes fluttered closed, giving him my silent consent.

A screeching yell shattered the moment as a small body barreled into us followed by another.