Miss Me Not

"Right, I'm calling bullshit on that one," I said, allowing myself to relax slightly.

Our second round on The Hulk was as exciting as the first. I wanted to go again, but Dean convinced me the other rides in the park were good too. He was almost right. A half-a-dozen rides later, I was still convinced The Hulk was the best, but I had to admit, the other rides were pretty cool too.

"What do you think?" Dean asked as we finally sat down to eat after riding the dragon roller coaster in Harry Potter World.

"It's amazing," I admitted, taking a big drink of my butterbeer. "I guess I can see the whole 'theme park junkie' thing now."

"I can't believe you've never been to one," he said, taking a bite of his chicken.

"It's just not Donna's kind of thing," I said, swallowing my bite of food.

"What else isn't her thing?" he asked innocently, taking another bite of food.

Sighing, I debated answering. I could see his ploy. He was slowly unraveling my life like it was layers of an onion. "Holidays, movies, dinners at home. Basically anything that isn't church-related."

"Holidays?" he asked.

"Yeah. She doesn't do holidays. Well, holidays with me anyway. Christmas and my birthday are envelopes of cash. Thanksgiving, she spends at the church in their soup kitchen, which is a worthy cause, so who am I to bitch. Easter is spent at the church, and I think one of the families from church, but I'm not really sure," I said, taking a bite of my seasoned potatoes. "I've never asked," I admitted once I swallowed my bite of food.

"Doesn't she ever insist you go with her?" he asked, no longer eating.

"Not for a very long time," I answered. "Look, Sport-o, don't get your jockstrap in a bunch. Trust me, it really doesn't bug me. If I never step another foot in a church, I'd die a happy person. It's not my thing," I said, shrugging my shoulders as if I really didn't care.

"Yeah, but, she's your mom. It's her duty or whatever to include you in holidays and everything else in between. Do you at least get to spend the holidays with your dad?" he asked hopefully.

I shook my head. Suddenly, my own appetite was fleeing. "I haven't heard from him since he moved out. Look, can we talk about something else?" I asked as my stomach twisted in knots.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the look on my face stopped him. "Sure," he said as he resumed eating.

Our conversation was stilted after that, and I was pissed at myself for sharing so much. My family screamed dysfunctional, but actually laying it out for someone made it so much worse.

We hit Seuss Landing after lunch and some of the fun from before resurfaced as we rode the whimsical rides, including the carousel, which had appalled Dean to learn that it was my first ride on one. He insisted we needed to ride it three times to make up for lost time.

Dean surprised me by buying me a set of Incredible Hulk dog tags before we headed to the next park.

"To remind you of the day," he said, sliding them over my head, letting his hand linger on my neck for a moment.

His touch was intimate and confusing. The contact was enticing, and I yearned to rest my cheek against his knuckles at the same time that I fought the urge to shake it off, knowing the pain a man's touch could cause. My breath whistled out in shallow gasps. I struggled to remind myself that his touch was different. His eyes never strayed from mine.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered softly, proving his point by running his hand down the length of my neck, over my narrow shoulder and down my arm in a soft caress, until eventually, he gently gripped my hand in his. "Trust me, okay?"

I nodded, unable to find the words. I wanted to trust him. I hated the demons that made me frightened by the touch of someone I was slowly beginning to feel something for.

I was still pondering my mixed up feelings when we made it to the other park.

"You're rocking those glasses," Dean teased as we sat down for Shrek's 4D Adventure.

"Right, nothing offsets these classy green spectacles like pale, pasty, washed-out skin," I said, poking fun at myself.

"Porcelain," he said as the theater lights went down.

"What?" I asked, getting hushed by the overzealous tourist sitting on my other side.

"Your skin is like porcelain," he whispered, earning us another shushing.

Shooting her a glare, I turned back to Dean, only to see he was engrossed in the action of the show.

Fifteen minutes later, we were depositing our glasses in the recycling receptacle. I was getting bumped and pushed by tourists who acted like they were going to spontaneously combust if they didn't put their glasses in the container at the exact moment as us.