California Dreamin'

“You were flirting with her,” I whisper.

“With who?”

“The waitress.”

I’m met with silence and I don’t know if he’s heard me. In his defense, I did say it very softly. I was embarrassed. I am embarrassed. I don’t do jealousy; I never have. Well, apparently not until him.

At last, Dean lets go of my wrist and draws away from me. The earlier tightness of his frame has nothing on how he looks now, aloof and cold.

“So?”

Like me, he speaks softly but I flinch all the same. His casually-asked question hits me somewhere deep in my gut. My soul, even.

“So…” I fist my hands before admitting, “I didn’t like that. In fact, I hated it.”

A pulse runs through his face. “Why?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Yes. Because from where I’m standing it doesn’t look like it’s any of your business who I flirt with.”

Anger bubbles up inside me. Anger and something very close to despair. So far, I’ve been holding onto the hope maybe Dean feels the same for me. Maybe he hasn’t realized it yet. It took me years as well, to come to the conclusion that I love him. So I can’t really blame him for his ignorance.

But maybe I was deluding myself. Even so, I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth.

“Not my business?”

“Yes.”

“God, you’re so…” I grit my teeth and practically vibrate with fury while he appears to be unruffled, watching me with a blank face. “You’re such an idiot. I love you, Dean. I’m in love with you. Don’t you know that? I’ve been in love with you all my life.”

My words sound like a gunshot. An explosion, even. They are probably louder than any other words I’ve spoken in my entire life. They have rattled me, quickened my breaths, my heartbeats. But apparently, they have had no effect whatsoever on this man in front of me.

“No, you don’t,” he says, a dangerous, angry glint in his eyes.

I’m not afraid of it, though. I’m not afraid of the danger lurking in his gaze. All my secrets are out. I’m exposed. I’ve got nothing to fear or lose.

“What?”

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh… What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t love me,” he repeats, though this time his mouth seems pinched. “You think you love me. There’s a difference.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you enlighten me? Tell me about this difference.”

Contrary to the ruckus inside my body, I sound so calm to my ears. So put together, like I’m not falling apart with every second he simply stands there, looking like none of this matters to him. Like I don’t matter to him.

He sighs impatiently and runs his fingers through his gorgeous hair—typical Dean. The hair I was playing with the other night when we were watching a movie. The night he told me he’s into women, not little girls.

“I’ve always been there, Fallon,” he begins, almost lashing out, like it’s a bad thing.

“What?”

“I’ve always been there for you. With you. I’ve been there for every one of your scrapes and tantrums and achievements. Every single thing. I was there when you first got bullied in school. I was there when you kicked those bullies’ asses. I was there when you failed math in third grade. I was the one who tutored you after that. Helped you with homework the rest of the year. I was there when you started high school. I drove you to school because you wouldn’t go with anyone else. I’ve been there. Always. I’ve been the one you turn to for everything. So what you feel for me, Fallon,” he takes a deep breath and says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child, “is not love. It might be a strong affection. Infatuation. Which will probably go away when you meet the right guy. So yeah, there’s the difference. You think you love me because you don’t know what love is yet.”

“I don’t know what love is yet?”

His jaw clenches. “No. Because believe it or not, you’re still young.”

“So young people don’t know what love is? Is that what you’re saying?”

“What I’m saying is that it’s ridiculous. The thought of you and me together.”

I swallow. Once, twice, thrice. Four times.

“Ridiculous,” I choke out the words. “Right. Thanks so much, Dean. Thanks for educating me. For telling me that the thought of us being together is ridiculous. And what I feel for you is not love. Thanks a lot.” I nod and keep going against the expanding heart in my chest.

It’s pressing on my throat, stealing away my voice but I don’t care. Either I talk or I break down. And I refuse to break down in front of this… this heartless man who I thought was my friend.

“I’m so dumb, right? That I can’t figure it out for myself. I can’t figure my own feelings out. I can’t understand why my heart races when you’re close. Why I can’t see anyone else but you. I can’t understand why the hell I can’t stop dreaming about you at night. I’m too dumb to figure out why…”