Caleb walked through the doors of the forlorn church, a bag of guns slung over his shoulder and the confident swagger of a young man returning home after a long time gone.

"Yo, brat!" he called into the silent altar, the smile on his face invalidating any insult that left his lips, "Hannah, get your ass out here! I'm home and I brought company, so don't be a bitch about it!"

It was Father Jim, however, who stuck his head out of the small office.

"Barely a handful of years hunting and I see you've adopted John's rather untoward vocabulary." But the older priest smiled broadly, pulling the young man, fully grown and filling out impressively now, into a fatherly hug. "I've missed you, Caleb."

Caleb relaxed into the hug before Father Jim pulled away and patted him proudly on the shoulder. Seeming to just notice him, Father Jim looked over Caleb's shoulder at John and gave him a friendly nod. John returned it, awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable at his interruption of the family moment between the two.

"Where's Hannah?" Caleb asked. Father Jim heaved a tired sigh and nodded over his shoulder towards the back of the church.

"Working out, as always." He said. He shook his head. "She probably can't hear you." Father John made a gesture to his own ears, miming headphones.

Caleb broke into a wicked grin and started heading down the hall.

"Watch out for her roundhouse kick." Father Jim called after him, "It's faster than it should be."

Caleb made a gesture of salute before creeping down the hall.

"John, my dear old friend. As always, I'm happy to see you." Said Father Jim, motioning for John to follow him down the hall to the office he had appeared from.

"Glad to be back, Jim. You look exhausted."

Father Jim gave a rueful smile and shrugged.

"Yes, well, the lord provides challenges for us in all shapes and sizes."

John didn't know what to say to that, so he nodded sympathetically.

"Hannah is… has always been, I suppose, a handful." Father Jim said with a sigh, "I love her like the daughter that circumstances have never aligned to provide me. She and Caleb are my kin. I never realized how much Caleb must have acted as buffer between us. Her temper gets the better of her more often than not. When Caleb lived here, she would take it out on him. Now, however, it is just the two of us and she has started to… rebel."

John cleared his throat. When Sam left, never to come back home, John had never realized how much energy he had spent simply trying to match the boy's stubborn temper. And when Sam left, John suddenly realized, with heart sinking horror, that a very large part of his relationship with Dean had been using him as a mediator between himself and his youngest. If an order came from him, Sam would most likely do the exact opposite out of spite or simply a rebellious nature. If an order came from Dean, Sam would happily fall into line. Sam trusted and loved his brother as a hybrid parent, friend and sibling and John had never realized how much that changed the way he treated his oldest until it was too late.

"At first it was a nose ring." Continued Father Jim, either not noticing or ignoring John's reverie,"Revolting, by the way. Then it was the tattoos. Then, I found out that she dropped out of high school…"

"Dean dropped out too. Made him get his GED, though. It isn't so hard." John said, trying to be reassuring.

"She is at that age, I suppose." Said Father Jim, "A woman in appearance, child in temper and teenager in attitude. Eighteen is a potent time in a child's life."

John swallowed hard, hoping that Father Jim wouldn't notice his sweating palms.

"Eighteen already?" He asked, voice croaking, almost giving him away.

"Well, probably. Of course, we have no idea when her birthday is. When she was about ten, we picked a day out of the calendar and said it was her birthday. April 7th, by the way."

John nodded. His throat too tight to form real words at the moment

"Now everything has changed." Jim continued. He gave a hard laugh, "Now she and Caleb get along like the brother and sister that they have been raised as, and she and I can hardly hold a civil conversation anymore." He shook his head, "I suppose it is less than admirable, but a little part of me had always hoped that she and Caleb would come around to each other. Less sibling, more childhood sweetheart, but Caleb is quite a bit older than Hannah. I suppose it is hard for him to remember her as a child and then look at her romantically."

John's pulse quickened. Jim must know, he thought wildly He's baiting me with this, I know it.

But either Father Jim was an impeccable actor or he really didn't suspect anything as he heaved another put upon sigh and turned the conversation to John's latest hunt. And John tried to answer his questions clinically. He tried to pretend that his cock didn't thicken as he thought of Hannah, nice and legal Hannah, sitting around waiting for him for six whole weeks. Tried to swallow the completely unwarranted jealousy that rose in his throat like bile at the idea if Caleb and Hannah rolling around in bed together.

John had never felt like more of a creepy pervert in his entire life. He had also never been so impatient to simply lay his eyes and his hands on the forbidden fruit of a far too young woman.

Caleb had blocked the round house kick easy enough. It may have been a strong blow, but kicks were slower than punches. As he pulled the leg from under her, dropping her unceremoniously on her back, he made to pin her to the mat. She clocked his chin hard enough for him to curse and then laugh as she glared up at him. He sat up, still straddling her, and pulled the earbud from her ear.

"Hey brat."

"Hey asshole" she said, her glare becoming an affectionate smile in the blink of an eye.

"Nice ink," said Caleb, turning her arm over to better inspect the art on her shoulder. An angel lifting Jesus to heaven. Even when she was passive aggressively telling Father Jim to suck it, she still sought his approval. There were snippets of loyalty in all her rebellion. She watched him inspect her arm before reaching up and tracing his new pink scar along his neck.

"Nice battle scar."

"Well, some of us have to actually hunt while you sit around eating bon bons." Hannah rolled her eyes and flipped Caleb onto his back straddling him this time. He laughed as she did so, and the good humor contagiously crept onto her face.

"Let me at those motherfuckers." She said venomously, and Caleb couldn't find a joke in her unwavering determination. He had bruises to show that when Hannah meant business, someone was going to get messed up.

"You got all grown up while I was away." He said softly, looking over her.

"Next time, don't stay away so long." She returned with the same gentle tone.

"I was going to take you with me next time." He said, and as the words sank in, Hannah gave a very un-Hannah-like squeal and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Assuming Father Jim doesn't mind, of course."

"I'm eighteen. I don't need his blessing to do anything."

"You want it, though." He said, and Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, all but admitting defeat. Caleb sat up, dislodging Hannah as he went. "Well, he wasn't so mad when you went off with John. Maybe old man Winchester will vouch for you."

"Don't call him that."

"Geez, sorry." Said Caleb, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Someone's a little 'hot-for-teacher' don't you think?" Hannah turned pink and gave a knowing smile before Caleb froze and looked her over again with new scandalized interest, "Hannah? You're kidding, right?"

Hannah shrugged and kept smiling, standing up and letting Caleb get to his feet.

"Gross." He said hesitantly, "You aren't going to molest him at dinner or anything, right?"

"He's here?" she asked hopefully. Caleb nodded reluctantly and Hannah gave him a just-a-little-too-hard-to-be-truly- playful swat before turning and rushing up the stairs to the front altar.

John rubbed a towel over the lightly weathered skin as he washed the car ride off of himself in the small bathroom in the back of the church.

The beard was turning silver around the temples and the eyes crinkled noticeably, even when he wasn't smiling. He was starting to creep up on that "old" category, slowly but surely. He had two grown sons. His chest hair was turning silver and the parts of his hands that weren't smooth and calloused were wrinkled from neglect and hard work.

Jim had talked to him as though he were a parent talking to another. The generational line was drawn and Hannah was on the other side of it, untouchable. God, John had never felt filthier in his life until Jim was talking about Hannah's teenage rebellion and John's first thought was of a tattoo on a slender, tight back, just above a softly rounded ass, that would bounce as John pounded into her. Jim mentioned a nose ring and John wondered what else the wild child had pierced.

John was a sick son of a bitch. Hopefully Hannah still wouldn't care.

Now. Now would be a perfect opportunity to slip out of the church. To drive away and never see the girl again. Not even tiptoe that line, he had gotten so dangerously close the last time. He slung his bag over his shoulder and slipped out of the bathroom, walking down the hall to the living room where Jim had generously offered him the couch.

Last chance to be a decent man. Last chance to leave.

Then he heard her and his stomach clenched with undeniable need as she laughed at something Caleb had said, rushing up the stairs from the basement. Her eyes widened in surprise as they locked onto John's, but the moment of vulnerability was short lived as they hardened into ones of determination. John was the prize that Hannah was going to take home and the thought terrified him and turned him on like nothing else had. John wasn't going anywhere.

Caleb stomped up the stairs behind her and froze as he saw her looking John over in the least subtle way possible. He raised his eyebrows between them and made some sort of flimsy excuse that John didn't even hear. Before he knew it, Caleb was gone and Hannah was stalking towards him, unwavering in her intent. John gulped. He opened his mouth to say 'hello' or something, anything, really. He was a full grown man who should not have been scared of talking to a girl. But Hannah was intoxicating, overwhelming, hot passion that had been his obsession every lonely night since he ran his fingers through her hot wetness all those years ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed, and yet, with that same hungry look in her eyes, it was like that night all over again.

Hard wall against his back, smaller hands on his chest before he was devoured alive, raw and needy. Hannah's tongue was between his lips as he opened them to protest and no demon, ghost or ghoul could peel his hands from her body as he touched her. Hands on her back, sliding up to knot in her hair, he wrapped his hand around the base of her pony tail and pulled away. One of them had to be rational, and John doubted that it could be the hot headed teenager.

That thought should have bothered John a hell of a lot more than it did.

"Hello." He said, trying for cool and ending up with a breathy whisper. Hannah smirked.

"Hey." She said, "I'm eighteen now."

"Nice non sequitur."

"Nice use of the phrase, non sequitur."

Hannah's hand slid between their pelvises, pressed against each other so hard that John marveled at the fact that such small and deft fingers could slide between them. Hannah slid her palm experimentally over the hard on in his pants and John let out a shuddering breath.

"Fuck, Hannah" he said, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"That is the general idea." She said, "You know, I had hoped that somehow you would figure out when my birthday was and come take me. Just sneak into my room and fuck me. I thought about you and me and I came three times that night as I touched myself."

"Jesus, that would have been-" John started and then took a fortifying breath, "We gotta cool it, kid." He said, pushing her away from him a couple of crucial inches, "We can't… You're still too young, Hannah. Legal doesn't mean 'ok' it just means not so horrifying. You can't even drink yet. You're a child."

"You really shouldn't call me 'child' and 'kid' while you're still sporting a boner for me," Hannah said icily and John remembered how much she hated it when he talked down to her. How stubborn the thirteen year old had been after he called her a little girl.

She had been a child, though. The vast majority of John's time spent with her had been spent in the company of a child. But that time had been far and few between. He had to squint to see the ten year old he had saved from the old trailer. Even now, it took a moment to recognize the sixteen year old he had started it all with. John's lust was cooling from the explosive flare to a low ember and he grudgingly figured that as long as he was near her, he would always be a little turned on, so he made his peace with it.

He leaned his head back against the wall, safely out of the kissing danger zone and took her in with more scrutiny. Seeing the skin covering that hot flesh he wanted to melt into. Looking at the face he had held and tasted. He lifted her arm out and inspected the tattoos. He cocked his head as he looked over her piercings.

"What did you do to yourself?" he asked softly.

"You don't like them?" Hannah asked. John shrugged. He reached forward and flicked the nose ring that had offended Jim so badly. Rather than a discreet little stud on the side of her nose that John had expected, the tiny 'u' shaped ring slid right between each nostril like a cartoon bull.

"It just is different." He said.

"Really screwed up my pretty face, didn't I?" asked Hannah and when John looked up to her, he saw a strained, self-deprecating smile.

Hannah had never been classically beautiful. Her face was long and narrow, her eyes were a few centimeters too far apart and her mouth was almost pointed and triangular. She was more geometric than sensual, but she was a far cry from ugly. The eyes, perhaps a little on the small side, burned with a passion that was, frankly, intimidating and John knew from experience that the thin harsh lips were still soft and plush enough to make him throw reason and self-control out the window.

"I always thought you were pretty." He said softly, more because she needed to hear it than because it was true, "I still think you're pretty."

Hannah beamed at the attention and John leaned into her and kissed her softly against her lips. Hannah began to intensify the kiss but John pulled away again.

"Can't, Hannah. I can't."

She was too young. He was too old. Jim, his old, faithful friend, trusted him. Caleb had a terrifyingly good aim. There were a million and a half reasons for him to get into his truck and drive to the closest city, find the darkest bar and the first willing woman closer to an appropriate age to get onto her back for him. Hell, he'd never bought it before, but if paying for a whore or succumbing to the knowing grin on the kid in front of him were his only options, old whore it was. He just needed to not be here, feeling the things he was feeling and wanting the things he was wanting from her.

She looked him over with analytical eyes that travelled across his lips to the still partly stiff member in his pants. Against his will, he felt himself tighten as her attention drifted to his cock, and the knowing grin on her face told him that his arousal was much more obvious than convenient.

"My room is the second door on the left." She said, stepping away from him and giving him the space that his head was telling him he needed. His body, however, was screaming at the loss. She started down the hall to the kitchen where John heard the soft sounds of Jim and Caleb preparing dinner, oblivious to the crimes that John was committing against their trust. Hannah turned and looked at him, smirking, "You still owe me a birthday present. I think you have a pretty good idea of what I want."

Sweaty, writhing bodies. Panted breath. Sheets rustling, hands grabbing, thrusting, warmth and human need. The promise of an open door. A forbidden fruit, begging to be taken.

John Winchester was a sick son of a bitch. He should have gotten out of there when he had the chance.

But he knew that he wasn't going anywhere.

God, was he really doing this?

The hand hesitated over the handle to the second door on the left. Yes. He really was doing this. If the drinking and cursing and lies hadn't done it, then this at least made it official.

He was going to Hell.

The darkness had settled into the church like a blanket, hiding his sin and his shame. He held a hand over the door frame to muffle the creak of it as it opened. Sneaking made him feel dirtier. The secrecy made it hotter. He could worry about the implications of that tomorrow because all through dinner, coffee and dessert he had been half hard and waiting for this moment.

He paused as he found Hannah… asleep.

Coy and faking innocent slumber didn't seem like Hannah's MO. From across the room, he saw her breathing slow and steady. It was better this way, he decided. He wasn't about to wake her up to fuck her. That was the line and John was a little relieved to find it. He was wondering if there had ever been one. He watched her sleep for a few lingering seconds, her hard determined expression soft. The knowing smirk smoothed. She was pretty, he decided. Not in a 'cover of the magazine' sort of way, but she was pretty nonetheless. Innocent and youthful, the tattoos along her arms covered by the blanket, the shadow of her hair covering her nose ring.

And for the thousandth time that night, John turned to walk away from the lust and the obsession and the carnal sin that was Hannah. His body mourned the loss of hot wet promise between her legs but he was also infinitely relieved that he didn't end up crossing that line. He was a decent man and fate or God or some sort of karmic intervention prevented him from doing something selfish and awful. She was too young. He was too old. He left her untouched, as it should be.

He forgot to muffle the doorframe with a calloused hand and it creaked softly as he opened it to step out of her room.

"John?" came a soft voice from Hannah's bed. His stomach dropped, his pulse quickened, and he groaned inwardly. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Go back to sleep, Hannah. Didn't mean to wake you."

"I was waiting for you." She whispered, "I must have fallen asleep. I thought you might not come."

"I thought that too."

"I'm glad you did."

"Hannah—"

"I was waiting for you" she said again, and John heard the blanket slide away from her as she sat up on the bed. She was barely lit from the window by the bed, so her body was still mostly in the dark. But John could see her naked silhouette. Naked.

She was waiting for him.

The devil himself pulled John towards her. A demon brought lifted his hand and ran it across her cheek, down her neck and over the small, firm nipple. Her hands found his waist as he was standing while she was sitting. They started sliding up under his shirt and feeling his skin like he had never let her do that night so many years ago. That night when he was stronger, better, more righteous or at least less terrible. John Winchester was not a good man. Hannah didn't seem to mind.

"We shouldn't—I shouldn't—you're too young."

"Then why are you here?" she said softly, sliding the shirt up his chest and over his torso, rendering his upper body as naked as hers.

"I never wanted to be the sort of man who does this."

"Then why are you here?" she asked again, guiding him down to her bed. He leaned over her, his still clothed legs straddling hers. She pulled him down further so that his weight was against her, naked chest against naked chest and John lost all control that he possessed, which apparently, wasn't much to begin with.

He moaned as he rutted against her. He shifted his weight so that he was nestled between her legs and he began to move against her, over the blankets on her bed and the pants he still wore. Hannah's lips found his and they kissed and rocked together until John grew dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He sat up on his knees and Hannah followed his movement, watching him with wary eyes. His hands went to his pants and Hannah's eyes grew wide with lust and an expression that must have been purely Hannah because John couldn't name it.

His thumb hesitantly undid a button of denim and Hannah chewed her lower lip. John waited for her to look back up at him before he continued. When she did, he raised his eyebrows. This was it; the point of no return. No more harmless kisses and dry humping. No more fingers. When John's pants came off it would be cock and pussy and hardcore sex. John needed Hannah's approval, even if the unsure moment floating in the air terrified hime.

She nodded with a nervous smile and started to kick the blankets off of herself. John got down to his underwear before he saw the juice from her sex and smelled her musk. He almost couldn't help himself and he reached forward to stroke it. She sighed and John leaned forward again, pressing his lips to her little button and kissing it. Hannah gave a spasm of surprise, so John started working the clit with his tongue. Hannah moaned and slid her fingers into his hair. He smiled against her.

"I suppose your boyfriends don't do this sort of thing," he murmured, looking up over her tense body to find lust blown eyes. " One of the benefits of screwing an old man." He said with a grin again as went back to going down on her. His dick gave a hard throb at its lack of attention and John pulled away from Hannah's inviting legs to wedge a thumb under the waistband of his boxers.

"I've never…" she whispered.

"Never gotten head before? Lots of guys your age are still insecure about that sort of thing. They'll grow out of it. In the meantime…" he said, trailing off and smiling and leaning in to kiss her.

"No… I never…"

John froze. A thousand little warning bells were ringing in his ears. Plenty of girls her age didn't like giving head either. Maybe that was it. Please, please, let that be it.

"I never did this before." Said Hannah softly, "I never had a boyfriend."

"Hannah, you aren't a—"

"It's supposed to be a gift." She said softly, her eyes searching his face for his reaction. "I saved it. I wanted it to be you."

"Virgin. You're a virgin."

"Well, yeah."

"Fuck, no." said John, scrambling to sit up and put as much distance between them as possible. His hard cock turned flaccid. His skin turned to ice. He was wrong before. There was the line. Right there. Wide as the Mississippi. "Hannah, no. What were you thinking?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you after… after that hunt. After you kissed me and touched me. I didn't care about the boys in my class anymore. I only cared about you. Only wanted you."

"Hannah. I never wanted this." He said, grabbing his pants and pulling them on. He saw her eyes water and took a deep breath. Girl. She was an insecure teenage girl and this was reason number one that he shouldn't have sex with her. She was a kid. What had he done?

"You aren't supposed to want it to be with someone like me, Hannah." He said, "It should be with someone special. Someone you love."

"I think you're special."

"That's not… I'm not… I have to go, Hannah. I can't be here."

"John, wait." She said, and it was louder than it should have been, But John was running out of her room, pulling his boots and shirt on as he fled. He needed to get rip roaring drunk and then vomit. Or vice versa. It wasn't clear which would come first, but the need for both was obvious.

"Hannah?" asked Caleb's sleepy voice as he stuck his head out into the hallway in time to see John, half naked, stepping out of her room. The kid's face fell faster than John had ever seen. Vomit. He was going to vomit first. Caleb reached behind his bedroom door and came out with a rifle.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demanded, aiming the weapon at John. John really didn't want to get shot, but if anyone deserved the right to pull the trigger, it was Caleb. Either Caleb or—

"What is going on?" asked Father Jim, stepping out into the hallway to join Caleb and John. He saw Caleb's gun first. Then he took in John's state of undress. Then John's proximity to Hannah's room.

"What are you doing, Winchester?" Jim asked in a voice so level and venomous that John wished he had yelled. John deserved to be yelled at and hit and forcibly removed from the premises. He didn't deserve Jim's sad eyes, looking for a reason to still trust him. Looking for any trace of the good man that he once claimed John was.

"Leave him alone, Caleb. Put the gun down." Hannah joined the men in the hall and John wished that she had taken the extra four seconds to put her tee shirt on right side in.

"Hannah." Father Jim said in that eerily calm voice, "Go back into your room. I'll talk to you after I talk to Mr. Winchester."

"No." she said, stepping forwards, between John and Caleb's gun, looking entirely unafraid and a little annoyed.

Jim looked at Caleb and nodded his head over his shoulder. Caleb sighed and lowered his gun, reaching for Hannah's arm. She jerked out of his grip and ignored him, looking angrily at Jim.

"Don't you hurt him." She snarled, "If you're going to be mad at one of us, be mad at me. I started it. I wanted it. I love him, so if you hurt him, I'll never forgive you."

Once Hannah said 'love' John felt the bile and disgust rise up in his throat. Jim didn't even bother to acknowledge Hannah's temper. Instead, he looked over her head to John with an unflinching glare that said, 'see what you've done.'

Caleb grabbed Hannah's arm again and dragged her away. She cast another look at Jim and John before Caleb pulled her around the corner into the basement. John couldn't watch her go, though he could feel her try and catch his eye. He stared guiltily at the ground. Jim was the first to speak.

"If I weren't a Christian," he said levelly, "I'd shoot you, Winchester."

"That'd be fair."

"I can't even look at you, John." Said Jim, turning away, "I can't believe… she was sixteen."

"No," John said suddenly, he couldn't have Jim think that. John was wrong and greedy, but it wasn't that. "We didn't. Tonight was the first…"

"You expect me to believe you now?" Jim asked harshly. "Sixteen? Eighteen? She's a child, John. She doesn't understand sex and love at all. She said she loves you. Do you perceive how wrong that is? How many women have you been with, John? Since Mary died, have you even been close to loving any one of them? "

"I never lied to her. I never led her to believe that I—"

"You think she can tell the difference? Between infatuation and love? Between obsession and love? Sex and love? Lust and love? She thinks she loves you. Do you love her?"

John shook his head 'no' as he looked at the ground. Obsessed. He had been obsessed with her. Her hard headed temper, her confidence, her passion. He didn't love her. He never thought he had.

"I think I should go." John said quietly.

"I think that's a good idea." Jim agreed coldly, turning from John to the basement where Caleb had taken Hannah. "Dean can always call me. But you, John, I don't think we can work together anymore. I don't think I can trust you anymore."

"That's fair." He said without looking back as he was walking to collect his things. Guilt physically heavy against his shoulders.

Father Jim opened the door to the basement and found Caleb's back. The older boy had stood against the door as Hannah paced and cursed in the basement. She shot a cold look up at Father Jim as he stepped in.

"Where's John?" she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Gone. Forever."

"You jerk. You asshole. I told you not to hurt him. I told you that I love him."

"Hannah, for once in your life, you listen to me. You are going to stay in this basement until John drives off. You are never going to see him again and that's final."

But Hannah wasn't even listening as she shoved past the priest, hearing that John was still around. She ran out the front door to see John climbing into his truck.

"Wait! John, wait!" she called, rushing out to meet him. John froze, but his eyes were still on the bags in his hands. Hannah panted as she ran up to meet him.

"John, take me with you." John shook his head, 'no.' Hannah gave out a frustrated noise, grabbing the bags from his hands and forcing him to look at her. "Listen to me! Why doesn't anyone listen to me? I love you, John. I love you and I want to go with you. I don't care where we go. Just take me. It's ok. I'll be with you."

"You don't love me, kid."

"Don't call me kid." She said, but there was fear in her voice. It couldn't end like this. She had imagined this moment a thousand times, asking John to take her with him. Driving off into the sunset with the man she loved. He didn't call her 'kid' in the fantasy. He just kissed her and they took off together. John hazarded a glance at her and then looked away quickly as he saw her teary eyes. He violently took his bags from her hands and threw them into the seat. Hannah grabbed the sleeve of his coat as he made to follow them up into the truck and away from this mess.

"John. I'm sorry they found out. I never wanted that. But I do love you. That wasn't a lie."

"Ki—Hannah, no. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know how I feel, thank you very much."

"You were infatuated with me. You were attracted to me and I took advantage of that and I shouldn't have because you don't know anything yet."

"Don't be mean, John."

"Don't be fucking naive" he snapped, "Men lie. Men are perverts and they just want sex from you. You need to be able to tell the fucking difference between love and… well, fucking."

"You're not like that."

"Let go of me Hannah. Go get a boyfriend your own age. Then you'll understand."

"I only want you."

"Let go of my coat, Hannah."

"I love you."

"You don—" John started to yell before he controlled himself. "Let go, Hannah."

"Say it back."pleaded Hannah, "I know you're scared, but say it back to me. You love me because I love you."

"You're eighteen and I'm almost fifty and that isn't how love works. You don't love me. You don't love me so stop saying it." He pulled his arm again, Hannah just clung to the leather of his sleeve tighter. "Let go, Hannah." She was just crying and shaking her head 'no.'

John slapped her.

The tears that had been sitting like pools in her eyes fell now, cascading down her face as she stumbled back and let out a yelp of surprise. John climbed into his truck and drove off, fast as he could. Not looking back.

If John was good at anything in this world, it was driving away and not looking back.

Gosh, I'm so sorry about never updating. I hate myself for it too, you aren't alone. Please review, even if it is just to tell me that you're still reading it, despite the fact that I never update and am unworthy of your love.